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// End. 
// Story: Changeling 
// by Criticul 
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This was expected.
A cart rolled late through the cleared city streets. A young stallion, pale and staggered, tugged the line through a pothole before returning his gaze back to the ground. The boy’s face was scarred, burning red between fear and the bitter embarrassment seeping into the reaches of his mind. His steps were slow, calculated hobbles, though she could see that he was still had the strength to hold back a scream.
The watcher kept her eyes upon the stallion as he disappeared underhoof. She could hear the doors swing open followed soon by a shudder. There was the clatter of hooves and chitin—the slight grunt as a boy was pushed along—and then there was silence.
Chrysalis looked down at herself then back across the horizon. It was beautiful, really—the darkness in the sky. It was as though a great burden had been taken from her shoulders, leaving her here to float amongst the greyness and wonder: what was it? What was it that she had been running from all this time? There was nothing here—nothing she could see, at least—beyond those ebony clouds.
This was expected.
A sickening twist rolled through her chest before ousting itself in a sigh: emptiness. The parasite took one step closer to the edge of her perch. She could sense something here—something from the memories of that one mare. This was where it began wasn’t it? This was where the hero looked down at her hooves and felt something deep inside her to push her off the edge—to lunge out into that great darkness, the blindness—the unknowing.
The door behind her opened. Barlowe peeked in for a moment before slinking in through the doorway; his wounds were obvious and deep, but mere scratches to the gash within his heart—she knew him well. The stallion shuffled forward, turning back to the door as a pair of shadows dragged in an immortal.
Celestia remained motionless.
The changelings scuttled back through the doorway and shut it as they went, leaving only Barlowe and the parasite in the darkness. She said not a word. The stallion shook slightly, his eyes locked on hers, and hers to the city below.
Then she spoke.
“Barlowe. Why did you bring her here?” The parasite looked up—a gaze of deadened emeralds.
The coward struggled not to look into her, but whispered still, “Didn’t you—“
“No.”
The parasite turned back to the horizon, staring into the clouds. She could see the fires in the valley—the barricades and shimmering of crowds.  Could it have been that one of them woke up this morning knowing—knowing what was about to happen? Could it have been that one escaped, now staring back up at her from some tree line, now coming upon the realization that it was all so futile?
Another pause, then watching.
“And Luna….” She spoke slowly to him: she spoke in a voice he had not recognized amongst her many. It was genuine.
Barlowe shook his head. “She’s gone.”
“No….”
Chrysalis looked past the traitor into the body.
“Luna, you’ve come so far. Why give up now?”
Barlowe’s eyes darted nervously between the two powers. His voice trilled nervously, “Queen, that’s—“
“I know who it is. I knew from the moment you found her.” Chrysalis cut. “It didn’t work.” The two stared at each other until there was a brief sound: a shudder. The fallen god twisted slightly; its eyes flickered open, catching the parasite in the center of its gaze. Hate built within its heart as a heat rolled over the panels. The illusion began to fade, and the pearl coat turned to shadows; the eyes flickered between colors, and a rope of briars hung around its neck as a noose.
Chrysalis could not muster a smile. She merely turned back to the horizon before closing her eyes. “You should have traded places. Your friend is better at playing weak.”
“But you are the best, I hear,” Luna replied. The wounds vanished from her skin, leaving only those night-bound colors. “Now, will you keep running from us, or—“
The parasite shook her head. “I’ve stopped running, Luna.” She turned her head again; the fires below cast a faint glimmer upon that darkened face. “Do you think someone can live without fear?”
The princess cocked her head. “What?”
“Do you think that it is possible to live without fear—to not care about what happens?” Below them, a scream howled out—a running through the street and a return to hiding. Chrysalis watched an Equestrian slam their door. She listened for them crying inside. They would pray that she had not seen them. They would pray that the monsters would not come.
She could only turn away. “Well?”
Luna was now on her feet, whispering to her companion. Barlowe nodded for a moment then made a run for the door. The parasite did nothing to stop him; he shot through the door, jamming it shut before sliding the lock back into place.
Luna just kept smiling. “Are we afraid of you, you mean?”
