//------------------------------//
// Part VI 
// Story: My Little Chryssie 
// by Scarheart 
//------------------------------//

What can happen in nine years with Chrysalis as my daughter? How can someone reflect on the passage of time in a way properly expressing the contentment settling down within me? I was a father again. I was a father in the proper sense. I made mistakes, I had my little triumphs, I discovered more about myself just as I discovered my daughter clearly had a mind of her own. I really can't say if my journey down the road of parenting is typical. I am, after all raising a changeling. Am I protecting her from the world or am I protecting the world from her? Her magic amazes and frightens me. She knows it. Chrysalis tries to be careful, but she does make mistakes. A lot of mistakes. I am no different and we both discover a growing sense of pride and a resurging one. I want her to be her own individual, but I try to stress her being good and try to teach her what I think good is.

There is a lot of gray in there.

Nine years is a lot of time to have the bonds of love tested. It happens. Chryssie is prone to tantrums, especially when it comes to me putting my foot down on her insisting on exploring her world on her own. As she grew older, naturally her curiosity pressed her to go beyond the walls of the house on her own while I worked. I always encouraged her to explore her magic, but always when I was around.

Not that there was anything I could really do about her magic. I've been lucky my warnings and rules have been kept because she chose to, even if most of them she didn't like. Locking the doors doesn't work. She figured out picking locks with her magic. As she became more competent with her skills, she even started rearranging the living room out of boredom. This was later in years, but at the time, dealing with a strong willed daughter growing more and more sure of herself and what she could do was turning into a challenge.

I was finally able to get her to stay in her room, starting out by staying with her in her room until she fell asleep, sitting on her bed. I would watch her sleep, my little dark angel and then go to bed myself. I didn't think it would work, but the next morning, I woke up alone in my bed. I was both happy and sad, because it meant my little girl was moving on in the game of growing up. I still have wistful visions of Crystal with Chrysalis, growing up together.

Maybe in spirit. I hope so. I dearly hope so.

So, how does it all begin, this strange and wonderous road after a year of getting to know each other? How does this path wind and turn and pass through those rough patches all little families go through?

Such journeys begin with the first step. One foot in front of the other. It's like footsteps in the sand. You can look back on the beach and see your imprints in the wet sand, where your feet placed themselves. Some of the steps are long strides, others are careful little steps. Still there are the moments when you danced around the incoming surf and other times where you try to avoid the broken glass. Sometimes you are cut. But it's you and that child you take with you, guiding her. Two sets of footprints side by side. Sometimes you see just your own trail. Those are the times you pick up your daughter and carry her. And sometimes, just sometimes, you see just your daughter's prints where she bore you upon her shoulders.

My journey after finding her began with me carrying her. For the first year since we met, she carried me for most of it until I could rediscover myself.

Someone began watching us. I could never see quite who it was, but I always had the nagging feeling we were being watched. Paranoia? Maybe. This felt like a constant nagging feeling in the back of my head. I've been in three ambushes and I always had a tingling feeling in the back of my brain, those warning bells I took very seriously. It happened early in the beginning of our second spring together. It was one of those cold gray days where the clouds always threaten to open up on you but hold back, perhaps a sprinkle here and there. Everything was still brown and dead and a cold wind could still cause a shiver through the layers you wore. Other than that, it was a lovely day and someone was watching the two of us.

Chryssie wanted to go outside and play, having spent most of the winter cooped up inside the house. It would be nice to walk the grounds, maybe revive the old garden grandma and grandpa had kept later as it grew warmer. I should have prepared the grounds last fall, but my walk to the forgotten garden reminded me how much grandma and grandpa had let it shrink as they grew too old to maintain a very large plot. It was a moment of nostalgic memory as I stood where I planned to grow squash, tomatoes, green beans, potatoes, and any other vegetables I could think would be good to have. I'd never tried gardening before, but just as spears are beaten into plows, so was this warrior to become some form of a farmer.

Hard work under a hot sun and maybe, just maybe I could get Chryssie interested in my project. Eventually she would have her own ideas, but at that moment, I wanted to picture a warm summer day, green things growing in perfect rows with nary a weed in sight. I did that until Chryssie hit me in the side of the head with her football. As I bent to pick her toy up, I felt it. Now, when you realize you're being watched, you don't want to let the watcher know you're on to them. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with nervous apprehension.

Chryssie felt my emotions go from the surprise of being hit, to bursting with fatherly love, to sudden suspicion and wariness. A pleasant mood went sour in no seconds flat. My body tensed as I was bent over and picking up the football. Overhead droned the sound of a single engine plane. Casually I followed my ears with my eyes. It was some sort of private airplane. They occasionally do pass overhead, so I dismissed it. I flickered to the nearest clump of bushes at the edge of my property about a hundred yards away.

