//------------------------------//
// Never Change 
// Story: Change of Hearts 
// by Mannulus 
//------------------------------//


Chapter 2
Never Change



The flight itself wasn't so bad, really.  She knew better than to set hoof in some of the questionable terrain far below her.  Tales of vampiric jackalopes, plants that ate ponies, and even of the dread chupacabra kept her from descending into the forests and hills below her outstretched wings, and despite what horrors that landscape might conceal, from this altitude, it was actually quite pretty.  Compared to zipping around Ponville dropping off the obscene number of packages that Hearth's Warming would have had her delivering, this was downright enjoyable. 
However, even with friendly air currents to carry her, it was an eighteen-hour flight to the land of the changelings, and she wanted none of the frigid night air on her wings and face.
She had brought a tent, of course, and she managed to pitch it after several unsuccessful attempts, one of which involved her taking flight to retrieve her intended shelter from an unexpected gust of wind.  At last, however, she managed to make her camp on a small outcropping of a steep mountainside.  The place was essentially inaccessible to anything that could not fly, which made her feel safe enough, but the same wind which had so rudely attempted to bereave her of her tent continued, in partnership with the typical winter cold, to addle her attempts to find some small degree of comfort.
She had assembled what little deadwood she could find into a small pile, intending to start a fire.  However, a few minutes of digging through her bags quickly revealed another small crisis:  She had no matches.
“Okay,” she mumbled. “So, you forgot to bring matches.  It's not the end of the world.  You can start a fire without matches, right?  Rub two sticks together, or use a flint and steel or something?”
Her horseshoes were steel, of course, but she had no idea what flint looked like, or even if there was any to be found here.
I guess that leaves the two sticks option, she thought.
She took a stick in her teeth, and pressed another one across a stone underneath her hoof.  Then, she bent her head downwards, breathed in through her nose... and spat the stick out.
“This isn't gonna work, is it?” she asked nopony in particular.
She would just end up spraining her neck, and likely to no avail.  The truth was that she had no idea of how to start a fire without matches.  In the blustery wind, she doubted she could have even kept a match lit, anyway.  There was really only one thing to be done.  She crawled inside her tent, and zipped herself into her sleeping bag.
“I hate camping,” she mumbled.
It was true: she did hate camping, but she hadn't always.  In fact, she seemed to remember a time when she had deeply enjoyed it.
“He always started the fires back then,” she said, watching her breath puff out in quickly-fading clouds of steam. 
It was so easy for him, she thought, but I guess magic makes everything easier.  A quick little twinkle, and whatever you want just... happens.
“Hmph,” she grunted, trying to tighten herself into an even smaller ball to conserve heat. “What I want is for that stupid box to get where it's going.  Then, I want to go home  -- that's it.  I just want to get this over with, and make it back home in one piece.  I want Dinky to come home for her break so we can have a happy, normal Hearth's Warming.”
Normal: now there was a concept.  What was normal for Derpy Hooves seemed, as of late, to ricochet so drastically between the bleak, the comical, and the potentially lethal that there really wasn't much meaning in the word, anymore.  Only a few years previous it had meant a nice, little house on the edge of Ponyville, and nothing more difficult than an hour or two of day-to-day weather work; the life of the common young pegasus mare.
“Then, you're supposed to fall in love, get married, and have a foal,” she said. “The whole shtick.”
There was bitterness in those words; bitterness because the “shtick” hadn't quite fully played itself out according to the script.  As was generally the case in her life, something had gone awry.
“What I wouldn't give for this season to be over,” she grumbled. “I hate Hearth's Warming.”
At least she wasn't the only one, though.
“What was his name?” she asked herself. “That guy I met at Sugar Cube Corner, this morning.”
Then, it struck her that she had not asked him.
“Doesn't matter, anyway,” she said. “Just some weather patrol pony with a bad attitude.”
Maybe, Derps, she thought, but he had you pegged with one look.
“Ditz,” she sneered, her snout crinkling in disgust. “Ditzy Doo; disgustingly adorable, like a pony name is supposed to be.”
