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// Break 
// Story: Changeling 
// by Criticul 
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Darkness loomed.
The sun had just begun to dip into the horizon, but the chaos of Ponyville had yet to lose its momentum. Chrysalis had done it—she’d lit the spark that burned upon the trail of doubt and fear that had been crawling forward day after day. They knew it was coming: from the first whispers of Luna’s departure, dread had sown its seeds within their hearts. Weeks passed; her trail slipped away into the wind. Days grew colder, and the nights longer.
Denial and repression came upon the Equestrian people, sweeping from mind to mind, offering smiles and warmth at the cost of truth. Walls and locks were built to protect them from the reality shifting and swirling around them—that the immortal, the spirit that watched over them in the darkness, had fallen from its pedestal.
Luna glanced through her window.
So, this was the end, was it?
The streets sat empty; the clouds had all but drowned the color from the sky.  No doubt, the ponies were hiding within their home, clamoring to whatever manner of sanity they had left. What had it taken to topple the things she’d spent a life constructing? Revelation? Slaughter?
Soreness grew along the Princess’ temples.
Here she was blundering on about history while carelessly ignoring its purpose. No, the parasite had to want something for all this work, right? She had to be working towards some goal—something significant and truly world breaking. The silent terror drifting through Ponyville was, at worst, a dilemma to the town, but the Queen would have never spent so much time bothering with something so minor. It had to be greater: Chrysalis had to be targeting something—something particular.
The Elements?
The lovers?
No, those were all branches that she could pluck upon a whim—this had to be something powerful—not a weapon, but a wielder of weapons.
Something immortal.
Luna shut the blinds and sunk back into the darkness, weaving into the empty space between the desk and her bed. The mare ducked her head beside the counter, allowing the briar necklace to slip from her throat and roll onto the withering surface. For a while, she could only stare at the thing: even through the weeks, it still carried the same strength as it had when she first tore it from the changeling’s wounds—it still carried that glimmering stain.
Then she heard the noise. It was as she expected: the floors creaked every night at just the same time. A shiver graced her skin for but a mere moment before settling back into the recesses of her psyche: the time had come.
Luna spun around and dropped onto the cot. A burning sensation flared within the flesh just below her eyes; the princess dug herself into her covers as she screamed wildly into her pillow. She screamed again and again—until the burning spread from her tear-spattered face unto the very depths of her lungs. All the misery, from the loneliness to her failure, bled through into one rattling howl.
The rattling in the floorboards crept up through the bed’s legs and into her bones. Windows trembled in their frames; the door shook upon its hinges, blending with the scream and the cacophony to make one final symphony of absolute desperation.
Of course, Luna heard none of it; emotion had seized her, breaking her of any thought other than those of her past. She pooled her failure, her hatred, and her violence into one bloodied torrent. Repressed images blast from their shackles at the back of her psyche, punching holes in her own miserable excuses. She could feel the surging inside her—the brokenness of her thoughts and the final, bitter end to her being.
And just as that last bit of herself began to slip into the shadow, she grabbed hold of it.
The princess stopped, and silence returned to the cozy inn.
“Mmm…I knew you were on the brink, but I hadn’t expected you to go so early,” the voice crowed. Luna could feel the gaze on the nape of her neck—a constant heat. The room was, for a moment, taken by the sound of movement—the sound of hooves tapping along the wooden floor, as though circling prey. “I feel somewhat turned off by not having seen it firsthand, but I suppose I deserve that, all things considered.”
Luna twisted her head from the pillow. Tears rolled down her face, barely cooling the heat that had grown behind the princess’ cheeks. Breath had left her; the mare could only stare as her parasite lay a covered plate on the foot of the bed.
“There, there, princess. You tried—I know you did.” Chrysalis smile dampened into a look of genuine sympathy. The queen sat beside the food as if to comfort her prisoner; her iris grew larger, more inviting, and the marks upon her skin began to fade. “If it means anything, you’ve been a capable opponent.”
Luna grimaced before digging her face back into the covers.
“Now, listen. As much as I loathe you, I want to spend some personal time with you—just this once, alright?” From beyond the blankets, Luna could only barely hear the sound of wine as it trickled from the bottle. She heard the sound of metal banging against metal—silverware against plates—and the crackle of broken bread.
