It was not the end.
No, the light still shifted in her eyes; she had not been given the good grace of silence—not yet, at least. And in some sense, that was a bit of a disappointment: it had all come so quickly—painless, really. Perhaps then things would at least make a bit of sense. The constant transmutations between life and death were becoming so common that the princess was beginning to blur the two.
And there was peace drifting among the warmth and radiant nothingness—lasting peace. It was a place where her mind was too scattered to pick up on worry or fear or anger: there was only rest and the plainest of sensations. There were no dishonesties in the nothingness, just as there were no volitions. There was simply “being”, and that was enough in its own merit.
Luna left herself to the light and noise: the gentle vibration of space as she moved through the shapeless void. Unlike her previous experience, this realm rested in a realm beyond the fabric of her “mission.” She knew, deep down, that she was not dead; she knew that the watcher and all Chrysalis’ game pieces would be cutting at her mind. The parasite was something of a guide into the darkest of Luna’s experiences and horrors. While the queen lacked true, raw strength, her entire life was centric on the manipulation and breaking of minds around her.
Whereas the soldier would claim his spear as a defense, Chrysalis would claim the soldier itself. A mind was, after all, a far more malleable weapon than a blade: so long as the scent of hope remained, a soul could crawl through flame and shrapnel.
And the Nightmare would do so much more.
No, Luna knew exactly the Queen’s aims: expose the Nightmare and turn it against its own people. She wasn’t an idiot—Chrysalis was breaking her down for a very specific reason, and there was only one part of the princess that stood as “of interest.” If there were any other reasons then Chrysalis would have picked Celestia or somepony of weak resolve.
At the trail of her thoughts, Luna picked up on a small noise: a ticking. She’d heard it somewhere, but it was the sort of thing that was so common that she’d lost track of its face. A ticking—an endless ticking—droned on through the ether, bringing sensation into her fleshless form.
As time built, there came a feeling into her: a need to blink. She was without eyes, but still carried the faults of an observer—how quaint. Luna let the need consume her.
She blinked.
“Welcome back, Luna.” Chrysalis smiled from across a glass table. “How was the transition?”
The queen’s words were lost to Luna; she spared no mind to the parasite—the world around her had robbed her of focus. A sickness grew in the mare’s stomach as memories broke through the lining of her control. Images of the past singed the corner of her emotional being, but still she held firm.
The pair sat across from one another in the warmth of a covered patio, safe from the storms that painted the sunset in an unsettling golden shine. From the crackling of the floorboards to the clatter of plates, the experience was recalled perfectly from her own memories. Even the flooded streets, which bisected the quiet coffeehouse, flowed and dragged along the very angles than they had in the millennia before.
“Like it? I pieced this little shop together while you were fighting for your life.” Chrysalis kicked her back-hooves onto the table as she took a sip of tea. “Did you die? I did. There really is no way to evade it, but that’s a nonissue at this point. Now it’s just you, me, and the recorder.”
“Recorder?” the princess mumbled, still tracing over each shadow and flickering candle. She remembered this place—something from before the corruption. This café—she came here with her sister every weekend, mostly as an excuse to see the outer reaches of Canterlot.
This was the last time that the two walked together through the city—the last shred of unison they carried.
And Chrysalis sat in her sister’s seat, basking in the misery.
Her voice trembled with boredom—almost as though she’d seen it all before. “Take your time. For every second you spend gawking at my creations, I spend two probing the void that sits inside your skull. Try to overcome the recorder. Try to beat my little game, hm?”
“Is that it? Find it, then?” Luna prodded. Of course, the answer was obvious, but she at least had to be sure.
Chrysalis shook her head. “No, I’m not playing a game of hide and seek with you, princess. It’s about rising above the flame, not just noticing that it’s there. Finding it shouldn’t be a problem—almost everyone finds it.”
“But no one wins?”
“No, but that has never stopped you from acting, has it?” Chrysalis held one of her hooves above the table before lowering her eyes. A green spark shot through the rim of her gaze; upon the table, a device materialized from the sand and dust and light. Pieces became parts, and parts slid together into the body of the recorder.
