The worst thing any parent experiences is the funeral of their own child. It's like having your heart torn from you, shredded right before your eyes while you fall into a pit of darkness worse than any other personal nightmare. All I had until that moment was Crystal and Chrysalis, until the phone call. I mustered enough composure to call my boss and tell him, but fell apart in the middle of explaining my baby was... was... gone.
I mourn. I lament. I curse life. I curse death. I curse my ex. I curse my family. I curse myself. I curse God. My heart is shattered into so many pieces I simply want to cease being. My life up to that point had been wanting to see my baby girl grow up, to meet the first boyfriend she brings over in the way all fathers really want to. I wanted to see her in her prom dress, to hear about what she learned in school, her engagement to that wonderful man who would spend the rest of his days worshipping the ground she walked upon. I wanted to hold my first grandchild.
Gone.
I'm already emotionally unstable as it is. I want to go, to descend into nothingness. I want a bottle of booze so bad.
Chryssie won't let me go.
Barely older than the joy I had just lost forever, she has been there with me every moment. I don't answer my phone. It rings constantly. Three days have passed. My world is the couch. My view is the same channel the television has been on for that time. She is there, giving her daddy all the love she can muster, trying to understand tragedy, yet unable to grasp it with her young mind. All she knows is to love.
But she's a changeling, I wonder in my pitiful state, breaking from the pit I've fallen into long enough to regard those loving eyes. They take love, not give it. How is it she can understand love? It was nothing more than a source of food in that one episode.
One episode.
What else do I not understand about changelings?
Three days, then there's a knock at my door. The time of day is around noon. Paying attention to the time really doesn't matter. I can hear a familiar voice calling. I get up, taking a moment to watch Chryssie scramble to one of her selected hiding places. Has she been getting bigger? I wonder, casting a final glance where she disappears into one of the closets, pulling the door behind her enough so there's a mere crack she can peer out of.
I open the door and there's mom. She's aged. Her hair is neat, bobbed, but she's forgotten her hair coloring and I can see the gray in her roots as she sees me. Never one for ceremony, she throws her short arms around my neck, immediately bursting into tears. I'm easily a foot taller than her, but she's one of those women you look up to, no matter how much taller you are. She's in a gray suit and red top beneath her heavy coat. She's alone and she's apologizing to me. I simply notice it's cold outside with bare patches of frozen earth poking between snowdrifts that have hardened over from the fluctuating temperatures.
I'm a kid again and she's making me remember the time when my cat Timothy got too old and had to be put down. I know I'm wrong in thinking this, comparing her reaction at my daughter's death to that of a family cat some ten, eleven years ago, but I guess my heart had hardened at that point. Maybe I was past mourning and was simply sinking into indifference. Maybe I just don't care anymore. I return the hug mom gives me with half the effort or less than what she gave me. I feel empty.
Without Chryssie, I know I'd be dead right now. I don't have to wonder if.
Dammit, I love the little filly.
Mom guides me to the living room, knowing this old house as well as I do, perhaps better. She had grown up in it. Upon seeing the state of the living room, especially the trash and dishes and other crap piled up around the couch, she changes her mind and gets me to the kitchen table. We sit down and she starts lecturing me. She doesn't mean to and I know she means well, but I just stare at her, nodding along as her words go in one ear and out the other.
She knows I won't go to the funeral, but she tries to get me to go anyway. Besides, she can't help being a mom as she's also checking up on me. I'm obviously a mess. I realize this, apologize for my sloppy and sorry condition and excuse myself for a shower. She smiles, says that would be fine, and I go to my room to dig up clothes.
Chryssie follows me without being seen.
"Who lady?" she whispers with a squeaky voice. She's got a hoof up to her mouth and she's trying to conceal her voice.
"That's my mom."
Curiously hopeful, she then asks, "Can I meet her?"
"No, honey. Mom is not someone who would understand you." I'm tired. I'm worn. Having Chryssie with me is reassuring. Having Mom visit is nerve racking. I dig through my dresser for clean clothes. With them under my arm, I head for the bathroom. Chryssie slinks beneath my bed and I give her a gentle smile as she peeks out from under it. I told her 'no' and I hope she'll obey for her sake. Trusting Chryssie with certain things is a crap shoot. If she feels like doing something, she'll do it no matter what I say. Trying to discover who you are tends to make certain changelings do things behind their father's backs.