She heard a slight humming—a faint tune from her childhood.  
Luna looked up once more to see the spread—there was more food than she ever could have thought to come from that one plate. There were succulent jams beside muffins and biscuits and other treasures. There were pitchers of wine, both white and red, resting upon the shoddy, sullen desk. There was even a single lit candle—breaking free from the darkness of the princess’ isolation—hovering beside the bed.
Chrysalis waited from across the bed, watching with great blue eyes.
The queen cocked her head. “Does it help you forget? If not, I can always—“
“No, it’s fine. It’s just strange,” Luna replied, her voice still rocking with uncertainty. “So, you’ve come to kill me, then?”
Chrysalis shook her head, “No, I’m afraid you’re too important to kill. The whole ‘raising the sun and moon’ thing would be a problem for me, at least until I’ve properly set up. You understand, don’t you?”
The two fell silent, merely gazing into each other’s eyes. For a moment, there was peace between them—no hate or mockery or plots—only mutual respect.
In the end, Luna looked down and opened her mouth. She took a breath, and returned her gaze.
“Yes, I think I understand… I think I do.”
“Good. I’m glad you do.”
Both dropped their stares, and, as if on cue, began to pick away at the spread of food that the queen had brought to them. Luna looked for some time amongst the various pastries and fruits before at last scooping out a variety of melon and a pair of warm blueberry Danishes; looking across the table, she saw that Chrysalis had gathered a mixture of berries and a peach, accompanied only by two slices of buttered multigrain bread.
To the princess, who had been without such luxuries for little more than a month, the offer was more than generous—it was an act of kinship. Those eyes—those gleaming blue eyes—stood as a shadow of the creature behind them.
It was then that she recalled a face.
“Barlowe—what’s become of him?” Luna asked in muffled curiosity.
Chrysalis turned from her food mid-bite. The slice of bread fell flat upon her chin, painting the parasite’s face in butter.
It was then that, in the strangeness of the situation, an unfamiliar feeling took hold of Luna’s heart. She remembered it once—a fickle thing, rarely stepping from the shadows to grant her its presence.
Humor.
The mare sputtered, dropping her fork back onto the plate. “And thus is why I regret to call you a ‘queen’.”
“Yes, well, I’m not exactly adapted to your sort of table manners.” Chrysalis wiped the grease from her face before eyeing the selection of wine. “I’ve been told these are fitting for royalty. Now, whether that’s true or—“
“The Syrah—pour me a glass, hm?”
The queen looked at the pitchers, dumbstruck.
“It was dark red with the picture of grapes, your majesty. The bottle is still sitting on my desk.” Luna shook her head with a faint smile. “Where’s Barlowe? I’ve played your little game of lock-up long enough that I deserve some answers, hm?”
“We’ll just say that he’s away—doing an errand, perhaps. I’m sure we’ll see him again in a few days—maybe after the fun starts.” The queen stopped for a moment, as though to calculate her next thought. After a moment of nothingness, the parasite shut her mouth and returned to deciphering the order of her wines.
Luna sank back into her bed, putting away the last of her pastries. “He’s an odd one—not particularly talented, at least as far as writing goes. Why do you drag him along? Certainly you’re more mobile alone.”
“He’s more of a resource than a partner, if you can understand that. I suppose you can think of him as… asset protection,” the queen mumbled, still enthralled by the several pitchers of indistinguishable wines. “Perhaps I might reappoint him to you—if you play your role, that is.”
Luna smirked. “Wonderful—just wonderful. Now I’ll have all the ill-conceived poetry in the world at my disposal, hm? You make for such a gracious partner, Chrysalis.”
The parasite’s ears perked up. For a moment, she said nothing—merely shifting her jaw in confusion.
“Partner, hm?”
Luna nodded. “Why, yes. Unless there’s something you’re hiding from me, I’d say that I’m in a rather demanding position, no? You’ve left very few options for me—I can respect that.”
“Well, haven’t you taken a turn? Just this morning, you wouldn’t say a word to anyone—let alone me. I’m actually quite flattered,” Chrysalis replied. Her voice was warm—warm unlike anything the princess had been exposed to before—inviting, even. “You know, for all the trouble you’ve caused me, I’m beginning to believe that bringing you along was the right choice.”