Nopony but her own parents had called her by her given name since she was a filly.  The nickname “Derpy” was concocted by her schoolmates, and as such things often do, it had stuck.  Only one pony had called her Ditzy Doo in years, and he was gone.
She sneezed, and rubbed at her snout.
“Ditzy Doo,” she said. “I miss that.”
She smiled a little, and her thoughts began to stray towards times, places, and faces that she knew better than to let herself recall, especially here and now, alone in the wilderness.
“Cut it out, Derps,” she said suddenly. “Stop thinking so much.”
She looked up at where her saddlebags lay, and poked a hoof out from her sleeping bag to drag them closer.  She opened one, and withdrew a muffin.  She pulled it inside the sleeping bag with her, and clutched it close to her face where she lay curled into a tiny, shivering ball.  She took a bite.  Like everything else on the side of this mountain, the muffin was cold.
“Still good, though,” she said, “or good enough to keep my mind off things, at least.”


***


It took her only half a day's further flight to complete her journey.  Overland, it would have taken longer, but she was carried onward by swift wind and a deep drive to be done with this job and go home.  Finally, as the land the changelings called home loomed into view, Derpy felt her heart speed up and hammer at her ribcage.  Even as its rhythm intensified, however, it felt somehow watery and weak.
“It's so... dead,” she said to herself, casting her gaze downward from where she rode on the lower reaches of the jet stream.
The earth below her seemed totally empty of life, except for an occasional gnarled, sickly tree.  Spires of jagged, twisted stone jutted upward towards the sky like the grasping claws of some hateful beast beyond Derpy's imagination.
There were no cities or towns, – only that empty, brutal landscape – so that for awhile, she wondered if she was headed in the right direction.  Finally, after flying all morning, she saw something peak over the horizon: a black, jagged spire that heaved itself upward over what soon revealed itself as a sprawling city of similar ugly, black structures, each one pocked with dozens of openings, all emitting a faint, green glow.
She wondered for more than a moment what the changelings would do when they saw her.  She was tempted to turn tail and fly home.
No, she told herself.  I came this far; I'm gonna do this.
Having so resolved, she flew onward.
As she began to pass over the city proper, she heard a terrible buzzing arise below her, and as she looked down, she saw a sight that twisted her guts with distilled dread: changelings pouring by the hundreds from every opening in the black, malignant cityscape.
She was seized again with the desire to flee, but immediately, she realized it would be useless even to attempt.  There was no direction she could turn from which the black, chittering menace did not ascend.  Given no other option, she simply stopped, and hovered in mid-air, waiting to see what would happen.  Soon, she was surrounded.  On every side – above, below, port and starboard – they hovered by the dozens, the thrum of their wings filling her ears. She drew deep, heavy breaths, wondering with every second what these wicked creatures might be planning to do to her.
After a a minute or so, a lone changeling, clad in shiny, chitinous green armor, flew forward, and in a moment he hovered before her.  He tilted his head left and right, as if curious, but the motions were sudden and abrupt, unnatural to the eyes of an equine in every way.  His green eyes had no pupils by which she might judge what part of her he was observing, but she had the distinct sense she was being scrutinized, and with an unsettling degree of care.
“Little pony,” it finally said, its voice gritty and thin.
“Y... Yes?” asked Derpy, keenly aware of how her voice shook, even at the utterance of a single syllable.
The changeling chuckled at this, and then smiled.  The hard, chitinous skin around its mouth actually cracked a little from the strain of being so manipulated, but Derpy watched as the cracks quickly healed, leaving faint, hairline scars where they had been.
“What brings one of Celestia's little ponies to the lands of our Queen Chrysalis?” it asked.
“Uh,” Derpy was so frightened that for a moment, she could not even remember how or why she had come to be here.
“Well?” it ground out in its crackly, unnatural voice.
She felt herself beginning to hyperventilate, and forced herself to take a few deep breaths.
“I have a package,” she finally said. “It's for Queen Chrysalis, herself.”
She gulped.  It was just as absurd as it sounded, despite the fact that it was true.  Would this creature even believe her?