Well, to be fair, it's not as though I have forbidden her from using her magic. I've only forbidden her from doing certain things I know she can do but are potentially destructive. I take my shower, brush my teeth and make myself presentable. The whole time, I'm thinking of both my daughters. What would it have been like for them to have met? I'm pretty certain they would have absolutely loved each other.
And I'm still beating myself up.
Mom knocks on the bathroom door and asks if I'm okay. I've been staring at the mirror for a while. I don't know how long. I once went into and gun battle knowing full well we were going to get shot at. I faced my fears then. I was a soldier. I followed the orders of my superiors. Besides, I had by brothers with me. But facing my daughter's death?
It's a waking nightmare.
"I'm fine, Mom. Be out in a second."
I worry Chryssie will be discovered. Trusting her is shaky. She is a toddler. Giving her some credit, I haven't told her to stay in one hiding place. I'm letting her practice being a changeling. I believe they're best at being stealthy, blending in their surroundings when they don't want to be seen. The dawning she might be practicing some of her skills and abilities on my mother occurs and I emerge from the bathroom wondering if my theory is sound. Still, she's a novice. We do have a backup plan. If somehow she's discovered, I've told her in the past to just turn into Mr. Whiskers.
She's practiced it several times in the past. I've even gone so far as to remind family and friends who might come over I've got a cat that comes and goes as she pleases. It's an easy lie. I encourage Chryssie to be sneaky. The nature of a changeling can't be denied and I want her to be one as close as I can get. I want her to be herself, but I also want her to be a good girl.
Mom cleaned up the living room while I showered. She's in the process of drying the dishes after I peek and see things a lot cleaner than they were three days ago.
Moms do that. They've been picking up after their children for thousands of years. Tell me again why we only have one day out of the year dedicated to them? I know she and I have had our differences, especially since she divorced dad when I was a teen, but she's still my mom and I'm glad she's there. For the moment, I set aside my anger and disappointment she took my ex's side. Maybe my daughter was better off. Maybe she would not be dead.
Stop it!
I'm not helping myself.
I thank mom for cleaning up. She stays a bit longer, still trying to convince me to come to the funeral. There's no point in me going. Besides, she'll be there and she'll blame me. I know she'll find any reason to blame me. My ex is vindictive like that. Probably she'll tell me it was because I didn't sign the documents. I'm pretty bitter and insistent about not going. Mom doesn't push the issue and gives me some money. I don't know why. She just does. As she's leaving, Mom pauses at the door and remembers something.
"She loved that stuffed purple horse you got her for Christmas. She took it everywhere she went with her."
You know what? That makes me feel better for some reason.
"Thanks, Mom. That means a lot to me."
Thanks, Twilight.
I heard later my ex had made a scene at the funeral, telling everyone what a lousy father I was and how she blamed me for everything. If she had an angle, I'd think she's blame the start of the Second World War on me. All I know is I get a phone call from Mom and she tells me how glad she is I didn't go. The ex was going full village mob on me, almost complete with torches and pitchforks. Her hysterics ruined what should have been a somber moment of remembrance for Crystal. It wasn't out of selfishness, I don't think. There's a part of me that will always think there was a lot of regret and her own grief.
I forgave her in my heart and moved on with my life, never hearing from her again. Mom sent me a copy of the last known photograph of Crystal before she was called to Heaven.
Yeah, I believe in God. I have faith. It's badly shaken, though. I believe things happen for a reason, even if it means going through what Job went through.
Don't know who he was?