When it was over, a simple clock stood between the two. The hands spun wildly in their machine, fluctuating between fast and slow—minutes and days.
“I’ll even give it to you, if you want. It won’t change a thing, though.” The queen returned her hooves to her side before taking a sip of coffee. “Black, hm? Oh, you’re quite the forward type, aren’t you, Luna? Keeping it simple and rational—I like that.”
The princess ignored the comment, seizing the clock before her. She could see all the parts still inside, twisting and turning and clicking on, but they did not share the chaotic properties that drove the face in constant change. No, what made the recorder was in perfect order, and only the observed end—the hands—danced in absolute madness.
There were no screws or breaks: the clock was fastened shut and resisted the outside world.
Chrysalis watched as the princess fumbled with the machine; the smile never left her. “Would you like me to give you another hint?”
Luna responded with a glare.
“Alright, alright. This one is a bit random, you see? The clock does something. I don’t know when it’ll happen, but be sure that you’re done here when it hits.” Chrysalis took another sip of coffee before continuing. “Also, you asked me to give you something.”
“What?”
Chrysalis snagged the journal from behind her chair and tossed it to the princess. “There’s a note on page forty: something about my ‘nefarious’ plans or something.”
Luna looked towards the queen with quiet hatred. Nothing quite seemed to phase the parasite: it was as though she was without a sense of desperation. Control had left her a bitter, anonymous mind behind the face of a demon.
Then there was the smile—that constant cancer that would not leave her face. Even in speaking, the unending contentment rattled through her words. “Come now, Luna. A ‘nefarious’ plan? Really? What am I to you: some sort of folkish villain?”
The comment sent a spike through Luna’s skull. “Well—“
“Shut up. You have no idea what you’re dealing with, princess. Do you really think that I spend all my being into that thing you call evil?”
The smile faded.
Luna backed into her chair.
“Think for one damn second. If I wanted to just be evil, I would walk into your little country and slaughter random ponies just for the hell of it. If I wanted evil, I would burn everything down, shifting between faces and minds—forever hidden to your blind, dying eyes.”
“Und—“
“Understand something, Luna. You are stronger than me—far better in almost everything you can do. I can’t move the sun, nor can I cause nearly the destruction that rests within you. No, I have only one talent, but you can be damn sure that I’m going to use it perfectly.” Chrysalis’ eyes sparked again, calling the shadows towards her. “Do you want to know what’s evil? Evil is me slitting your throat right now, taking your form, then walking into Canterlot and murdering everyone you know with subtle, personal hatred. Evil is me finding Celestia and showing her your head so that a violent, spattering death is the last thing to crawl through her broken, wasted mind.”
Luna fell silent.
The shadows departed from Chrysalis, and her eyes faded back into ambivalence.
“Luna, I don’t want plain evil—plain evil is boring and pointless. I already told you that if I wanted you dead then you would already be gone: if I wanted Canterlot to burn, it would already be left in ash.”
“What do you want, then? What do you want?” Luna dropped the recorder on the floor, keeping nothing but the journal. “Everypony wants something, and I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what.”
Chrysalis shrugged. “From you, I want a realization. I want you to know why I function, just to see if you can understand it.”
“And from Canterlot as a whole, what do they have for you?” Luna pleaded.
“Immortality, Luna. Immortality.”
Luna sat in awe. For once, she felt as though Chrysalis was being honest—affected by her words—as though some manner of fear rested behind her. Something was deeply wrong with the queen, no doubt, but at least she recognized a problem. Since the beginning of their relationship, she had hidden behind laughter and mockery, making it as though it were all a game to her. But now Luna saw the real face—the desire and the hunger of a parasite.
But why immortality?
Why that specific phrase? It was not strength or power or control, but “immortality”. Luna slumped back into her chair and mulled it over. Chrysalis, who promptly returned to her illusion of control, sipped nervously on her coffee.
There the two remained, watching with dread as the recorder spun wildly.
Eventually, Luna remembered the journal. The red leather thumped as Luna dropped it on the table. Before continuing, Luna caught the queen in a stare. The two watched each other for some time, simply staring into one another’s weaknesses, calculating each movement they’d take in defense.