“No. I mean to ask you if you are afraid of anything. ”
The princess sighed. “I’m afraid of a lot of things, but not you—you’re nothing but a thorn in my side.”
“I understand… I’ve been far too lenient with you. I’ve kept you sheltered—numb, even. You know that if I wanted you in pain that you would be in pain. You know that if you were to jump at me now, I would probably leave you alive, if only to use someone to keep the sun from killing us all.” Chrysalis kept her voice low, as though to tell Luna a secret. Her face was still when she spoke—her stare unyielding. “I know you’re not afraid of me, but why are you afraid of anything?”
There was a pause. The princess looked down, silent. She hadn’t thought of it before: fear has always just been an entity—a status. There was no question as to why she might be afraid of something, except for perhaps the obvious answer…
“Pain, correct?” The Queen eyed her hoof. A scratch, bleeding slowly—violet stained. “What else? Can you name another reason?”
Luna had thought of another: “Loneliness.”
“Loneliness? You mean, the feeling of dread the ponies get when they do not have someone to look over them? You mean, the fear of risking it alone when you know it’s much easier to do in groups?” Chrysalis rolled her eyes, as though the argument meant nothing. “Or do you mean that we can’t distract ourselves with groups of voices—things that keep us comfort and help us to forget the great darkness?”
“There’s more—“
The parasite stomped, lifting her head above the mare. “There’s nothing more until you can make an argument that there is. There is no argument you can make that I cannot dissolve—I have thought of them all.”
The rage faded, and Chrysalis receded back into herself once more, turning to the shadows along the horizon. “There’s nothing….”
For once, the parasite looked tired—truly tired, now. The spark that had once sat behind those eyes had died out; her skin was cold, stained with sweat and emotion. It was as though her body was killing itself, draining itself of energy until she would eventually be left to ash.
But the princess could not give mercy. She’d come too far. She’d seen too much misery to feel for the creature. And yet, she could not bear to take this opportunity—this one chance to silence a ghost. She would wait—she would wait and see, and perhaps still play along. Luna shrugged, “So, what does this have to do with me?”
“I know you. I know you are afraid of things—things like the end.” The parasite closed its eyes. “Even an immortal can fear the end.”
“You can’t just ignore everything, you know.”
Chrysalis bowed her head. “Of course I know. That’s the problem—that’s the big answer that has been staring me in the face this entire time: it’s impossible to avoid.”
Then the mare understood.
“Luna, what can satisfy this unquenchable thirst? What can feed my bottomless stomach? I’ve broken you and your sister—I’ve broken the demigods—and still I sit here waiting, undistracted and waiting for that greatest darkness. Nothing changed.”
Chrysalis opened her eyes; the colors faded.
“My life, and everyone else’s, has been lived for one purpose: to convince themselves that they aren’t waiting, or at least to distract them while they are. All the good things—friendship, wealth, popularity, heroism—they’re all just constructions that we love because they keep us from the pain. They keep us from the pain and the realization that nothing we do here—no matter how great or powerful or significant—can keep us from reaching that one day where we sink into the ground and become nothing.”
Luna stood frozen. Her eyes met the Queen's, and at last the two had an understanding: there were no enemies here—only two bits of dust floating about space.
Chrysalis shook her head slowly. “Listen to me, Luna. I am tired. The darkness within my mind is manifesting itself in a slow, bitter suicide. I want you to understand that I do not hate you, and I never have hated you: you were just a thing that I found hope in overcoming. Luna, there is no overcoming. There is no life strong enough to last forever. Eventually, neither of us will be remembered, and everything we will have done will be forgotten.”
The princess stepped before the parasite. She kneeled down, looking into the creature’s dying eyes, and she asked her the question: “what would you like me to do?”
The parasite looked up. “I want you to leave me alone…. I want you to go downstairs, and I want you to knock on every door, and I want you to tell them that it’ll be OK. It’s too late for me—there is no gain in continuing. But them, Luna… they have not yet realized these things. They will keep living, and they will feel happy. They can ignore the end that will no doubt come so that their little bit of life in this vast emptiness can be but a spark in the darkness.”