A worried voice reaches to me. "Daddy?"

"Don't worry about it, pumpkin. Daddy's just a bit jumpy, that's all." The reassuring smile I throw her seems enough to mollify. She's happy again and starts trying to fly with her wings. Soon, she'll be flying around like a horsefly.

Bad joke. My apologies.

The bond between us grows. It's not telepathic, but we can feel each other's thoughts and emotions enough to where conversations take on a whole new meaning. I find I can block her if I concentrate and I encourage her to block me, thinking this is a good mental exercise. I tell her we should both be able to switch it on and off like the lights in the house. It's one of the few things I get right in regards to how to manipulate your own mind if you set yourself to the task of discipline. I've been practicing mental discipline to keep myself from going crazy, after all, and with no small help from Chryssie. I owe her my life.

A few weeks later, while at work, a stranger entered the store and wandered around like a customer who didn't know exactly what it was he wanted to get yet. He selected a drink from the cooler after a few minutes of standing there, hand on the handle of the door, his head going up and down, studying the labels from his side of the glass. Even after he picked one out, he stood there, looking at his bottle, then back at what was inside, his brows furrowed in indecision.

"Something I can help you find?" I query, leaning on the counter and putting on my best customer service smile. I'm actually a very friendly person if I put the effort into it. "Any particular drink you're wanting?"

"Eh," he replies, not looking at me. The expression on his face shifts from being indecisive to utter defeat. "You don't have that new soda. I don't know what it's called, but it's the one with the dragon for the mascot."

"There aren't any sodas like that I know of." Now I'm frowning, having never heard of it. I should know, I help the boss decide what he wants to order to keep the shelves stocked. I'll even place the order on days he's too busy to do it himself (I know, sleepy town and all, but he's an old man).

The guy looks at me, his face suddenly impish. I notice his eyes are odd. "I think it's called Chaos Cola." They seem to be yellow and red. Maybe wearing contacts? His clothing seems nice, almost expensive, somewhat mismatching. It reminds me of a track suit with a rainbow of colors. On his head is a black and white cowboy hat, like cowhide. Upon his feet, when I lean over to look, are sandals. As I find my eyes back up to his head, I notice his dark hair sticking out hap-hazardly from beneath his hat. He holds up the drink he had already selected. Chocolate milk. "No matter. I'll go with this, my fine young friend."

"Sure thing. Any gas for you today?"

He's a skinny guy, I'm noticing. Lanky and moves with the ease of a snake. He's closer to seven feet tall than six, but I bet I weigh more than he does. I get the weird sensation I've met him before, but I can't place him.

"Oh, let's see. How about twenty bucks on the pump out there, my good man."

"I can do that." I ring him up. "Anything else?"

He's studying me like he was studying the soda a few minutes ago. "Tell me," he says with an odd smile that's strangely disarming. "Do you consider yourself a lucky man?"

I immediately think of Chryssie. "I do." My smile is a mile wide.

"Even having such a lowbrow job as this one, my friend?" He sweeps a hand dramatically around the store. "I mean no disrespect, but you seem the sort of fellow who would fit in almost anywhere he lived, and I do mean anywhere."

"Well, I don't ask much out of life and my house is paid for, so I pretty much just need this job to pay the bills and keep fed. Besides, I like peace and quiet."

"I see." It's almost as though the guy can see right into me. "Oh, it's plain to see you're also a man of secrets!" he proclaims, then leans forward in a sidelong glance, holding the back of his hand to the side of his mouth as if trying to keep the walls from listening in. "It's perfectly safe. Don't worry about a thing. I've got it under control."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

He straightens, flashes a grin and revealing a snaggled tooth. "No matter, no matter. Print me up two quick picks for tonight's mega lottery thing. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling really lucky!"

I do just as he requests, ring him up and hand him his tickets after he pays for his purchases. He then scrutinizes his lottery tickets, squinting with one eye, then the other as he holds them up. "Pick one, my young friend," he smirks.

"I couldn't do that." I've never gambled or bought lottery ever in my life. I think it's wasteful and frivolous.

"Nonsense! I insist you pick a ticket for yourself." The customer waves them in front of me, tantalizing with them. He's also going, "Ooooooo!"

Reluctantly, I do so and it makes the guy very happy. His grin reminds me of the Cheshire Cat. Giving me a two fingered salute and gathering up his drink, the strange man saunters out the door and towards his car. I notice it appears to be a cherry red Mustang, sort of like what's still in a disassembled state in the barn back at the house. Soon he's gone, and I hear a distinct - "Ta-ta!" - before the car roars out of the gas station as though he suddenly realized he was in a hurry to get some place.

