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// Truth of the Watcher 
// Story: Changeling 
// by Criticul 
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 Luna heard the bloodied gasps from quite a while away but could not give the voice an owner. That is, until she recalled a very similar memory—one left from the fragments of a dream. Somewhere between the scales of sanity and suffering, she’d lost track of her own horrors; everything had become a battle of ideas, rather than a battle of identity and experience. Concepts and worldviews stunk like corpses along a fresh tide, and in some sense, they stood very much alike: both casualties of splintered intentions. Of course, she had to be suspicious. Knowing what she’d come from had all built her to this moment—the moment of Chrysalis’ game.
        She recalled how she’d made it here from the void—how the path had pulled her here into the open.
        When the numbness had left her, Luna scrambled about in Chrysalis’ room for a bit. Tearing through the furniture proved to be a somewhat useless feat, though she couldn’t quite accept the nothingness. Chrysalis was the sort of creature to leave behind clues, right? Misdirection and crookedness were something of a trade for her—it would only make sense that she’d leave a bit of herself in the challenge.
        But with all the room turned upside down, Luna could only sit back on the bed and sigh. There was nothing for her here: no warning—no hidden paths. She was left with only one option, and that was to follow Chrysalis straight out the cut in the wall’s fabric. Honestly, there could be no more nerve-wracking situation: following a psychopath into the light—light she heralded alongside death. No, it certainly was not an ideal situation, but Luna could only grit her teeth and hope for the best.
        
        She passed through the veil, satchel strapped around her neck along with the bloodied choker. The light beyond took her sight and consumed her.
        Cold air brushed across her face, filling her with a strange feeling of weightlessness: it was as though she’d left her physical form behind and stood as a spirit in the unknown. What she saw was heavily constricted by Chrysalis’ own design; whatever chamber she’d walked into was filled with a heavy mist. There was a constant barrier around her of roughly ten paces, but beyond that, her sight could only pick up the sounds and shaking of the earth around her.
        Of course, sight did not seem to be too much an issue. Coming straight from the tent, Luna was surrounded by great stone walls. The light came from somewhere above, almost resembling something like sunlight, but the sky carried only frost. No warmth found its way through the cover of the fog, which left the light in a realm of uncertainty.
Having only two directions, forward and back, Luna decided to shuffle forward, keeping her attention set on the ground in front of her. She knew not whether these “tests” would be physical, mental, or within some twist of Chrysalis’ own insanity.
Luna’s hooves glided silently through the grass; she kept her eyes forward—never shifting.
It was not so much fear that took her but unknowing. There were clashing images of the parasite: the failure of Canterlot against the psychopath that crawled out in the night, infesting the minds and memories of those around her. What was worse is that the latter had no obvious desires—she wandered between chaos and complete order, taking life without sense, but giving all of herself to her demented view of reality.
Of all the equestrian philosophies, there was none that came so close to death as Chrysalis’. What she stood for was simply untouchable—a sadistic existence combined with the nihilistic poison. But it was not bound by bloodlust or stupidity: she’d thought of every position—she was not an animal taken by hunger, but a careful, calculated architect, sculpting away at whatever took her focus.
It just so happened that her current focus lie somewhere within the princess’ heart. What that specifically was remained a mystery, but Luna knew that it would not be reached without the complete domination and collapse of her mind. Chrysalis wanted something just like anypony else: what that thing was could still be held away from her.
Luna’s thoughts were broken as a frigid wind ripped through the chasm. Whatever she was walking to, it was nearby. She could sense it in the air: a certain presence. There was another here—the faint tingling of magic and willpower had wrapped itself in the mist.
Not dark, but desperate.
        Luna began to jog, then run, then sprint. Adrenaline trickled into her veins; there were few creatures that carried such willpower—such energy. Worse even, the traces of the sensation were all too familiar.
        Luna heard the bloodied gasps from quite a while away but could not give the voice an owner. That is, until she recalled a very similar memory—one left from the fragments of a dream. Somewhere between the scales of sanity and suffering, she’d forgotten the warmth of her own family—the love carried by her sister.
        “Celestia?” Luna screamed, tears pooling at the edges of her eyes. For all her intensity, the mare could not bear to fly: the thought was pushed out of her head. No, only desperation remained—only a feeling of indescribable dread that had finally exposed itself as a sore.
        The voice was silent.
        “I can hear you! I can—“
        The walls broke off to the sides, bringing Luna to the mouth of a great ring. The princess stopped; the fog faded from sight.
        Celestia breathed heavily.
        Blood ran down the side of her face, collecting in the dirt.
        “Luna…”
        The princess shuffled to the center of the circle, just beside the gore-soaked ditch. Life had abandoned the chasm: grass turned to mud, and the frost spread further. Luna could see her breath as she kneeled over her dying sister.
        Celestia coughed a bit of blood onto the younger mare’s face before struggling to find words.
        “Luna… Luna… It was always… going to happen….”
        “No, it didn’t—I mean—it still doesn’t.  Did you follow her? How did—“ Luna stared into her sister’s empty eyes. Broken blood vessels had left her eyes a crimson hue. Still, Luna held onto the hope behind them—she held onto her memories.
        “Luna… one of us… would always have to….” Celestia looked down at her wounds. “I… mourn for you… Luna….”