For those of you unfamiliar with the Old Testament, I'm not going to go on a religious rant or anything like that. Let's just say Job was a man completely devoted to his faith. God and the Devil were having a discussion and God says to the Devil to check out his servant, a man named Job. He's got everything a man could ever want; a wife, children, land, wealth, servants, livestock and absolute love towards God. The Devil challenges him, saying Job wouldn't be so loving to God if everything he has is taken away. So, God accepts the challenge and tells the Devil he can do whatever he wants to Job, so long as he doesn't kill him. That man loses everything. A house collapses on his family, killing all of his children. Raiders come and kill his servants and steal everything. Despite all that, Job thanks God, his faith unwavering. Then the Devil goes to God again and tells him Job would surely curse the name of God if he were stricken with sickness. God give the Devil the green light to do whatever he wants to Job, so long as he does not kill him. Now, Job's wife comes to him. Go figure. Of all the things he still has, it's his wife and she nags him to spit on God's name and be done with it. What does Job do? He reprimands her and praises God. God in turn tells the Devil to take a long walk off a short pier and rewards Job's faith by restoring all that was lost to him, even doubling his good fortune for his faith.
It's a test of faith. I think everyone has their moment being Job, even if they don't believe in a God. I don't know if I'm keeping my faith, but I am trying to be at least a good father to a changeling princess who absolutely adores me.
Sadly, I do not have the strength of a figure from the Bible. They're just stories, aren't they? At any rate, I don't mean to ramble into a religious perspective of comparing me to a man who supposedly lived three thousand years ago or so. I doubt because I cannot believe what I cannot feel or touch. Faith is a commodity I cannot at this present time believe in.
Thinking back, maybe I have failed myself more than anything else. My faith in who and what I am was shaken in a far away land and finally broken when my daughter died.
I failed, not God, not anyone other than myself. I realize that now as I pull myself painfully from the doldrums of misery. The shattered bits of my faith must be picked up, I must go on. It won't be the same as it was before, but what is after certain events occur to leave permanent scars deep inside one's soul?
Maybe my test is to see if I can grow up a bit more and stop wallowing in my self pity. Maybe I can pull myself out of this pit I've dug myself into. God or no God, I am responsible for the path in life I choose to follow. Faith is more of a guide rather than a rulebook to follow verbatim. Chrysalis has a second chance with me, I think. I'm getting a second chance with her.
I will see my daughter again one day. But, as the line from Gladiator goes, "Not yet."
I have to go on for Chrysalis. She needs me. The road before me I see is long, treacherous, full of pitfalls. Can I make it? Do I have the mental fortitude to follow this path?
The months go by, winter transitions to a wet spring. I'm back to work. My Chryssie continues to grow, to learn, to discover herself. She practices her shape shifting and her magic under my watchful eye. I'm sure she's also doing it when I'm at work, but I don't mind. I do tell her to clean up any mess she might make and if she thinks it might not be a good idea to do to not do it. It takes time, but the pain eventually fades, but there's always a hole in my heart where my daughter once was. I fold it away like a precious part of my soul and keep it in the safest place in my heart, right next to this growing love I have for my second daughter.
They would have made beautiful sisters.
For my birthday, Mom sent me a locket with my daughter's picture in it. Inscribed in it were the words, "Gone, but never forgotten and always missed."
I've never taken it off since.
Thanks, Mom. I love you.
The actor who came last year looking for shooting locations came back. They've decided they're going to shoot their movie in Owen. The town's population of less than fifty receives the news with a great deal of excitement. Shooting begins within a month. They want to use my house as part of a background in some of their scenes. It's supposed to be a romantic comedy. I might have mentioned before it was this actor's personal project. He meets me at work, commenting I'm looking the exact same way as I had before.
He offers me a couple of hundred dollars to be an extra on the movie. Helping out a veteran, he calls it. Five seconds of just walking behind the actors while they do their scene in the middle of the road. Easy stuff. Naturally, I jump at the chance to be in a big movie. I ask him what the movie is going to be about. So far, I've just heard it's going to be a romantic comedy.
The man smiles, looks around slyly as if he doesn't want anyone to hear what he has to say to me and crooks his finger for me to lean in. I do so and he whispers, "It's called Discord and Harmony."
The name lingers in my ear as I try to figure out where the hell I've heard those terms before. It's not until I get home and get greeted by Chryssie it dawns on me.
