Double didn't sleep at all that night. The darkness mocked her. It reminded her too much of the hive, of the swarm she had longed for. Remembering the buzz of concordance was unpleasant. The droning reminded her of being an obedient cog, waiting to deceive, or waiting to die for missing some arbitrary thing. She was told to accept it. She knew better.
The darkness was filled with the whispers of the other Changelings, voices or impressions in the buzz, it all melded together in her mind. She didn't know what had become of the others, she didn't know if they, too, were hurt and held by ponies or uninjured but suffering as targets of blame for Chrysalis' wrath.
If they were hurt did they try to disguise themselves? Did they seek out pony medicine and hope for a place to recover? Some injuries would preclude simple treatment, they could be revealed by forgetting details of internal anatomy or simply by losing control of the change. She could well be the last Changeling left, the others captured and locked away, or culled by Chrysalis.
So many thoughts crossed her mind, all demanding more fear, more focus, more concern. There was a way to shut them up. She thought back to her supply of hidden pain pills. They worked on her, quite well. They wrapped her mind in a heavy cloth and made her chattering imagination silent. They would make her sleep. One or even two or so...
She stopped her magic as it lifted three from their secret location, dropping them and hearing them clatter on the ground in the dark. That was not the answer. That was practically giving in to the fear. “To the inevitable...” she whispered. Another blow along the hole made her bury her face in her pillow.
Inevitability was hard to confront, hard to accept. But she would have to. It was happening to her. The half-recalled myth sprang into full detail. Queen Chrysalis was being proved right. Even if she had been wrong about an unlimited supply of food from conquering Canterlot, she had been right about something that was just as horrible.
A thought pricked through the miasma of fear and misery. A tiny, sneaking, wheedling thought. It was not inevitable. There was a cause. She knew very well what the cause was. She could stop it, or slow it so much it may as well have been stopped.
She could accept things as they were or do something desperate. She didn't want to give in to desperation and panic. That led to harm and heartache. But there was little enough that she could do about what was going on. She had one measure of control. A desperate option, a painful option, but one that would solve her problem.
The darkness went on as her sleepless night dragged, and she considered the price of her solution.
The next morning she was out of bed reluctantly, a mass of aches and stiffness. Her blue eyes had a rheumy quality to them, tinged in silky green-gold. She yawned frequently and merely paced in her room, not even having the nerve to go out the door.
A knock took her out of her fuzzy-headed reverie, and Vanilla's voice sent a mix of emotions swirling in her gut. “Double! Hey there. You want to come downstairs for breakfast or should I bring something up?”
She didn't want to answer him, didn't want to acknowledge that he was even there. But he was there, and his cheerful voice told Double he was going to remain until he got an answer. “I... I think I should stay up here. M-maybe I'll skip breakfast right now. I should... rest. You know, conserve my magical power and such.”
There came a shuffle and a heavy silence. “I thought you said you recovered it with love. And, well...” Vanilla trailed off.
“I... I do, I did. I... I just want to rest. I... slept poorly. I kept rolling over onto things I haven't had to think about for a while. I want to rest some more. I'll get lunch,” Double said, trying to keep her tone at least modestly normal.
“If you say so,” Vanilla responded, clearly disappointed. “I'll grab something to eat and start lunch. Do you know what you want?”
'I want this to be just a horrible dream...' Double thought. “Anything you make is fine, you know that,” She said aloud, trying to put a smile in her tone.
It seemed to work. Vanilla's voice grew cheery and he started down the hall. “Take a nap, I'll have something fantastic for you by noon.”
Double flopped back onto the bed and let out a sigh. She blew across the hole again and heard the same tone as before. The wrong one. It wasn't her imagination. It wasn't a strange dream. Things were happening. A nightmare was coming true.
She did close her eyes, and did try everything should could to lull her fatigued and tense form to sleep but all to no avail. Every little sound caught her attention, some sign of what was coming. The soft sound of dishes, pots and pans made her remember Vanilla was down there, loving her, preparing to execute another excellent meal, just for her. It was more than for which any Changeling could have ever hoped.
He wanted to honor her real body. A pony, wanted to give love and affection to her strange and alien form. There could just have been something wrong with him. He might have been some strange aberration. He might have been lying about Canterlot... no, the food was honest enough. He had to have been what he seemed.
The supreme irony, a Changeling wrapped in the love of a pony who was made entirely of sincerity and forthrightness. Vanilla's earnest love was nice. Tasty, certainly, filling, unquestionably, but also...