        The mare shook terribly. “What? I don’t… I don’t understand.”
        “Luna… our blood… must be spilled… in the end….”
        Luna shook her head wildly, sending tears across her Celestia’s battered body.
        “Listen… Listen to me, Luna….” The princess struggled. “We… are not blessed… We are not… blessed….”
        Fear flooded Luna’s mind. She saw the sign of death residing behind Celestia’s bloodied eyes. The end was near.
        “Luna… watch over them… Please…. Do better than me… Luna….”
        The light faded from Celestia in those final moments. Luna struggled to pull her sister from the blood and mess, but could not bear the strength in the back of her mind. Tears and screams held the younger sister close, pouring out through the pain of her cries. She threw her anger into the skies, and with it went her hope and joy.
        The light beside her was gone…
        …and she knew not why or how or when.
        Something had taken it from her—something safely beyond her sight and knowledge.
        Luna sat over the body for as long as her heart would let her, clinging to the hope that her tears or pains could bring her back, but knowing full well that the end had come.
--~~--
        The eyes.
        The eyes were there—she saw them, if only for a moment, shining in the dark.
        Luna stood from the body, hooves still shaking wildly. “Come out.”
        There was only silence.
        “COME OUT.” 
        The queen stepped out from the darkness. There was no smile within her. There was no sense of joy or control.
        The queen’s face was painted with blackened tears.
        Luna limped towards her, eyes burning. “What… What did you…?”
        Chrysalis shook her head. “Luna, I don’t have control of everything. I didn’t want this—I promise you.”
        “I’LL KILL YOU, CHRYSALIS. I. WILL. KILL. YOU.” The darkness in her heart—the emotions she’d repressed—everything poured through the princess’ words. It was not hatred. It was not anger or jealousy or pride. No word could pain the color of death inside her mind—no nightmare could have brought it in her.
        For a moment, Chrysalis had no response but fear. Luna walked towards her with endless hate burning through her eyes. There was no control; pressure pooled in the broken mare’s skull, screaming for her to release everything. There could be no force—no act of violence—to satisfy her anger. Chrysalis’ carried not the strength to even capture a flicker of her energy.
        She saw the end coming, and began retreating into the shadows. “Now stop, Luna. I didn’t do anything! Now, if you—“
        Luna screamed without sense; all direction had left her.
        Chrysalis looked off to her side; her green eyes flickered black with fear. She turned to Luna, screaming wildly, but falling upon deaf ears. Rage had built its own barrier to her senses—there was only a constant, droning howl within her skull. It itched at it—it called to her. Release, it screamed. Release.
        Chrysalis turned again, forced into backpedaling.
        But it was not away from the princess.
        Luna looked off to her side.
        Stone eyes stared back.
        There stood the unliving creature—the watcher. It appeared to her in the form of a bipedal statue, bearing a scythe and a birdcage. Its face was unlike any creature that she had seen: its features were alike hers, but curiously morphed. Its stone body was clad in armor and wounds; it was an elder soldier dressed for war.
        At first, the thing only stared at her. It had not hooves but fleshy digits, much alike that of a dragon or a bird. It had not a mane but hair upon its skull, which rested unkempt under the soldier’s helmet.
        It had not a soul, but a constant, beating presence beside her. It was a face she felt that she knew, but none that she had ever seen before.
        The creature stared at the two creatures, unmoving.
        
        Even in her rage, Luna could not look away from the creature. Something about it had her locked in an unbreakable tether.
        Out from the corner of her eye, she could see the queen shuffling towards the creature, eyes locked.
        “Chrysalis, stop.”
        The queen continued towards the statue, lost in her own mind.
        “Stop it! Stop!” the princess shouted.
        Chrysalis was now at the knees of the statue, staring up into its frozen eyes. The allure of the watcher was unbreakable—it was something they had been bound to from the very beginning—something greater than friends or family.
        “STOP.” 
        Luna blinked—a flicker in time.
        She couldn’t even hear the scream.
        Chrysalis’ blood was spattered across the watcher’s blade and upon its knees; two bodies swung lifelessly within the cage: one of a pure white and the other black.
        Luna backed away from the statue.
        Breath left her.
        Rage left her.
        Then came fear.
        The earth moved under the princess’ feet; she could feel the watcher approaching, but it did not move. Luna’s mind blanked; her eyes remained upon the statue’s gaze.
        Closer she came.
        Control was left to memories. She could feel herself being dragged towards the creature, but she was not walking; it was as though the earth itself moved under her, shifting her closer to the end. No matter what movement she could make—no matter what thought entered her mind—still she floated onward.
        Closer she came.
        Her head rose as her eyes met that of the watcher’s. It stared down with a certain ambivalence—a carnivorous, hopeless gaze. There was nothing in its heart. There was no intention behind it or magic in its heart. There were no charms guiding its movements; it had existed so long as life had skittered in the darkness.
        They’d built monuments in its name—they’d worshipped it down to its final points: the creature of the watcher. Everything they knew was from it—there was nothing outside of its realm or its knowing. All sense was borne from it; all blood flowed for it.
        Luna closed her eyes.
        It had finally come to her; what it all meant.
        And just as a hint of recognition came to her, the watcher took its toll.
        All went white.