My boss walks in about an hour later and asks me about the customer.

"Why?" The ticket is in my hand and I show it to him. "He paid twenty for his gas and got a drink and some lottery. Gave me this ticket after his purchase."

"It just struck me as all-out strange," he replies, waving the ticket off for me to have. "It might just be my age catching up with me or maybe I'm just plum crazy, but I could have sworn that guy drank gasoline from the nozzle and poured chocolate milk into his gas tank." The boss removes his glasses for a moment and rubs his eyes.

"Are you sure?" I blink, not sure what to make of this whopper. "I've heard your tall tales before, but seriously?"

"May my tongue fall out if I'm lying!"

I waited for it to do just that. I was sorely disappointed.

That night, on a whim, I check my lottery numbers. Normally, I would have just thrown the ticket away and thought nothing of it. I mean, the odds of winning the jackpot is literally millions to one. Millions. Compared to past jackpots I've seen, this one is fairly small, only about fifty million or so. Typically I've seen it around three or four times that these days when I do pay attention. I have a few regular customers who religiously buy lottery, have their numbers, buy scratch tickets and what have you. A few have even bought me scratchers, but only the one or two dollar variety. I've even won five bucks once.

I'm watching the screen as the numbers are pulled from a set of large clear plastic balls with little ping-pong balls with numbers bouncing around in them. There's a pretty girl in a lovely dress drawing the balls from the top of the clear globes, facing the winning numbers to the camera. Chryssie finds this boring and wants to watch something else, but I shush her with a light tap to her muzzle and a grin. She pouts and blows a raspberry at me.

The numbers come up, one by one. I glance down at my ticket. First number! Okay, that's the third one on the ticket. One down. Next number comes up, and it's matching the last number on my ticket. I'm starting to shake both knees slowly as I'm starting to get a little nervous. My princess leans over to see what I'm staring at.

"Numbers?"

"Yes, honey. Numbers."

The next one pops up. It matches the first one. Three out of five! With the Powerball number to go! I get another number. My heart is pounding. Chryssie is wondering what's making me so excited. Was it the girl? The balls? The numbers? She's blinking between me and the screen with her lost eyes, tilting her head. The fifth number comes up. Another match! I'm on my feet, pacing in front of the television now like a caged animal, my shoulders are up and my head is hanging over the ticket. The last number pops up, the mega number. I stare at it. I stare at my ticket.

I faint.

I wake up to a hysterical filly sobbing over me, trying to shake me awake. "Daddy! Please wake up. Daddy!"

Properly reduced to jerkhood for fainting in front of a toddler, I sit up and enfold her in a groggy hug, the world spinning as I reassure Chryssie. "Everything's okay, pumpkin. Everything's okay!" I'm still clutching the ticket. The damn thing is golden.

She doesn't care about that. Chryssie is only happy to see her daddy isn't hurt and is even ecstatic, never mind it's over a piece of paper. We're rich.

The next morning, I tell my boss, show him the ticket, and drive for over an hour to turn it in and claim my winnings. I ask for the lump sum settlement. After the government gets its share of my winnings, I'm left with about twenty-two million. Though I should gripe at how the government likes to make someone pay for having money, I really don't give a damn. I can invest most of it and get what I lost back so long as I manage everything properly. This means finding the right investment firm and research and savings and all sorts of other things a guy has to do in order to make sure he doesn't go stupid with his money.

It takes several days, but I get the money deposited into my account and suddenly the bank thinks I'm an important customer. For some reason, that irritates me. I just want to go home and do something for my daughter. Maybe a road trip, maybe go see things around the country she wouldn't be able to see under normal circumstances. I intend to not let her remain sheltered. Summers on the road, winters at the house?

Sounds like loads of fun.

I gift my boss some money and give my two weeks notice. He's thrilled for me. Phone calls go out to the parents and the sister, letting them know I'm no longer poor. I pay them all back the money I've borrowed, plus interest. This is all too good to be true.

One night as I'm still basking in the afterglow of being no longer impoverished and now well to do, I set Chrysalis on my lap and ask her, "Hey pumpkin, do you want to see America?" She's heard about it, of course. Television is always showing images of what life is like outside the house and beyond the horizon. She's seen mountains and rivers and cities and forests and all sorts of things she's asked me about a million times.

She nods eagerly.

"Do you want to see the Rockies?"

She's a bobble head doll.

"Do you want to see the ocean?"