She should have been stealing it. Misappropriating it. He was supposed to be focusing his love and devotion onto another, not her. Even onto the imitation face of Dee Dee. That love was misdirected, and ripe for siphoning. She should never have told him the truth.
She had done it in a moment of weakness, a rebellion against all that it meant to be a Changeling. He had given her honesty, had cared for her, had made her separate from the unity of the swarm. She was driven to give it in return. She had disbelieved the stories she had been told as part of the swarm. She was paying for her incredulity. The price for trying to break away from being like a Changeling would be a fate pronounced over them alone.
Her maudlin contemplations, aided by closed eyes and closed curtains, made her rest, if not sleep, and lose track of time. She became aware of the world around her again when a knock gently rang out and Vanilla's muffled, soft voice asked, “Double, are you awake?”
It would have been so easy to lie. It was in her nature, after all. A bundle of mendacity tied together with a thread of smiles and a veneer of acceptability. “Yes,” She replied, a bit weakly.
“Good. I hope you slept well. Can I come in?” Vanilla inquired, in his charming gentlecolt voice.
Double's body knew better than her brain, in some sense. Her horn lit and she automatically opened the door, revealing Vanilla standing there, in his chef's coat and toque. “I'm here to escort you downstairs, and not to support you in any way, of course.”
“Can't I eat up here? Chef's table and all that?” Double attempted weakly. Her thin smile was a bit too fake.
“I'd love to let you lounge around, just because you were never allowed to before. But your recovery has been going remarkably well. I'd hate to have you go backwards, so tackling the stairs is important,” Vanilla said, while trotting over to the side of the bed and subtly offering a leg to help Double out.
It had been a long shot. She knew he was right. She was getting stronger, more nimble, more recovered. She had to maintain it. Practice was the only solution. She rolled out of the bed, smoothly buzzing her wings to help her land deftly on her three good legs. A smug little smile crossed her features as she headed for the door. “I think I can take care of the stairs.”
“I had never thought of that... mostly because I knew your unicorn form. But winging down stairs is tricky, any side motion can be dangerous,” Vanilla noted, following a pace behind.
“You worry too much. I've been flying since my wings were solid enough to allow me. Sure, they've been unused for an extended period, longer than any infiltration, but I can surely manage this,” Double said, stepping confidently to the stairs and using a quick buzz and a sure forward step to take them on.
She had overestimated her step, thanks to it being a hop that was held in a delay as her wings took her slightly up. The long-unused membranes were not flapping in the speed, timing or pattern she quite expected, throwing off muscle memory. Her hoof came down turned more than she wanted which leaned her body and changed the direction of her wings. She stopped flapping them, but it was too late to do anything about it, she was tumbling.
She never passed one step. A potent magical force was holding on, soon aided by firm shoulders. Vanilla huffed softly and adjusted his position to settle Double back on her good hooves. “Don't worry. I've got you.”
He had her. If half of what pony romance movies and books said were true he'd always have her. She moved down the stairs with her head held high, leaning on him as little as possible. She had to thank him, he had saved her from a terrible injury, on top of everything else. “Thank you,” was all she said.
“I was just lucky. I could just as easily have not made it,” Vanilla said, attempting to be casual as he swept a hoof toward the dining room. “Lunch is served. Fresh and ready just for you.”
Double swept into the room, passing by Vanilla and pointedly not brushing against him or saying a word.
- - -
The next few days were almost more of the same. Vanilla was worried about it. Double had waved off more than a few breakfasts, complaining of poor sleep, which was hardly something he expected from her. His primary worry, however, had been more about lunches and evenings.
Since the revelation they had been enjoying the open honestly. She was glad to answer questions about Changelings, and he eagerly shared his life with her: Daring Do, his record collection, photographs, newspaper clippings of food reviews. There had come a great deal of touching, kissing, pressing close against one another. It never crossed the line of propriety for a new relationship, but they had been affectionate.
At downstairs meals, however, Double had been oddly silent. Vanilla's attempts at conversations had died when he got small noises or short, curt answers from her. She expressed appreciation for the food and wanted to immediately return to her room. His request for some music or conversations were waved off. Even the initial lame attempt to insist it would be easier having her down there so she'd be ready for dinner was rebuffed. She had done her daily stair-walking.
