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// Letter in the Darkness 
// Story: Changeling 
// by Criticul 
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It was, perhaps, the lightest of Canterlot’s nights—the sea of torches had long drowned the sky in smoke. And in the eyes of each shaken pony, there could be no radiance sufficient to silence the fears that clung heavily to their hearts.
 
The changelings had simply walked through them. Fires still coursed through the city streets; homes still fell as their foundations cracked and weathered. In what was seen as the fall of sanctity, evil had found its way into their cities and into their lives. No matter the greatness of victory, no matter their heroism and resilience, a scar had been left upon the face of ponykind—one that would not quickly heal.
 
Their leader’s glory, though once so unquestionable, was whisked away in that moment of ultimate defeat. The light in their eyes was snuffed with no greater care than a candle in the night, and were it not for the force of unchained love, darkness might have fallen once more upon Equestria.
 
But peace did return to them, and life was set to continue as usual. There was a wedding and the birth of a prince; there were parties and celebrations to be had in the battered streets of Canterlot. Their fears were repressed like a cancer—that is, until they resurfaced in the silence of the night. It was then that they abandoned their false paragons and joys to face the nature of their bloody predicament: that their lives were in the hooves of the watchpony.
 
And in some sense, they were under the perfect eye. Luna held in her the greatest possible desire—the greatest duty—to shelter her people from those that would harm them. But in that vein, she could not bear to stand silent.
 
A lowly guard managed his way up to the watcher’s post. Bearing food and drink, the colt was to leave the supplies and be on his way: promptness was his only standard. Stair after stair, the colt climbed—eyes down, head bowed.
 
When at last he reached the top of the tower and came to the end of his duty, the colt took a breath.
 
“Your supplies are here, your highness,” he called from outside the watchpony’s hatch. The guard did his best to drain the emotion from his face, but the excitement of the day had left him admiring his kingdom as though it were born again. Even the thought of royal presence was enough to tug at his spirit: they were all such giving souls.
 
The hatch remained quiet—unmoving and abandoned. Perhaps, he concluded, she did not hear him.
 
“Your supplies are here, your highness!” The soldier doubled his attempts at neutrality, but still, excitement tugged upon his face. Thoughts of patriotism soon returned to its place at the top of his mind.
 
The hatch remained shut for minutes, but the soldier remained motionless—locked in dreams of glory and valor under those that he admired so dearly.
 
“Princess Luna?” The colt rapped on the entrance slightly, only to find that the hinges had been left unbarred. Strange—the Princess was usually so calculating. To think that she would leave the door unlocked: something was wrong—terribly wrong.
 
“Princess Luna?” the colt called again, now peering through the open hatch. “Are you OK? I have...“
 
The watch was empty.
 
The telescope had been ripped from its place, and the platform was left near pitch darkness. There was, however, a single lit candle placed carefully above the oak reporting table. Seeing no other life, the guard shuffled his way to the desk.
 
The papers had been all but cleared, save for one open scroll that stood open, as though awaiting a reader. Ink blots still shimmered alongside the candle, signaling the document’s freshly written message.
 
It read, in fine cursive, the message of a troubled mare.
 
--~~--
        Please take this note to my sister: I do not have much longer here.
 
                When I heard the name Chrysalis and all of its meanings, there was a numbing in my heart. Not only did I carry the heaviest of regrets that I was not able to aid in the protection of my own people, but I learned that my sister, Celestia, was struck down by the anger of this most heartless creature. I did what any leader was to do: I apologized for my absence and did my best to assist my sister with her duties.
 
                But in that vein, I felt something inside me. It was, as I recall, only a shred of familiarity—a brief flicker of a memory that festered somewhere in my psyche. Deep inside, I felt a pull that I had thought to be long buried.
 
                But, as time went on, and my mind churned further, I felt that force grow more and more real. A memory was resurfacing, even when I had cast it away so long ago—when the mares from Ponyville had shown mercy and separated that idea from my being.
 
                It was a nightmare that I remembered: a story of my greed and my jealousy and my hate. I recalled that I had once been akin to this creature—Chrysalis—in that I shared her pride. As I have heard, this “changeling” was the perfect sociopath, with manipulative powers superior even to my own.
 
                I was as she is: a renegade narcissist with desires that no pony could have shaken from me—not even my own sister. The clamor for attention and power consumed me in full, and I began my desperate search for a status that I now recognize as minor. But it took years for that thought to finally seek in, and when it finally did, it came in my final defeat, or at least the defeat of my darker half.
 
                Defeat was, however, the only solution to my madness. Nothing short of the complete obliteration of my evil would suffice in extinguishing those thoughts. My banishment, which I see now as a reasonable punishment, utterly failed in shaking me from those murderous desires. Instead, it honed them—it allowed me to plan my revenge through the lessons I had learned from my first defeat. And as shameful as it is to admit, I was on the brink of total victory when my hubris fell out from under me: Twilight and her friends were stronger than I had foreseen.
 
                I fear that we have made a terrible mistake—a terrible, evil mistake.
 
                Chrysalis is still breathing hate on to this world, and I feel the insurmountable threat looming just beyond my sight. She will return, and she will be prepared against our most powerful elements of love and peace. When I was sent to my lunar prison, my only experience was in losing to my sister. When I returned, I toppled that which toppled me, but fell to elements even greater.
 
                This changeling queen—this wounded threat—has seen the full extent of our ability. She has seen our greatest weapons and our most unyielding defenses. For every second she breathes—thinks—death waits at our walls.
 
                And the memory comes full circle: she is as I was, and the ending is inevitable.
 
                I must go. Time is short here, and I place great faith in her wounds. We have a short window of time to deal with the threat before it is readied against us. Her armies are scattered, and her power is drained—I must take her now.
 
                Alone.
 
                Celestia, you must not follow me. You must not send the troops. We cannot bear to risk ourselves if she attacks again without my presence. If she is truly wounded, then I believe I have the strength to finish this. If she is not, I will return with my findings.
 
                Nothing, sister—nothing will stop me from leaving.
 
                It is my duty to end this: the memory has built a storm in me. Today, I learned that I have again failed to protect my people. I will not betray myself again. I will not let this darkness return. I will do what I have been cursed to do, and perchance I might find absolution.
 
                I love you, sister. I love your mercy and your virtue and your strength, but this is a mistake that I and I alone must correct. I hold in my hooves the power to fight that which I so critically regret about myself—it must be this way.
 
                Farewell and Goodnight,
 
                Luna.