Her mouth is beginning to open, adding to her happy smile. Those menacing fangs look cute when she smiles like that.

"We'll go to Yellowstone Park. You remember Old Faithful on the Discovery Channel, don't you?"

Chryssie is literally buzzing with excitement. "Are we going to see them, daddy?"

"Yes, pumpkin. We're going to do all of that. But there's one thing I need you to learn first." An idea had been brewing in my head since I thought of the summer long road trip. We'd do it next year, after careful planning.

Curious, she leans in towards me. "What is it?"

"I want you to pick your favorite dog type and turn into it. That way, you can run around in public and not worry about people staring at you." She'll have a year to perfect it. Maybe some other things, too. Could she look like a human? I wonder.

She still doesn't understand people might be frightened of her, but she nods with a sigh. A few times there's been an attempt at setting her down and trying to explain how unique she is in this world and how some people might want to take her away from me and even hurt her. It's not hard for her to sense how serious I am even though my voice is gentle and patient as I explain the importance of her safety over and over again. I've been a broken record about it since she first stepped into my life. I'd like to keep her there, safe and sound and under my watchful eyes. As much as I want her to grow with a sense of being free, I know that's next to impossible.

Still, no child of mine is going to live in a world not knowing what's over the next hill. I want her to experience Americana, the wonders, the sights, the Purple Mountains Majesties. I want her to know why I love traveling, why seeing things like Mount Rushmore and Mount St. Helens is just as awe inspiring as seeing the sea for the first time and witnessing the green copper sheen of the Statue of Liberty.

Searching for the perfect traveling home takes about three weeks. I purchase a modest recreational vehicle (sorry, they call them coaches now), with all the bells and whistles. It's a couple of years old, the previous owners having upgraded to some bigger monster or something. The coach almost as long as a school bus, with a flattened front and a massive windshield. Driving it isn't difficult, but I do bump a few curbs as I learn how to finesse the behemoth. The color is emerald green and charcoal gray, it's shiny and its completely loaded inside with all the modern amenities. I decided to call it the Behemoth.

Okay, so I splurged. If I'm going to be rolling around in a second home, its going to look halfway decent and be something a guy can settle in at night and feel like he's in his mobile castle. I pull up to the house, bouncing along the gravel driveway until I pull up next to the house. I park the beast and get out, quite pleased with myself. My old car is being towed by the monster as I had gotten a tow package with the deal. I debate getting a new car, too.

Who am I kidding? I am definitely getting a new car!

Chryssie, in the meantime has been busy finding on the internet what kind of dog she wants. I'm not at all surprised when she selects some sort of wolf-looking breed I can't exactly identify. She proudly shows me the internet site. I had no idea domestic dogs had been bred to look like wolves. My little princess had chosen a breed called the utonagan. She's learned to watch videos of animals she wants to mimic and it takes a lot of practice for her to get the details right. I assume it's easier with a live animal in front of her, but Chryssie seems able to make transformations from pictures as well. Using me as a judge, she tries and tries (getting some rather gruesome results in the process) until she gets something I think looks properly canine and woflish, even holding her up to the bathroom mirror (she's heavy).

My boss is retired now, thanks to me. He showed me kindness and I return the favor by simply giving him a million dollars, training my replacements (he hired three people), doing my two weeks, and then saw to getting the house a new roof. A contractor was recommended by my boss, was hired, paid for supplies, and promised a bonus if the roof was done as expediently and professionally as possible. That summer, a completely new roof was installed, along with some solar panels. My idea is to make the house self-sufficient and eventually modernize it. Maybe a pool? Nah, I really don't want to go through the hassle of maintaining one.

My faithful 1985 Cavalier wagon was replaced by a Hyundai Sonata. It's a silvery gray with tinted windows. It looks pretty cool. Chrysalis gave it her lick of approval on the steering wheel after sniffing around in it when I brought it home. Even changelings approve of that new car smell. Chryssie is getting excited at the idea of traveling, even a little scared. She's only known the house and at rare times, my work. But she'll be with daddy.

I just wish Crystal could come.

A father never stops thinking about a lost child. Maybe Chrysalis is nothing more than a crutch for me to lean upon, but I need her. She's brought me out of my lethargy almost two years since that night of the storm. The gratitude will be repaid by showing Chrysalis my world and my country and the diversity of its people. I want her to see the good things, to stay away from the bad. I don't want her to be that evil mare from the show when she grows up. Because if Celestia comes...

...when Celestia comes...