Luna was silent. She offered neither comfort nor hate—mercy nor vengeance. There was only their stare: a watch between two souls realizing that, no matter who could continue, neither would feel the sun again.
Minutes passed.
The two continued staring, until that parasite opened its mouth once more.
“Luna… please.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let them hate me, Luna… a memory is all I have.”
But the princess said nothing. She could not possibly hold up such a promise—she knew the people would scream and cry against the monsters. There was no stopping it. Yet, she knew that it was irrelevant: it was for the comfort of the promise.
“I promise.”
Chrysalis smiled—not in pride, but comfort.
“Luna, can I ask you for one more thing?”
“Yes?”
“That necklace—can I have it?”
Luna looked down; the thorn choker still hung from her neck, stained violet by the blood of the changeling. “Why…?”
“Please….” The Queen’s eyes were glazed with death. Luna could not bother asking any further; the chain of thorns slipped away from Luna’s skull and found its place beside the parasite. The two again were left to stare until the Queen turned herself back to the horizon and shadows, ignoring the survivor.
The princess pushed herself up and backed out the hatch. She ignored the desk where she had left her letter, and she ignored the sounds of scuffling and motion behind her. She continued down the stairwell, down deeper into the darkness, and out through the gates below.
“Well?” Barlowe was sitting just outside, face wrenched with sleeplessness and misery.
Luna did not respond; her eyes were locked on the sky.
“What’re you….” Barlowe looked up into the observation post where Chrysalis had made her home. A silhouette now swung from the rafters; a chain of thorns connected to a long, tired body. Barlowe nodded. “Did you do that?”
The princess shook her head. “No… She did it herself.”
“Hm… I never would have guessed….”
Luna furrowed her brow. “No one could have. She was a deranged psychopath, and her world was far darker than even mine was. This was inevitable, whether or not I caused it.”
Barlowe nodded again, as though hypnotized by the swinging body. “Right…. Well, good riddance, I suppose.”
The two watched the body swinging for minutes on end before Luna spoke.
“Why did you do this, Barlowe? Why help me? Why stop her?” Luna looked at the stallion curiously. “She wouldn’t have hurt you, would she?”
Barlowe frowned. “She had to be stopped. I knew she had to—“
“But what difference has it made? Equestria is burning, and we don’t know how many are dead. You say that you found some ponies to take care of my sister, but what if they’re dead, hm?”
Barlowe’s face contorted in confusion. “Luna, are you OK?”
The princess didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the body swinging back and forth; a bit of light still trickled from the skies, casting a golden aura along the body. Here was the end she had been evading, but the parasite had jumped openly into it. No, she was no longer a parasite—she was a god. She had control of life and death, and only fell by her own choice of death.
And it was beautiful—truly beautiful.
It was beautiful in the way that her gaze aimed out into the blackened skies, but her eyes, now shut, blinded her to them. It was beautiful how the light bent around the body, showing its silhouette amongst a golden sky. It was even beautiful in the droplets of violet blood that rained down from above, trickling upon the battered city’s streets, leaving a deep stain upon the earth.
No, she would not be forgotten, nor had she deserved to be. In the end, she was smarter—she was wiser—than everyone, and this wisdom led her to the only known conclusion: to end the lies and distractions and to jump into fear.
She was the hero.
She overcame the fear.
And even though her heart was blackened, what had it mattered? Good, evil—what difference had they really made?
No, this was beauty—this was bravery and repentance for a life of constant deceit. This was a life built entirely for this moment: for the moment when it would end. There was no story more true, no struggle more dreadful: Chrysalis had been the life of the story. She was the Changeling that lived through the murder attempts while she came to realize the truth about her life: that it would always end. She had no immortality or wealth, but she used her mind and the tools at her disposal.
She overcame two ambivalent leaders who did not seek the truth as she did, and, in the end, she defeated them. She deserved to take her spot on the throne. She deserved to—
“Luna.”
She turned from her thoughts. “Yes?”
“We should go.”
“Yes, we should. Take me to Celestia.”
The two shuffled back into the streets, speechless. Every few moments, they would turn back to look at the body as it swung amongst the golden sunlight.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Again.
And again.
And again.