“Really now?” asked the weird being hovering before her under the power if its buzzing wings. “Come with me,” it said.
The creature turned and flew towards the huge, black spire in the distance.  Derpy followed, and the changelings opened a way for the two of them.  In a few minutes, they landed on a twisted, black balcony that jutted from the side of the enormous edifice.  The vaulted doorway that led inside glowed forebodingly.  Without a word, the changeling entered, beckoning for her to follow.
She felt her head swim, and ice water flooded her veins.  She followed, nonetheless.  If they had not done away with her yet, maybe they did not intend to.
Yeah, right.
She shuddered at the thought, but walked on.
The corridors of what Derpy could only guess was the palace of Queen Chrysalis were illuminated by many small, gelatinous orbs that clung to the vaulted ceiling.  They were irregular in their spacing, and the ceiling itself was uneven, appearing more as if it had grown than been built.
At length, Derpy realized that the floor had begun some time ago to slope upwards, and that a gentle curving of the passage would seem to indicate that they were ascending the inside of the gigantic structure in a long, slow spiral.  Eventually, the floor leveled itself out, and she found herself standing in a large chamber with no evident entrances or exits.
Or guards.
The changeling that had led her to this weird room emitted a short burst of loud, sharp clicks, and a door on the ceiling above them spread open like a sphincter.  Very little light seemed to emit from the opening, and Derpy stood staring at it in trepidation for several seconds before the changeling spoke.
“Get on with it,” it said.
“Huh?” she responded, tearing her eyes away from the door to face her escort.
“Are you going in, or not?” asked the armor-clad changeling.
“Just me?” she asked.
The changeling cut loose a sputtering, cackling laugh, and then smiled.
“Queen Chrysalis has no need of any protector – least of all against one such as yourself.  I am most certainly not going in there,” it said, “but neither am I leaving until I see that you have.”
Derpy gulped and spread her wings, carrying herself aloft with a few gentle beats.  As she passed through the strange door in the ceiling, she looked down to see the changeling watching after her.  It said nothing as the door slowly closed beneath her, but she was certain that she saw on the creature's face a look of what could only be relief.
As the door shut itself fully, Derpy flapped her way just a little to one side of it, and sat down her hooves.  She had no desire to physically touch a thing so unsettling as that weird portal.
It was dark in this tiny chamber, but now that she was inside, she could see more of the alien, pale green light emitting from a tall, vaulted passage that began just across the room from where she stood.
Never in her entire life had she been so reluctant to tread a path that lay before her, but there was no other choice.  She stared down the corridor for several moments, feeling her stomach flit this way and that inside her.  Finally, she realized that she would either move forward, or she would pass out.  The last thing she wanted was to be unconscious in a place like this – especially with whom she knew must be so nearby.
By a gargantuan and painful act of will, she moved herself forward towards the dim, green glow.  Once again, the corridor seemed to wind its way around the circumference of the structure, but this time, it was only a short distance before it opened up into a large, vaulted chamber.
This place gave Derpy pause.  It was more brightly lit than she had expected, being illuminated by a huge chandelier of twisted, black chitin which hung from the peaked center of the ceiling.  In place of candles, it had more of the weird, glowing orbs.  Beneath it there was what appeared to be a bedroom, but it was like none she had ever seen or imagined.
In a word, the place looked painful.
The normal, expected dressers, mirrors, and yes, even a bed, did exist, along with a sitting area having two large couches and low table.  What made it all so bizarre was that they were all black, gleaming with the pale green reflection of the strange, strange lights, and every corner and edge that could be made so without rendering them useless was sharp and blade-like.  Even the bed, round rather than rectangular, was wreathed with half a dozen spines that curled back over it like brutal talons, and each one was twisted, uneven, and by all appearances, very sharp.  Derpy would not have dared touch anything for fear she might slice herself open.
The whole scene was so harsh and twisted that Derpy completely missed Queen Chrysalis herself, partly by virtue of the changeling's body being so similar in appearance to the décor of her chamber, and partly by virtue of the fact that she stood utterly and perfectly still – until she blinked.