...I want my baby to be ready. She's too young now, too innocent to understand her tale, but I want to give her one summer with me, out there, on the road before I tell her about where she came from. I want her to know how much she means to me before I tell her there will eventually be others who will come for her, for good or for ill. I also have to prepare myself, for the crushing blow that will fall, breaking my heart. I would follow my daughter to hell if I could. It's a father's duty to protect his children. I already feel I failed one of them.

I don't want to lose my second.

Even if there is no way for me to follow, she must be prepared. It is my loving duty to prepare Chrysalis for the eventuality. I can't hope to go with her.

Can I?

Of course, I'm putting a lot on the back of stories I read on the internet. Were they coincidences? Was "My Little Dashie" just the creation of a fellow who simply wanted to write a story? Am I putting too much stock in what I read?

Every night I kiss my little princess on the forehead, just below her horn and always over her left eye good night, I look into her smiling eyes as she yawns, wrapping her hooves around my hand. I remember the first time she said, "I love you, daddy."

There was no hesitation. "I love you, too, pumpkin. For always and forever."

All fathers should love their children. Though one of them can no longer be with me, I love her equally and keep the love I have with her right along side my little Chryssie.

The summer rolls on, hot and humid. I've taken up jogging in the morning, sensing I'm out of shape and the beer gut I've impregnated myself with has got to go. I had abs of steel in the Army. I might not be able to get them back, but a flat stomach would be nice. I start my routine with stretching exercises followed by push-ups and crunchies. Then I start with a simple mile. After a week, I increase how many push-ups and crunchies I can do, my body at first protesting at the sudden use of muscles I'd forgotten about. I run a little bit farther, getting my wind back. I'm still relatively young, so it's not too impossible to get back into a routine. I do it anyway, mostly for myself. Wearing nothing more than shorts and shoes, I'm still drenched in sweat by the end of each run because of the humidity. Chryssie watches me curiously, wondering why I'm exerting myself so much.

It feels good, is the only answer I can think of.

The new roof is up, the solar panels take a few weeks longer, but by the end of July, everything is finished. The garden is growing and my constant battle with the weeds and varmints is never ending. I have sunburnt shoulders and arms, eventually giving way to peeling skin. Its bright red and brings out the freckles on my fair skin. Chryssie laughs at me for being so bright red! She practices her mimicry, working on her dog form and becoming quite fond of it. I've asked her if she's tried to be human once, but she only shakes her head and rolls her eyes at me.

"Two legs hard to walk on," she sniffs, teasing me. I do catch her intrigue in my thoughts, though. There it is, faint and almost hidden. I wonder what she would look like as a little girl. If she can master it, mingling with other people would be easy indeed!

But would the risk be worth it?

Her vocabulary grows, she molts, and fall is upon us. The modest garden provides modest vegetables. Not too many were eaten by bugs. Not all were scrawny, pathetic little things. The cucumbers grew large and we had plenty of them to munch on. The tomatoes were a pleasant surprise as my crop was rather generous in my eyes. Those things aren't cheap at the grocery store.

I'm up to five miles a day jogging and can almost match the push-ups from my military days. I don't have the drive I used to, but I'm feeling healthy and good and happy. I'm also running with a backpack with a hundred pounds of gear in it. My drive for pushing myself like this is not to just get back into shape.

In my mind's eye, I am preparing to defend my daughter. I am preparing for war. Against what? Against whom? More importantly, how?

Yeah, I'm probably just being paranoid. I'm probably acting crazy. I've also got a magical creature living under my roof that I love very much. Chryssie thinks I'm crazy, but all daughters think their dads are nuts.

Don't they?

Winter comes, taking another swing at us. We celebrate the important days, birthdays, holidays, and special days that happen. Like when Chrysalis learned to fly under her own power. I honestly thought it wouldn't happen until a few years down the road, but she managed to hover while decorating the Christmas tree. Planning for the summer trip continues. Chryssie's getting big! She's learning how to read and write, her ability to control her magic gets better with each passing day. She still loves to curl up on my lap, but she's getting too big for that. We watch movies together, go on trips together. I show her a little more of the world around the local area as she perfects her dog disguise. She makes a cute puppy, but for some reason insists on keeping her harlequin eyes while as a canine. I find it unnerving looking at a dog that should have brown eyes and see a pair of glowing cat-like eyes smiling right back at me.

I think she does it on purpose just to freak me out.

Yay me.

The whole time I've wondered at the most unexpected of times the tall, oddball stranger who had given me the ticket. I had half expected him to show up and demand his ticket, or some recompense for handing it to me, but no, nothing. There was something so familiar about the guy, but I could never quite put my finger on it. Maybe he was crazy? Certainly eccentric to be sure. Even if he's oblivious to what he did for me, I'd like to find the guy and thank him. It would only be proper.