Oh, no, the actor's name isn't John de Lancie, in case you were wondering. Just because a movie title reminds you of a certain show doesn't mean it's going to be based on that show. In this case, it's pure coincidence. Still, it does make a chuckle-worthy moment. Shooting starts in June and is scheduled to last a couple of weeks at the most.
I'm seeing an opportunity to make some easy money and start cleaning up the two spare rooms upstairs for possible boarders for the two weeks of the shoot. The idea was thrown casually out when I spoke with the guy, mentioning I could have two rooms ready and available. I name my price for the two weeks and my offer is taken under consideration.
There's four bedrooms upstairs in the house. One belongs to Chryssie and one is dedicated to my grandpa. He was a Korean War vet and a recipient of the Medal of Honor. After his passing, I took some time helping grandma convert one of the bedrooms as a sort of memorial to him. There's his shadow box with all his ranks and medals up there, including the Medal of Honor. His uniform is displayed prominently, along with photographs of him, some of the guys he served with, the unit he was attached to, books, various memoirs. One of the books was autographed by General Douglas MacArthur himself. It's a war museum and memorial. There's even a plaque listing the names of the guys my grandpa knew in Korea who didn't come home.
I go there on days when my own demons haunt me, sitting in the old recliner - the only odd thing standing out in the room - sometimes with Chryssie on my lap and staring out the window. The room calms me as I think of how grandpa went through the same stuff I did. It gives me perspective in the futility of war, but the desire to watch the back of the guy next to you. I'd tell the stories grandpa told me to my adopted daughter. Maybe when she's older she can ask questions about her paw-paw.
Come to think of it, my dad served, too. He went Air Force, retired a Captain after twenty years. Now he's doing his thing. Crap, I come from a military family. I think that every time I pause to consider my lineage from both sides of the family.
Anyways, we - that is mostly me - clean up the other two rooms, putting stuff in the attic or in the basement. I don't go down there much, but that's where I do the laundry. It's partially finished, but I don't even let Chrysalis down there. The door stays shut as I always want to keep an eye on her. I'm sure she's explored it while I'm at work several times, but for the most part, she knows better. She's only allowed down there when I go down there. It's also our storm shelter in case of tornados.
Chrysalis is getting bigger. I'm beginning to notice it now. She's almost doubled her weight since first arriving. She's growing a little bit faster than a human child, it seems. It could also just be her growth spurts are throwing me off. I don't know, it's just fun watching her grow and learn. The internet is as much her teacher as I am her teacher and I'm careful to use the parental controls so she doesn't accidentally find sites I'd rather her not discover.
Now, the only reason I bring up the movie shoot is because Chrysalis wound up being in the same shot where I was walking in the background. A couple of the guys on the camera crew end up taking the two rooms upstairs. I welcome them in, a lot more confident Chryssie will mind herself. She's gotten better with her changeling ability to change her appearance, but most of the time, I tell her to practice hiding. If she doesn't get caught all day, I get her ice cream. If she is spotted, she turns into a cat and plays the part.
Okay, she still gets ice cream. I spoil the crap out of my princess.
Well, if you look at the scene in question, you'll of course see my goofy self waltzing by in the background like a putz. I pass by a clump of bushes. If you pause the movie just as I'm about to cut in front of those bushes, you'll see Chryssie's eyes glowing as she's staring up at me. Nobody spotted her. She stayed in her changeling form and simply blended in with her surroundings, using her ability to just bend the light around her form. Only her eyes stood out as she was still struggling to hold the magic. It was pretty hard for her to do that, but my girl did it!
I made two grand in rent from those two guys. Not bad for two weeks of room and board. They were nice, liked looking at my grandpa's stuff and never knew a changeling was watching them like a little predator.
I think it's instinctive for changelings to be able to hide if necessary. This would suggest something odd about their society, but what? I haven't a clue. People assume they have a hive mentality simply because they have bug-like characteristics. But I would like to point out one key thing changelings lack that all bugs possess; antennae.
I really don't know how to build on that at this point, but I'm just pointing that out. If I find something else out, I'll let you know. For now, just keep in mind I'm starting to think of changelings as social animals like a pride of lions or a pack of wolves rather than bees. The mental link between us might have something to do with Chrysalis being an alicorn among her species. I mean, she's got the horn and the wings, but I also recall the other changelings having horns and wings. Was it because she was distinctly different from the other changelings? I mean, come on, she faced Celestia in a moment of desperation.