 “So I was replaceable all along? Enlighten me.” Luna scanned Chrysalis over once more, analyzing every fidget and twitch the queen would make.
“Well, I plan mostly as I go, see? The longer a plan becomes, the less mobility its maker carries; mobility is the one true key,” the parasite stressed.  “My plans—the ones I have now—were all contingent upon whether or not you played along with me.”
“And I did,” the princess added.
“Yes, well, you were somewhat of a grey-value, you see. As it turns out, some pony saw you entering the inn. I’m not sure who it was, but they don’t appear to be particularly trusted seeing as how very few actually bothered to stick around.” Chrysalis stopped for a moment to smell one of the wines before continuing. “Of course, most of the rumors have died out with the… well… recent events.”
Luna blinked.
“You see, something happened in the park this morning—something that got all the ponies talking about—looking for—a certain type of infiltrators.” The queen stopped, gradually turning her disinterest into her more common, cryptic smile. “Of course, that curiosity helped them off the emotional deep end. They quickly learned that there’d been a brawl at the pumping facilities—something about an unidentified agent being unloaded into the plumbing.”
“So, you’re poisoning them? Clever, but not particularly impressive. What else have you planned?” The mare pressed.
 “Well, as I’ve heard, the news only recently hit Canterlot, and, as always, the messengers’ fear has allowed it to be blown out of proportions. I wonder what Celestia will do when she hears about changelings overtaking the public utility’s defenses. It’ll be quite the show, though I doubt you’ll want to see it, hm?”
“Oh, what makes you so certain?” Luna cooed.
Chrysalis turned from the pitchers of wine. For a moment, she could think of no response—she hardly had time to even grasp the words.
Luna’s smile faded, as did her illusion of joy.
A light grew at the center of her skull.
Chrysalis twisted around, looking at the object of her magic, but was cut short by a gnashing at her throat. The briar necklace, which had lay dormant amongst the wine, dug into her neck before yanking her to the floor.
Chrysalis swung wildly, knocking the plates from the bedspread before slamming her head into the mahogany armoire; a sickening pop echoed through the room as the parasites jaw shifted out of place.
For a moment, she thought to scream—the parasite openned her mouth, but was caught by Luna’s stare. The attacker was now standing—walking across the broken glass and metal. Her eyes were unmoving—endlessly watching into the parasite chest.
A pitcher fell from the desk for a moment before crashing into the parasite’s muzzle, forcing it shut.
Luna still stared into her foe’s eyes—still coldly watching as blood flowed from around the pitcher’s rim—still watching as wine splashed from the screaming creature’s last choking breaths.
There were two knives floating beside her—the very two she’d lain out for their dinner.  
Thump.
The first wedged itself into her gut, sending her skull back into the wardrobe as she lurched in shock. There was a brief snapping noise, then silence. Chrysalis slumped forward…
…and collapsed amongst the mess of wine and food and torn metal.
Then silence.
Luna took a breath, closed her eyes, and let the second blade fall to the floor.
The necklace freed itself from the mess and found its way around the princess’ neck. Fresh stains of violet coated the thorns’ edges.
There she stood, watching the body for several minutes—unmoving, indecisive.
Never had there been a more silent death.
There were no screams.
There was no crying.
There was Luna and the product of her manipulations.
And she sat there breathing and watching and waiting.
And then she left.
The mare ducked out through the door, her face lasting without emotion. She walked in the silence of the inn, down the stairs, and out the door.
She knew where she was going, and who she would see.
And even though she had left the body on its own, she knew just was going to come of it. She knew her enemy well enough to say that the parasite was a creature bent of safety and self-preservation.
But understanding changed nothing. If she’d told the truth: if Celestia was going to the plumbing station, then there was only one option—she had to protect her sister, no matter the cost.
…
Back in the room, the body shifted.
The skin melted away, and the features became dull.
The queen’s irises faded to nothingness, and the flesh shrank and fell away.
When the metamorphosis had finished, there remained only the corpse of a changeling.
It was the first casualty of many.