So no, you don't forget the faces of those who impact your life.

Spring rolled over winter, the cold grudgingly swaying towards warmer air. The rains come and the date circled in red on the calender looms ever nearer. During this time, I'm getting the necessary supplies, emergency equipment, first aid kits, generator, MREs (Meals, Ready to Eat). The larder is stocked full of canned goods, the fishing poles are packed away, tackle box, and even a couple of spare rods. I plan on seeing a lot of wilderness. I love the great outdoors. I even pack a small tent in case I want to sleep outside and 'rough it'.

I never thought to think of how Chryssie would take to roughing it. She seemed to like the times we went out for swimming, camping by the river, and sleeping under the stars. I assumed she would take to it like a duck takes to water. To a degree, I was right. As the years passed, I would soon discover something else about her and the great outdoors.

Changelings are alpha predators. I'll get to my reasons as to why I believe this. Right now, she's still a filly; adorable and huggable and just a bright spot in my dreary life. I'll also state right now I was going to run into that guy again. Notice how they're both mentioned in the same paragraph?

Not yet. I figure I've jumped around a bit as it is and I feel as though I've left a few things out, but hey, when you have a changeling or a pony or a griffin or a dragon or God knows what else living with you, things tend to be forgotten on the side of the road as you continue towards the future. I'll try to remember these things as best I can, living in the moment and realizing certain things as I go. For now, you're stuck with dealing with a crazy man's thoughts.

Driving the coach that summer was at first a challenge until I became comfortable navigating the Behemoth. After making sure the house was locked and getting my former boss to agree to check on the house once a week as well as shut off the electricity and phone and other monthy bills tied up to the house stopped, Chryssie and I grinned at each other, fastened our seatbelts, and went straight for Yellowstone National Park.

Naturally she took her Twilight Sparkle doll with her. She takes her stuffed mare friend everywhere. Absolutely loves that toy to death. While we're on the highways, she likes to watch her shows and movies and other forms of entertainment available to pass the long, boring miles. She literally keeps house while I drive, her voice humming in tune with the sound of her buzzing wings when she's happy. I even bought her all five seasons of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I hear they're doing a real movie. It's coming out later this summer. Maybe Chryssie would like to see it?

I'll be honest. I'm not really interested in seeing the movie past the point of possibly gleaning information from it in regards of what I might expect when they come for Chrysalis. I'm not even sure it's going to happen, but I've covered that crap already. Its driving me nuts.

Anyways, Chryssie started watching the series. She looks about six or seven now. I can't tell. Does it matter? Random thoughts are random. Chryssie loves the show and starts watching it almost religiously. I'm starting to learn the words of the show's opening theme. Every twenty-two minutes, I hear the theme song again. It assails my ears like an overly bubbly bee trying to convince me the sweetness of the song is soothing and good.

It is not.

But, I endure. My daughter is happy. My daughter is behaving. My daughter is right now trying to peer over my shoulder through the vast windshield in front of the both of us as I drive the Behemoth down a straight stretch of highway, westbound. Her eyes are huge.

"Daddy, what are those?" The wonder in her tone makes me grin.

"Those are mountains, pumpkin," I reply dryly. We're in Wyoming, having come from the rolling hills of western Nebraska, following the highway. The road takes us north from Cheyenne and will eventually take us to Casper.

The mountains themselves aren't that impressive yet. We're in the foothills of the Rockies, but Chryssie is completely blown away seeing the peaks with her own eyes instead of relying on photographs and the internet.

"Why are you smiling, Daddy?" she asks me.

"I'm smiling because you're the best daughter a dad could ever ask for."

Yellowstone is amazing. The lingering chill of the winter still persists even though it's mid June at night, but Chryssie assumes her utonagan form, her long, thick coat a mix of gray, black, and white and very wolfish in appearance. She's perfected it and is very proud of her accomplishment. Not a fan of collars, I had the forsight to let her pick one out for herself on the internet before we embarked on this journey of discovering America. It's a simple leather collar, with her name "Chrysalis" on a tag. It took even longer to convince her to stay on the leash. Leash laws may or may not be taken seriously, but I wasn't about to try and explain myself to a park ranger or risk dirty looks from parents thinking a wolf was running loose among them. She hates it even worse than she hates the collar. I suggest she try a human form, but immediately think of all the things little girls would need; clothes, shoes, stuff like that.

Maybe another time. She's still not impressed with the human body, even if the opposable thumbs are intriguing. Besides, she has magic. It more or less trumps being a slow, soft-skinned bipedal naked ape.

Her words, not mine.