She was standing not three paces from the little pegasus, – had been standing there for as long as Derpy had been in the room – but something about that slow, deliberate closing and opening of her eyes made her starkly and terrifyingly present to the tiny, gray pony.
Derpy gasped, but said nothing.  She wracked her brain for what to do, and finally, it came to her that she should probably bow.  This was a queen, after all; an evil, soul-devouring queen with designs on world domination, but a queen, nonetheless.
As she lowered herself on shaky legs, the huge changeling finally spoke.
“If I had taken a step,” she hissed, “I should imagine you would have died of fright.”
Derpy righted herself, and looked up once more at the black, haggard thing that stood so still.
“I'm Derpy Hooves with the EPS,” she forced herself to say, and every word shook like a leaf in a gale. “You have a package here.”
She fumbled in her saddlebag with a wing, her eyes never moving from the changeling.
“I know,” said Chrysalis, calmly. “Do you think you would have been allowed in here otherwise?”
“Of course not,” said Derpy, finally managing to produce the package, which she clutched next to her side. “Why would somepo... some...one... like you ever want to be bothered with a cross-eyed little klutz like me?  In fact, if you'll just sign for it, I'll be on my way!”
“One moment,” said Chrysalis, and now, she actually did take a step -- directly towards Derpy.
To see Chrysalis move in her direction sent such a cold sensation through Derpy's spine that the pegasus believed for a moment she might prove true the queen's prediction that she would die of fright.
“Let me see it,” Chrysalis demanded, calmly.
Derpy turned slightly to the side, and lifted her wing a little to let the package be seen more clearly.  Chrysalis responded by taking it into her telekinetic grip, causing it glow green.  It freed itself from Derpy's grasp, and floated through the air.  In a moment, it had stopped in front of Chrysalis' face, and it began to turn itself over slowly where it hovered in space.
“No one has tampered with it?” she asked, skeptically.
“No, uh... your majesty,” said Derpy.
“Not even one of my own?  No other changeling has so much as touched this box?”
“No.”  Derpy was confused. “Only me and one or two others... Other ponies, I mean.”
“Good,” said Chrysalis, though what satisfaction Derpy could hear in the word seemed muted and cold. “Then it is intact.”
“Intact?” asked Derpy, immediately wishing she hadn't spoken.  The less she said, the less chance she might incur Chrysalis' displeasure.
“Things of sentimental value are weakened in their essence even through indirect contact with a changeling,” said Chrysalis, seemingly unperturbed at Derpy's inquiry. “Memories and feelings that they would otherwise elicit simply cease to be.”
Her head tilted as she looked the box over, and even such small movements as these were slow, precise, and calculated. 
“Eaten?” whispered Derpy.
“Yes,” came Chrysalis plain reply, and the box, once more upright, opened.
In her years as a delivery pony, Derpy had watched many unicorns open packages.  It always gave her a certain degree of amusement to watch a floating box seemingly rip itself asunder.  This was different, however.  A number of slits silently appeared in the packing tape that held the box shut, as if they had been sliced with a razor.  Then, its two top flaps opened outward carefully, slowly, and in perfect unison.  Derpy watched intently, deeply curious as to what had been shipped to such a creature as Queen Chrysalis from a place like Carousel Boutique.  There was a squeaky rustling from inside, -- the familiar sound of foam packing peanuts – and a thing levitated from the box that transformed Derpy's curiosity into mind-bending confusion.
For all her keen awareness that she probably should not speak, the gray mare simply could not restrain herself.  The words had jumped out of her mouth before she even realized she had spoken.
“A wedding veil?”
“Yes,” said Chrysalis, and she seemed both pleased and relieved, insomuch, at least, as her hollow, grinding voice and unnaturally still posture allowed her to convey emotion.
The dark implications of what she was seeing quickly began to gnaw at the pegasus' mind.  To whom had that wedding veil belonged?  To what terrible story was it so central a part that it could give a creature like Chrysalis joy (albeit ever-so-reserved) to see it now?
Derpy shuddered.