She had eaten dinner alone, by request, still as silent as she could be while still making requests. And all of that persisted. A heavy pall had fallen over her, and it was quite worrisome. He knew, by and large, she was a 'ling (as she liked being called) of good humor and capability. She enjoyed his company. He couldn't even imagine what had changed.
He was at her door again a few days later. Lunch wasn't ready but he didn't care. “Double?” He called out, after knocking firmly.
“I'm... trying to nap,” Double called back from the other side of the door.
“I don't think you are. I think something's wrong. And I need you to tell me what,” Vanilla said, with a touch of firmness.
“Nothing's wrong. I'm tired and I ache. I haven't been sleeping well. That's all,” Double said, sounding a little annoyed.
“Please let me in. Please let me help you with this. I'm not an expert in things but... I love you. You know I do. You said you tasted it,” Vanilla said, pressing up against the door.
There was a still silence for a long while before Double's tearful voice responded, “Your love is why I have to stop loving you...”
Vanilla opened the door without an invitation. Politeness gave way before his aching heart. He saw the small lines of green-gold tears running down along Double's cheeks. “What's the matter?”
“It's true...” Double said, with a heavy voice. “The queen of liars told the truth. I thought it was just a myth but it's true. And I... I'm afraid of it, even when I should be happy...”
“What? What's true? What did this queen of yours say to you that got you like this?” Vanilla came up to Double's side and wiped a tear away with his hoof, letting it linger on her cheek.
Double started to push the hoof away with her good hoof but ended up holding it there against her chitin, leaning into the warm, loving touch. “She said that no Changeling could ever fall in love with a pony. That we were too alien and disgusting. That our true forms would inspire hate and fear, not love. But if it happened... if... remember how we take love meant for others?”
“Yes. You don't need to anymore. I can give you all you want, just for you,” Vanilla said gallantly, leaning in to kiss Double on the cheek.
Double shivered as the kiss pressed on her, unable to deny how good it felt. “We take that love and process it into honey, into power and to throw it into our empty souls. But only misappropriated love, taken from one creature that was meant for another. It makes us strong. There is a legend that if love were ever given to us, the real us beneath the disguise, it would satiate the void. That love stolen will feed the emptiness and our capabilities, but love given will fill the emptiness. The other night I realized... the void stopped screaming. But this hole...” She blew across the hole in her leg and made the sound, “Was out of tune. It's gotten... smaller.”
“Smaller?” Vanilla asked, peering at the hole.
“I guess they all have. That was the other part of Chrysalis' warning. If it ever happened, if we revealed ourselves to a pony and got that love for ourselves, filled the emptiness within... our holes would slowly fill in as a consequence, a visual representation of what was happening within. And if they closed completely, if we loved enough to fill the nothingness...” The words caught in Double's throat.
“Y-yes? What? What happens?” Vanilla asked, breath growing quick and eyes frantic.
“We... will die...” Double whispered, looking across at Vanilla. “I was afraid, because... every touch, every kiss... is going to take me away from you.”
Vanilla's breath came out in shuddering pants as he processed the words, his eyes shining with tears and his jaw dropped in disbelief. “...dying?” He pulled away from her, staggering back from the bed. “You're dying? And I'm killing you?”
“I reflect... perhaps I am nothing more that a deceitful monster...” Double mused, stroking her chin softly. “Once again, I acted rashly. At least this time it wasn't thoughtless. Oh the thoughts were foolish, but I reflect they were not meant to be unkind. I think I may have hoped you loved me enough to just ignore all this and let us sink into a silent distance. Maybe I assumed you'd just let me fly back to the swarm after I recovered. As you can tell I'm bad at pony romance.”
“Just what were you hoping for? You had me worried. I thought back to the beginning when we were cold and unfriendly, silent strangers living in the same house. I must say I got to like having somepo... someling to love...” Vanilla rubbed back of his neck and grinned.
“I wanted to avoid this, actually. This moment. When you found out that death loomed in the future. I know it was silly, but I guess I hoped I would never have to tell you. I already figured out the antidote to inevitability, which was to stop taking love meant for me,” Double rolled slowly onto her stomach and tapped at the bed with her good hoof.
“I know how terrible this sounds given this situation but... I can't stop loving you, and I wish I could. With all I know, with all the time we've had together, with the truth I know, I can't stop. And I'm going to be the death of you,” Vanilla sighed, hanging his head.