Despite my fears, people react to Chryssie's canine form positively for the most part. Kids always want to pet her. She adores the attention. There are a few strange looks until I explain Chryssie is not a wolf, but an utonagan. We get to see Old Faithful, watching the geyser erupt in a magnificent display of scalding water pressure and steam. Chryssie and I are wowed along with the crowd. We explore more aspects of the geothermal hot spots, looking at the different colors caused by bacteria in the hot pools. The experience is amazing.

Summer passes, we go home. The memories we take are mostly good ones, though there are a few things Chrysalis did to either make me want to hide or cringe or wonder what she was thinking. It's remarkably easy for us to enjoy ourselves as Chryssie can make out if someone nearby has positive emotions or negative ones. I'm thinking changelings are empaths to some degree the more she tells if someone seems untrustworthy because she's got a bad vibe coming from them. I trust her instincts and her abilities.

In the meantime, she's feeding off the love of humans, as well as other emotions. It fills her with magic reserves. Chrysalis has so much love to feed on, they barely feel it as nothing more than a momentary yawn or a weariness that passes after a minute or two. I chastise her for feeding without permission. I'm used to her feeding off me by now. My body has adjusted to her feeding, almost as a sort of conditioning. I've also found the better physical condition I'm in also reflects on how much love Chryssie can feed off of me before it begins to drain me to the point where it becomes physical exhaustion.

I don't think she's ever experienced anything quite like the love a human is capable of. I don't think I've ever known what strength can be found from within it. I'm alive, aren't I? If I didn't feel love, nor care for it, I guarantee you would not be reading this story right now. I don't suppose. It's a fact. When my changeling daughter is old enough to understand her perspective on love a bit better, I'd love to talk to her about it.

The house is just where we left it, though filled with dust from four months of nobody living in it. Still, something seemed off. With a quick check with my daughter, she confirms someone is watching us and they're both curious and amused. It's a singular entity, she notes, suddenly afraid as her feelings echo in my heart. Our connection is strong and I know she's not felt emotions like this one. She can't describe it, but it terrifies her. Together, we check the house and find nothing out of place, nothing amiss. Chryssie hisses, her wings buzzing with irritation and nervousness. Then, after perhaps a half an hour of searching, she tells me the feelings are gone.

Her whimpers have me in a seek and destroy frame of mind. Somebody's frightened my little girl and I want to find out why.

That night, Chryssie sleeps with me. I stay up, in a watchful mood as I sprawl on the couch, simply listening. The grandfather clock ticks away the seconds, the pendulum swinging as the little filly - too big for my lap now - sleeps there on the lap she has outgrown, her head against my chest.

Paranoid. My daughter's feelings has left me paranoid.

Eventually sleep and I find each other.

The years pass, nine to be exact. Chrysalis grows larger and larger until the tip of her horn is at my eye level. Her words become eloquent, her vocabulary beyond my own. Her magic continues to grow stronger as she is pretty much teaching herself how to wield it. I breach thirty without a thought and my family thinks I have a dog I take with me everywhere I go. They even meet her when I take the initiative and go to see them. Even though Chryssie is in her dog form, she discovers my family to be perfectly strange. Engrossed in their own pursuits, they've forgotten the meaning of family, but they still love me. They simply can't pull themselves from the webs they've made for themselves.

Keep in mind, this is the observations my little princess makes to me one day while we're sitting on the front porch in late fall one afternoon. She's probably a little bit larger than, say Twilight Sparkle, a teenager now. She's feisty and still loves the plushie making me think of that cartoon mare. She's very close to appearing exactly as the queen in the show, but far younger still and seemingly always with a smile on her charcoal gray muzzle. For the past three years she's spent the fall, winter, and spring months lurking in the barn, learning how to build a car. It's become a hobby of hers, learning how to put the Mustang together. She uses the world wide web to its full advantage, learning what parts go where, how to assemble them and in which order to place them. Grandpa already had all the tools she needed and became a wonderful exercise in manipulating parts of various sizes and weights at the same time.

Chrysalis became a part time grease monkey. She absolutely loved absorbing herself in her work. I helped when I could, but had to put up with her short temper when things weren't going exactly as she had hoped. There was a lot of trial and error as she build that car. I would often find her pouring over one of the many thick manuals on the Mustang, detailing the parts and studying the diagrams closely, muttering under her breath when she wasn't finding what she was looking for. I learned a little about cars from Grandpa and far more from my adopted daughter. She would let me help, but the project originally started by my grandpa was picked up by Chryssie and she attacked it with gusto. It became her project and her joy. In the meantime, I would bring her food to snack on. The car is nearly finished.