“It's like it's brand new,” Chrysalis murmured in a gravelly hiss that was barely audible to the pony's ears.
Derpy wondered if she should make her escape while the changeling was distracted, but quickly realized that the only exit was shut tight with a door that she had no idea of how to open.  As if that was not bad enough, on the other side of that door came the long, winding descent down the black spire, which would give Chrysalis ample time to overtake her.  Worse still, beyond that lay an entire city of changelings, ready to strike her from the sky and feed on the very love in her heart.
Love for who? she thought, and an image of Dinky flashed through her mind.
At that exact moment, Chrysalis' eyes widened, as if the pegasus' simple thought of her daughter and the sentiments attached to her had piqued some sixth sense unique to her malignant, cruel race.
Derpy silently cursed her foolishness at allowing such a thought to enter her mind in a place like this – especially at this particular moment.
“Hmhm,” chuckled the changeling, though the sound was distant and almost empty of pleasure, and then she turned her eyes towards the pegasus. “I have to sign for the delivery, don't I?”
“Uh, yes ma'am,” said Derpy, beginning to hyperventilate. “Yes, your majesty, I mean.  I'm sorry.”
Derpy fumbled one more in her saddlebag with a wing, and removed her clipboard.  It glowed a sickly green, and then it levitated to a jagged, black writing desk near a far wall of the chamber.  Chrysalis walked behind it, box and wedding veil in tow, and placed them both beside the clipboard there on the desk.
There was a strange fluidity to the way the changeling moved, utterly unnatural for a being so jagged, haggard, and unpleasant to behold.  Weirder still was the fact that a creature so large should make absolutely no noise in her stride.  It was as if everything that Queen Chrysalis did, even the slightest movement or the quietest sound, was a choice.
Without a word, Chrysalis withdrew from a drawer on the desk a small inkwell and a ragged-looking black quill, both glowing green with her magic.
“You... need to sign each page,” said Derpy, her voice quivering.
“Of course,” said Chrysalis, something sly and knowing behind the words, and she dipped the quill in the inkwell.
These signatures – why the EPS needed so many, Derpy would never know – always took too long by the pegasus' estimation, but in this particular instance, the whole affair seemed to stretch into eternity.  Chrysalis herself made no particular hurry, taking several seconds to sign each page, and as Derpy stood there, sweating and terrified, the little mare did all she could do to empty her mind of any thoughts of her friends and family.  This of course only caused her to think about them more.  There began a roll call of every single pony who had ever meant anything to her, each flashing through her mind against her own will, and she had to wonder if it wasn't the doing of the black queen who was, at that moment, still signing the forms on the clipboard.
So.  Very.  Slowly.
The roll call continued, spilling name after name and face after face onto the canvas of Derpy's addled mind.  Finally, there came a face that made her cringe – not with pain or disgust or even fear, but with sorrow.  There, at the face of a unicorn stallion, her mind stalled, and at last stood still.
This, at last, was too much.
“STOP IT!” Derpy shouted, and Chrysalis did not so much as flinch.
“Stop what?” she asked, leisurely signing another of the many papers.
Derpy was not sure, but she thought she heard only the faintest note of coyness in the changeling's voice.
“Stop making me think of all these ponies I know.”
“Ah,” said Chrysalis, as if she had just been reminded what day of the week it was.  Her neck and head craned smoothly towards Derpy, and when her face was set towards the pony's, it stopped – all at once, and with no evidence of momentum.  The rest of her body remained, as always, statuesque.  She let loose a low, grinding chuckle, but even this barely disturbed her immaculate rigidity.
“I'm not making you think of anyone or anything,” she said, her head still turned – just a little further than it seemed to Derpy that it should have been able to turn, at all. “You choose what you see.”
“What do you mean?” asked Derpy.
“You choose what you want to see, and then I become what you choose; see?”
And then, she was him – bizarre posture, facial expression, and all.  It lasted only a moment before Chrysalis resumed her true shape, but it made Derpy's blood curdle and her knees go weak.