“Chrysalis.”
“Hm?”
“I don’t want to kill you if I don’t have to, but I will. There is always backing out, you know. I can help you in Canterlot. We don’t have to let anyone get in the way—just you and me.”
Chrysalis laughed. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, princess.”
--~~--
Luna – She’s not going to let you walk away until she’s done. The recorder’s idea is hers—she is NOT affected. Do NOT let her lie. She knows.
--
The story is simple, really. The rows were lined up in perfect order, constructed with very precise dimensions so that we could succeed. Spring brought in some gardening supplies to get us started, but it still took all her careful explanation before I had any idea what I was doing. No matter what I did, it was going nowhere. The plants always ended up falling flat or simply dying within seconds. I have no idea what sort of flowers Spring was trying to get me to plant, but they were fickle. Beauty aside, the pain of failure and constant doubts left me somewhat pessimistic. I had to give up; Spring finished without me.
Eventually, I began to feel so sickened by it all that I ducked out of the house and tried redeeming myself. The Royal Petunias, or the Royals for short, would only grow if given tender care and absolute attention. Perhaps it was because I lacked initiative that the problems arose in the first place, but I would not allow them to happen again. I took my shovel up in the middle of the night and drew up a whole new garden in the free space we had. Time and time again, the royal would ignore my demands and continue on its merry way, but I persisted. I dug a new hole and planted new plants, even when night had long consumed our garden—even in blindness. I could only pick myself up and try again—try breaking the shell of the royal so that it might grace me with something worth Spring's praise. Of course, plants and nature don’t particularly care about the issues of mere mortals, and I was of no exception. My cries and sweat went unheard, and the joys continued to die endlessly. By the time morning came, our yard was almost completely shredded by my broken gardens.
It was, as many things were, futile in all regards. I was going against a force that I had no experience with, which put me at a keen disadvantage. Though my wife is wonderful at gardening, I have no talent whatsoever. Attempting to combat the royal was like fighting a ghost; there was no way to fully grasp it unless it granted you its fortune. The plants were not so nice to me, nor were they particularly of any help when Spring walked outside that day. My determination did nothing to impress her: it was more of the fact that I was damaging her beloved property. Spring shuffled back in tears.
That day, I came face to face with my own demons. There was always a problem with me: I always prodded, never quitting until I upset someone. Spring wouldn’t let me back inside for hours, and there I sat in the gardens, talking to myself. I mumbled on to the royal about how I’ve come to doubt our marriage, and how I wanted to go back to the city where I belong. Broken, I imagined up Spring when she was years younger. I asked her if we would be together forever, and she responded with a joyful “yes”. The image smiled. Music filled my mind as did fragments of relief; I went to the living petunias and took in their many scents. Deep inside, I felt dread. I knew that she would stop at nothing to keep me with her, but I couldn’t bear to live like this. There weren’t enough people here for me to talk to, and I needed more voices in my life, otherwise I’d go absolutely mad. I ignored the reply. I ignored the hopelessness and went straight for her: control had left me. Spring was in our room, looking at old pictures from when we were both in school. I told her what she meant to me and that I wanted to learn so I wouldn’t make the same mistake. She swatted me aside like a fly, crushing my emotions and dreams with games of ambivalence. Still, I pleaded for her to show me her trade so that I could understand her more: if only for respect. The response broke me: I had parted from her long ago—the distance spread for miles on end. Spring had just as many repressed emotions as I did.
The royal had effectively undermined my existence: it’d sabotaged my joys and turned me into a monster of my own despair. Such petty things: flowers. For all my work, they were just a few stupid plants in our yard. Beauty and ignorance had left me to abandon everything that I knew—traded out for something much worse. I stumbled out of the house, distraught. I uprooted all of my dead flowers and did my best to fill in their lines. But no matter how I tried to cover it up, the decision stuck; Spring was cast away from me, leaving me only with the sour taste of memory. When all was said and done, I decided to make a last chance. I wrote her a poem, hoping that it might soothe her anger and return me.