Was this Chrysalis the same one? Or was it an alternate reality?
The possibilities also led me to believe it might not even have anything to do with the other stories I'd read.
I need to stop now. I'm confusing myself, thinking too much.
Once things quiet down, Chryssie and I settle down into a routine. On Sundays, I take her to the river and we go swimming during the summer. The water is perfect and teaching Chrysalis how to swim is not really different than watching a horse swim. She loves it!
My birthday comes and goes. I don't make a big deal of it, but I do get a few cards from the family. My boss gives me the day off as a present. It's a Saturday. Two days off in a row! Chryssie and I spend my birthday camping out by the river. We share the clear summer nights pointing out constellations and I tell her campfire stories grandpa used to tell me. We fish, we swim, we play. Chryssie has her first s'mores. She loves them!
Teaching her continues and she's a quick study. I show her animals in the wild. The first time she sees a fawn, she tries to imitate it. I find she tries to mimic everything living, but there appears to be a limitation to the size. She can appear as anything she chooses, some requiring a lot more practice than others, but she can't shrink her size past a certain point. It's fascinating watching her try new forms, though it's a little weird looking at a fifty pound squirrel.
She's learning to read and write. Chryssie loves learning and attacks the little learning challenges I give her like a starved wolf after a rabbit. So long as I keep her mind occupied, she's perfectly happy. If she's bored, she discovers things to do. Not all of them are exactly things I'd approve of.
Like levitating as many dishes as she can handle at once and floating them around the kitchen. Like the time she tried to rearrange the living room and wound up knocking over one of the book shelves. Luckily, nothing broke.
"Sowwy, daddy."
Her downcast eyes and head hung in shame made me feel guilty for yelling at her. I made her help me put everything back and sat her in a corner for half an hour.
I appreciate she's getting stronger with her magic and she wants to hone her skills, but I really would like to have a house still standing after my adopted daughter's experimentations. I give her exercises that are simple, yet engaging to practice her magic on. Not all of them are successful as I have no clue how to go about teaching magic to a changeling. She views them as chores. Well, they are. She's getting to the point where she can start pulling her own weight around the house. I intend to instill in her responsibility and a work ethic, to be respectful and courteous. I really hope she becomes a kind mare and not the supposedly wicked villainess in the show.
I really don't want to be that guy people point to and say, "Hey, that's the daddy of Malificent!" That would royally suck.
So, I try my best to be what I think is a positive role model. For one thing, I haven't had a drink since the end of February.
I prepare for her birthday, the summer winding down. We bake a cake together, I give her a present, and we spend the day swimming and have a picnic. It's a special day I had to postpone because of work, but that Sunday is special for both of us.
She's still dragging that Twilight plushie everywhere we go. She's also no longer afraid of the car and sits in the front, on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat. It's large enough for her to just sit there and rest her chin on the seat and make funny faces at me when she's in a good mood. Thankfully, that's a lot. Chryssie is a happy filly and I take that as a very good sign for her future. She's learning to be polite, to appreciate what she has. My little princess gets lots of love as I also picture giving her the same love I would have given Crystal.
I really hope I'm raising her right.
I think I'm learning as much as she is. I call my parents a bit more often, check up on my sister. The passing of my daughter has made us a little closer, but we all still lead our separate lives. Mom wants me to find a nice girl and be happy. Dad's on his next divorce. My sister is trying to keep her business afloat. Other than that, nothing's really changed.
Another thing; I'm not having the nightmares as often as I used to. Chrysalis still sleeps with me, but she's starting to get too big. She resists sleeping in her own room, in her own bed, but she's becoming a big girl. Besides, daddy doesn't mind having his little princess with him, but waking up with a mouthful of mane is disconcerting. She might start in her bed at bedtime, but often I'll wake up with her happily curled up against my side, or with her hooves wrapped around an arm.
I can't get mad at that.
I need to put my foot down.