“Please, don't do that,” said Derpy, feeling a tear rising to one of her eyes.  She shut it, and rubbed at it with a hoof.
“You asked,” said Chrysalis, her voice uncolored by emotion, and her head followed exactly the same track it had followed before, returning her gaze to the clipboard.
Derpy felt immensely relieved to have the creature's eyes fixed somewhere else, and somehow even moreso that her voice had fallen silent, though that did not last long.
“That is the nature of an illusion,” said Chrysalis.  “It can only stand as long as the deceived wishes to continue believing in it.  It is our most basic precept; the law by which we live and die.”
“I don't care,” said Derpy, sniffling slightly.
“Oh,” said Chrysalis, “did you think that I was speaking to you?  I apologize.  I was ruminating.”
“Rumi-what?” asked Derpy.
“I sometimes think aloud,” said Chrysalis. “It keeps me sane.”
Derpy said nothing as Chrysalis continued to sign the clipboard, actually seeming to slow her pace from its already glacial crawl.  She was becoming more and more certain that Chrysalis was toying with her, and began to wonder whether the creature had any intention of letting her leave.
So, she asked.
“Are you gonna let me go?”
“Probably,” said Chrysalis. “You have a dreadfully conflicted little heart.  Your love is mixed with sadness and regret and uncertainty.  You'd likely make me ill.”
“What do you mean?” asked Derpy, suddenly feeling, for reasons she couldn't fully identify, a need to defend herself. “I don't feel uncertain or sad about anypony I love, and I certainly don't regret it; you're wrong.”
Chrysalis did not turn to face her, but she spoke, her voice taking on only the faintest note of irritation.
“Don't become so emboldened to know that I wouldn't have you for myself,” she said. “Other changelings are not nearly so selective as I am.  I can cast you to the rabble, and they will leave you an empty, soulless husk in a matter of seconds.”
Derpy gulped, and tried to moisten her lips, which were dry and chapped with fear and with the wind and cold of her long flight.
Finally, Queen Chrysalis flipped the clipboard back to its front page, and sent it floating through the air towards Derpy.  The pegasus took it in her teeth, and dropped it in her saddlebag.  When she lifted her head away from shutting the bag's flap, Chrysalis was right there.
Derpy staggered backward, yelping in surprise.  In only the briefest moment, Chrysalis had crossed the room from her desk without making a sound or even noticeably stirring the air.  She was within hoof's reach of Derpy's face, and she stood still as a stone but for her mane slowly settling around her neck and shoulders under the impetus of whatever surge of alacrity had brought her so near the terrified, gray pegasus.
She grinned, but no mirth reached her eyes.
“Since you presume to know your own heart so well,” said the Changeling, “I would like to play a little game.”
Derpy felt her body quivering with a surge of adrenaline, and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.
“You see, little pony, I know hearts.  I know them better than anyone.  I know them better than those to whom they belong.  There is a reason for every act of the heart – every pithy 'I love you,' every curse uttered in anger, and every tear shed. There are more feelings than one mortal lifetime can ever host, and as many feelings as there are, there are still more reasons to feel them.  And I know them all.  So, as you might well imagine, I take exception to your insistence that I am... 'wrong.'”
There was malice in the changeling's voice, mild and faint, as all of her emotions seemed to be, but more than that, there was pride.
“So, here is my game:  I will ask you three questions, and you will answer truthfully.”
“That's... the game?” Derpy managed to stammer out.
“That is the game,” said Chrysalis.
“What happens then?” asked Derpy.
“That is the whole game,” said Chrysalis. “You will play it because I want you to play it.  I will decide what happens after that, but that will not be a part of the game.  Do you understand?”
Derpy nodded silently.
“Very well,” said Chrysalis, her voice as cold as ever.  “That unicorn stallion whose image you chose; you loved him?”
“Yes,” said Derpy, and she felt a lump rise in her throat.
“And he is dead,” said Chrysalis, "and has been for some time?"
And now, tears streamed down Derpy's face.
“Yes,” she said, shrinking down even further.
“And you do not believe... No.  You know that you will never feel that kind of love again?”