She's more of a carnivore now than a herbivore. The love of sweets has lessened, but she'll still indulge every once in a while in a bowl of ice cream. She also still lugs that purple doll around her everywhere, calling it her good luck charm. Chrysalis is looking more and more the queen, often acting like one, to my amusement. No, this isn't the evil creature I remember from a show I no longer watch. Though the lingering doubt of characters are going to come for my baby are there, I no longer worry about a cartoon. No, this is a majesty of self-assuredness, comfortable with who she is and what she is. Many things are still a mystery and she has many secrets she won't reveal to me, but our bond remains strong and she merely asks I trust her as she has trusted me for so many years.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said to me, her smile gentle as she tossed her mane. "Until I understand my secrets more, some of them I still need to find for myself what the answers are. I know this is not my world and I know one day others will come to me. I've been aware of your fears for some time. I wish you would tell me why it makes you so afraid." Her voice is closer to resembling the disjointed sound of two trying to speak in harmony with each other. Its as though her voice started to split as soon as she hit puberty. She has also stopped molting about the same time and grows normally, I assume.

I can also sense our time is short. This comes from her. There's a sadness about it, but it is from her. All I can come up with is, "Yeah."

My arm goes over her shoulders and I pull her close to me as we sit on the couch together. She's my daughter and she's starting to come into her own.

Not yet, dammit.

She knows. She's a smart kid. Smarter than her crazy, paranoid father.

My voice breaks the comfortable silence between us as we watch the local news. "Promise me."

"Don't got to the Dark Side. Got it." She butts me with the side of her head playfully against my chest. "You want me to promise you all the time I won't become that creature in that show." Star Wars is a favorite series of hers, though I can't for the life of me understand why she likes the second trilogy over the first. She's also not too thrilled at how she was represented in the show. There was even a time she considered finding the writers of the episode and tell them how to properly write a script.

No, I mean it. I had to threaten her with a grounding if she even tried to write them.

Chrysalis, ladies and gentlemen has become a science fiction nerd. If I didn't know any better, I'd even guess with some degree of sureness she's learned almost as much as possible from the internet plus more. She loves learning, taking after Twilight Sparkle. However, instead of the unicorn's penchant for anxiety attacks, my daughter has developed a hot-headed approach towards things.

Think Rainbow Dash with brains.

Dammit, I'm not implying she's stupid!

You know what? Forget it. Forget I mentioned it.

A giggling filly on the cusp of marehood asks what I want for dinner. She's banished me from the kitchen in my own house when she decides she wants to make supper. I get up to follow her as she slides from the couch with ease, her legs having grown long and slender As she has grown older, the holes through her legs became larger and fewer in number. Her steps are graceful, naturally regal, her mane long and straight. Her form is slender, perhaps slightly smaller than Princess Luna. My Chrysalis has a smile, warm and genuine. She's playful and I trust her enough to allow her to go outside as she wishes without supervision. My daughter knows better than to be seen. She's even told me how she uses her stealth as a game to follow people or passing cars, night or day.

"What did you have in mind?"

She pauses just as she enters the kitchen. "I was thinking Yankee pot roast."

"Sounds good."

Her horn flares with her magic, her wings humming as cupboard doors swing open, pots and pans and ingredients appearing from them. She scrutinizes the bottles of spices from the spice rack as a rotation of magiked items float around her head. With a few steps, she is in the center of the kitchen and naturally, she decides to show off. From her throat hums a little tune I can't identify, but it's a happy song and I've heard it somewhere before. She's even swaying to her own music, finding what she wants to use to make dinner and setting it neatly on the counter. What she doesn't want goes back where it belongs. The oven turns on without my princess touching a thing, little flecks of green magic flickering as she sets the temperature.

"What's that song you're humming?"

She smiles shyly, a small blush forming on her cheeks. "You don't watch enough Disney, Daddy. It's "Be Our Guest". Now hush and let me cook." Her magic shoves at me gently, like a palm against my breastbone, turning me until it's pushing me out of her little kingdom. "I'll let you know when it's ready!"

I leave her to her task, smiling as she has pretty much become a queen in my house.

The king has fallen. Long cook the queen.

I grin, give up and go to watch the news. As I plop my butt down, I can hear her - not humming now - but singing the song, mostly to herself. Right about then I realize she has an understanding of my fears, perhaps knowing them better herself. Chrysalis wants to enjoy this time she has left with me and she refuses to be sad about it.

Where is this philosophical wisdom coming from? Has she grown that much from within? There's still the matter of the watcher, whoever he or she is. Once a year, we would both sense someone watching us, the same as that day we returned from our summer on the road. It was interested in Chrysalis.

Who was it?