Having just gotten home from work, I'm tired and looking forward to seeing Chryssie's face at the door. Going in, she's there, as usual, flinging herself into my arms as I crouch down to say hello. She's been cleaning the house, I notice. Or at least dusting it. Either way, she's taken pride in helping me keep a neat house. I'm very proud of her for that.
"The house looks good, honey." I giver her a hug and a kiss. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, daddy!" She beams at me.
We go to the kitchen so I can have dinner. She's waited for me to come home and we eat together, as always. She tells me about the things she saw on the internet, the new things she discovered, and tells me about the learning games she's allowed to play. I listen, smiling and laughing with her. It feels like a normal night, though some might think it odd to leave the house in the care of a changeling filly five or maybe six years old at the most. Chryssie is like a kitten in that respect, but this one cleans up after herself if she makes a mess. I can also talk to her and expect a response of some form.
It's weird, but I'm used to it by now. It's been a year, after all.
But breaking one habit with determination has proven to be troublesome. As I mentioned before Chrysalis loves to sleep with me. I want her sleeping in her own room. I don't want her dependant on me as a living security blanket. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up to her horn poking me in the face or in the neck or in the ribs. It's not sharp by any means, but I'm not interested in losing an eye. She's getting too big to be sleeping with daddy.
After dinner, I carry her upstairs, read her a bedtime story and tuck her in. So far, so good. This is only the beginning. I can feel her eyes on me as I leave. Chrysalis waits.
I get ready for bed, pause, listening for the pitter-patter of hoof steps upstairs. Nothing.
So far, so good.
I turn out the light, slide under the covers and get comfortable. It's dark. I'm hearing the grandfather clock tick-tock away. My hearing feels very keen. It's the same game we've been playing every night since I started making her sleep in her room. I've been giving in and letting her stay with her daddy. It has to stop and I'm not looking forward to it.
It begins when I hear four little hooves thump to the hardwood floor upstairs. There's a pause as I can picture my little Chrysalis frozen in place as she tries to figure out if Daddy heard her or not. I'm usually fast asleep, but it's been an hour since I turned in and I'm staring at the ceiling, waiting.
Her hooves click lightly upon the wood, barely decipherable through the creaking of a constantly settling house. They're there, heading out the room, into the hallway upstairs, pausing the top of the stairs. She's trying to navigate her way down, but I hear nothing.
Except for a slight buzzing sound of droning wings. Normally she tromps up and down the stairs like a herd of elephants, but she's flying! Or just drifting. She's coming down, not going up. I smirk, covering my face with my hands. I don't want to be the bad guy! But I do have to be Dad. I can hear her on the ground floor now, again the sound of her hooves catching my ears, coming closer and closer as she comes down the hall to my room.
She's at my door. I roll my head towards her and see her large, luminescent green eyes looking eagerly up at the bed, her ears perked forward. She comes forward, padding on suddenly stealthy hooves.
Just before she jumps up, I call out, "Chryssie, go to your room."
She has her best pleading little voice. "Wanna be with you."
"You're a big girl." I swing my legs out over the bed and plant them on the floor. Sitting up, I've got my arms locked down as my hands grip the side of the bed as I lean forward and down at the little changeling. She puts her front hooves on my knees and stands as high as she can, her eyes large, round presentations of adorableness. "You should be sleeping in your own bed."
"Don't like being alone," she tells me in a fearful whine. Chryssie edges closer to me, trying to elicit a hug from my stiff and statuesque body. By now, she's sidled along my leg and is pushing her head into my lower chest.
I'm picturing her as Crystal right now, wondering if she was in Chrysalis' place right now, how I'd react to this situation.
I'd do the same thing, I'd realize as I'm picking up my little princess, hugging her on my lap, surrendering as a father should to a daughter who's not ready to give up her right to snuggle with daddy when she's afraid. Realizing fear of being alone is the reason she's not in her room and asleep may have to do something with what I've had lingering in the back of my mind. I realize I'm afraid, too. Afraid of losing her.
She sleeps with me that night and I find I don't really mind. I'm just dad and daddy's little girl just got what she wanted. I'm such a sap.
Yay me.