“Yes,” Derpy whispered, but in the silence of the chamber, she was certain Chrysalis had heard it.
“Hmph,” grunted Chrysalis, and then she gave another of the empty, almost joyless chuckles. “Hmhmhm.”  She took a deep breath, and released it with a sigh that could be plainly heard, though only barely seen.
“The game is over,” she said. “You may go.”
Derpy did not move as Chrysalis turned and glided silently back towards her writing desk, each step measured and perfectly even.  The pegasus simply lay on her belly, her legs pulled in tight to her sides and her head curled up beside her.  She wept quietly.
Chrysalis did not speak to her, and because of Derpy's posture, she could not see her.  Finally, after a few minutes, the numb, creeping sadness in her gave way to a singular, uncomplicated urge.
“I wanna go home,” she mumbled, and she stood up.
She was surprised to see Chrysalis still standing at the desk.  She levitated the wedding veil Derpy had delivered in front of her, and was looking at it with an expression that was only vaguely forlorn.
Derpy turned to leave, but she took only two steps before she stopped.  As she turned back, she saw Chrysalis, still standing there, silent and seemingly lifeless in the grip of her perfect, perfect immobility.  Only her eyes moved, scanning over the veil slowly.
“Your... Majesty,” said Derpy, “may I ask you a question?”
“You may,” said Chrysalis, “but I may not answer.”
Derpy wiped the moisture from her cheeks with a  foreleg, and sniffled once.
“How did you know all those things?”
Chrysalis said nothing.  Derpy waited for most of a minute, feeling her fur stand on end with a growing terror that Chrysalis might turn and exact retribution for some perceived insolence.  Finally, she decided it was best that she leave.  As she shifted her weight to turn, however, the changeling finally spoke.
“I have lived a long, long time,” said Chrysalis, her hollow, almost soulless voice echoing in the chamber, “and in that time, I have taken many forms; played many roles.  Some of them I enjoyed playing more than others, and some of them I should have liked to have played a little longer.”  She continued to stare at the floating veil. “Does that answer your question?”
“I... I'm not sure,” said Derpy.
Chrysalis reached out and physically touched the wedding veil.  A sharp edge of her ragged foot, which was so like a horse's hoof, and yet so not, tore at it slightly.  She made no show of emotion at having damaged the thing with which she was so transfixed.
“It is always the nature of love to damage both its genesis and its object,” she said, “and yet it is such a pleasant thing to experience.”
She withdrew the ragged appendage.
“Deliriously addictive it is,” she said, “and that is what makes it the cruelest of all sensations -- and of all... decisions.  Make no mistake, it is both.”  She lifted her head, and blinked once. "In the end, however, every feeling born of it is ugly... ugly... ugly.”
She lowered the veil gently to the desk.  Then, she turned and walked slowly towards Derpy.  Her pace was slow and perfectly even, and with not a single step did she disturb the silence of the chamber.  When at last she stood over the pegasus, she lowered her head, and looked her in the eye.
Even though she stood so close, for the first time since the changeling had made Derpy aware of her presence, she did not terrify the little mare.  She spoke, and there was sadness in her voice.  It was faint, – barely present at all – but in a voice so stolid and calm, it bore the weight of the bitterest lament.
“I am a changeling, my little pony.  Whatever I love I consume and destroy, and whatever loves me will always find in me its ruin.  It is the nature of what I am, and I can never change.”
She lifted her head, and turned it lithely towards a wall of her chamber.  Her horn glowed, and the wall simply grew an opening.
“Now go,” she said.
Derpy took a few uncertain steps towards the sunlight that shown in through the newly-formed portal, and looked back.
Chrysalis strode to her bed like some huge, black ghost.  Gently and noiselessly, she stepped between two of the weird, jagged spines that surrounded it, and she lay down.  She looked past the pegasus and into the sun, and Derpy was sure that in her half-open eyes she saw only the dimmest glimmer of sorrow.
Derpy watched her for a moment longer.  Then, she turned and leapt outward and into the sky.  She banked northward, and as she flew away from the city, not a single changeling emerged to accost her.