“My dear executioner. I brought this on myself. I ignored the warnings. I let myself perform a forbidden act. This is all my fault. All because I wanted what ponies had, rather than what Changelings have to accept,” Double said, looking aside at Vanilla. His sadness touched her. She could taste it, bitter and salty. She always seemed to be hurting him. “What ponies have... a pony life. I've faked living more than a few of them. They seem very nice, and being in love with you has really been an eye-opener. Tell me... do you like living as a pony?”
“What do you mean? I can't really compare it to anything,” Vanilla stated, looking up at Double.
“Maybe I should ask if you like living as not-a-Changeling. With all that you've heard, the life, the responsibilities the limitations and the skills... would you rather live a Changeling's life or a pony's life?” Double queried, locking eyes with Vanilla.
Vanilla stared into those deep, beautiful blue eyes. He had been guilty of a lingering gaze while they had been close. He was constantly enraptured by her eyes. They were so pure, without sclera or pupil to interrupt from the expanse of blue. He could tell the truth to those eyes, even if it was unkind. “I would want to be a pony. Life is sweet, and there are so many things to see and do when you're free...”
Double slowly closed her eyes, breaking Vanilla's reverie and sending her mind into a consideration. Sweet freedom, at a high price. She thought she was willing to pay any price. There were rewards for it. But the price climbed more and more, until it reached... her very being. After being rescued from ignoble death, fighting for her life and finding what she wanted out of life... she would be undone.
Could she really choose death? Choose to voluntarily walk a path that led to her demise? It seemed foolish... yet she had previously been coldly cavalier about death. Culling as little more than the way things were. She didn't like it but she accepted it. She could even have accepted it for herself because no choice was being offered.
A choice was being offered. But it really wasn't. She could no more stop loving Vanilla than she could stop being a Changeling. She thought back to her reveal, when Vanilla faced her with a ring of knives and forks. She had considered escaping to the swarm, to face Chrysalis and culling. But she had chosen to stay and let Vanilla do as he would. She had assumed culling was her only fate. But she would choose how it happened. She would die on her own terms. She still wished to die on her own terms. “This is my choice...” She whispered.
Vanilla nodded his head, thinking he understood. “I'll let you be. Just tell me if you need anything while you're here. After the cast is off I'll...”
Double practically threw herself out of bed and upon Vanilla, fairly crushing him in her chitinous embrace and pressing a huge, powerful, soul-unifying kiss upon him. She scarcely breathed, and she never made a sound as he initially squirmed and struggled, his motions slowing and stopping. His limbs adjusted themselves into a reciprocating embrace, his mouth and tongue meeting hers in equal passion, drawing in the taste of roses and honey.
“This is my choice,” Double repeated, after breaking the kiss nearly two minutes later. She leaned her head against Vanilla's neck and let out a sigh. “It may not make much sense but this is my choice. I'll do what I wish, and nothing will change that.”
Vanilla was perfectly willing to accept the warm hug, and rest his body against Double's form. But his sensible mind intervened. “But... you said that my giving you love fills the void and your holes. That you'll die.”
Double nodded a bit, giving a cute, if somewhat-odd nibbling kiss to Vanilla's neck, her little fangs sliding across the surface. “Yes, it's true. But I've been making all my own decisions since this began. I chose how to look, how to act, to recover, to change my personality, to reveal myself. I made those decisions. The night I revealed myself I could have gone back to the swarm to die beneath Chrysalis' hoof. I chose to give you the choice. If you had killed me, then I chose that. I wanted it on my own terms... I still do. I still choose what sort of death I want if I can't avoid it. Better this than culling. Better this than living without love after I tasted the most beautiful kind there is...”
There was still doubt etched on Vanilla's face. He pulled back a ways to look at Double's contented features. Or perhaps less contented than resolved, and slightly happy. “But every time I say I love you, or show it...”
“Say it every minute. Touch me so much we become one. Kiss me until you can't anymore. I know what will happen. If every touch is a step to the grave then let me go there on my terms. You said you wanted the sweet happiness and freedom of pony life. It sounds wonderful. I want all that ponies have, even if being a Changeling means I can't have it forever. I'd rather die like a pony than live like a Changeling,” Double said, resolutely. She used her good hoof to pull Vanilla into another deep, solid, long and loving kiss.
He couldn't stop himself. Vanilla knew he ought to. Even despite what Double told him he knew that it was wrong to do what he was doing. He was responsible for what was happening. He knew that he was killing her. Every caress, every kiss was condemning her to death.
But he couldn't stop himself. Not as long as she kept asking.