Broken by my own foul nature
I scream for redemption
Here I fall under your eyes
Your eyes betray me
Too beautiful
For the honest man
Here I lost the final game
I lost my mind
Knowing that you gave me more
The blood still boils
My Spring
I’ll fail you again
Could you ever forgive my weakness
Could you accept failure
I pray for a second chance
My final, weakened gambit
Hold me
Just give me light.
When I was done with the poem, I looked out in the garden. I saw row after row, the first belonging to Spring, and the second belonging to my own hands—a constant pattern between us. What lay within her rows flourished, while mine had shrunk to the sun. It was the end of our garden.
--~~--
Luna looked across the table.
Chrysalis was still staring at her, uprooting her weaknesses. “Yes?”
“What does the recorder do, exactly? Shouldn’t it be activated soon?” Luna looked over to the clock, which still remained on the floor. “For some reason, I have a feeling like you’re not telling me everything.”
“Well I’m not. Telling you everything would be somewhat pointless, all things considered.” Chrysalis looked down at her hind legs; she’d left them crossed on the table for the entirety of their meeting, even in her rage. “The recorder is a little thing I thought up as a way to experiment with my clients.”
Luna raised her eyebrow.
“Well, perhaps that was a poor choice of words. I mean that I used the recorder as a way to better understand how they respond to different stimuli.” Chrysalis stopped again. “The clock isn’t really a clock, you see. It’s more like a timer—at timer hooked up to your brain.”
The princess grunted. “And what does it count down to?”
“When time runs out, the machine will light your psyche ablaze. You’ll be erased, along with any memory of this event.” Chrysalis rubbed her cheek, as though she had a toothache. “Are you sure this is black coffee? I feel like you’ve got sugar or something in there.”
Luna stared at the queen.
“What?” she asked in confusion.
“Erased?”
“Oh, yes, this event—this whole scene—is one that you’ve actually been through several hundred times now. The last time you went through this, you went immediately for the journal, but sometimes you just kind of sit there. Sometimes you and I do nothing—just drinking coffee for fifteen minutes before you’re obliterated.” Chrysalis spun the drink around in her mug before looking back to the frozen princess. “You see, the advantage of being in your psyche is that I can see how you respond to anything I say. I can bring out any situation or setting or form just to see how you react. Every so often, you’ll try to light me ablaze or hang me up by the ceiling; I just reform when the recorder trickles out of time.”
Luna looked down at herself. “How many times have you done this?”
“I lost count!” the queen squealed. “All I can say is that this is most definitely the worst cup of coffee served to any of my clients, and I really expected the most from you.”
“You… You’ve seen…”
Chrysalis clicked her teeth together in boredom. “I’ve seen just about everything, yes. And to be honest, I’m impressed. You’ve got quite a few interesting memories in there—much more so than Barlowe or that Shining Armor character.”
“The Nightmare…”
“The ‘Nightmare’ was probably my favorite. To be honest, I’ve brought that in on several occasions, allowing it to float around us while you squirmed in your chair. Did you know that you have a habit of getting quiet when you’re afraid? See, most people scream or something, but you just get really quiet.” The queen stared Luna in the eyes. “Are you afraid right now?”
Luna shook her head, but kept her eyes on the clock. The ticking inside had grown significantly faster than it had been when she first witnessed its creation.
Chrysalis noticed the sound as well. The queen’s muscles relaxed just as her eyes returned to their disinterest. “Well, your time is almost up here. I think we’ll redo this a few times just to be sure I get enough information. After that, we’ll try the last of my games, hm?”
A bead of sweat rolled down the mare’s temple. “Can I write something in the journal?”
Chrysalis shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Luna opened the book back to the fortieth page before searching wildly for a pen. Seeing none, she turned to the queen in desperation. Chrysalis looked at the table and allowed a quill and inkwell to form, just as the recorder had before it.
Luna snagged the quill and scribbled into her book.
Immortality. She wants immortality.
Just as the quill ran dry, the recorder clicked. Chrysalis leaned back into her chair as the princess flickered into nothingness.
There she remained, thinking over everything that was said, watching as her creations fell back to dust and scattered by her breath.
There she sat until a great light returned before her.
Chrysalis smiled.
“Welcome back, Luna. How was the transition?”