//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: The Interrogation: Spared Change // by Post Script //------------------------------// The Interrogation: Spared Change “Kid, are you sure you want to go after the Crystal Tear right away? You aren’t ready for it, I’m telling you,” Fleetfoot said. Fleetfoot, like so many of his brothers in the Guild, had become quiet and cautious, forever jumping from shadows in case she found him. “Fleetfoot, for the last time, I know what I’m doing,” Purse Cutter said to his old friend. Ever since he had announced his intention to steal the priceless jewel from the Canterlot Museum of Art, his peers had begun to whisper behind his back. They claimed that the pressure being placed on the Guild by Princess Celestia had finally gotten to him, as it had so many others. For months now she had been thinning their ranks, somehow ‘reforming’ them into polite, productive members of society. The idea brought a smile to the arrogant young pony's face. Just try it, Celestia. I can’t wait, he thought to himself. “Well it’s your funeral, kid. I’d say I’ll see you later, but we both know I won’t. She’ll make sure of that. Are you sure you want to do this?” “...Oh, trust me, no matter what happens tonight, I’ll be fine, “ he said, turning away with an unearned confidence. As he left the room, he noticed that every eye in the Great Hall of the Thieves Guild was on him. Some were fearful, while others held a cautious optimism, even a spark of hope. Purse Cutter was known to be fairly reckless for a thief of his rank, and he had been planning to deal with the ‘Tyrant’ for quite some time. “Dead stallion walking!” one jeered from the back of the crowd. “Why are you doing this? You can’t stop her, so why try?” asked another. “My reasons are my own,” he said for the thousandth time. It still felt as though he had only just announced his plans yesterday. He could still remember the cheers, the partying that night had brought. But now that the time had come there was no cheering, no offers of free drinks or begging for him to reconsider. Only the same sort of cold, solemn silence usually reserved for remembrance of a lost comrade. As Purse Cutter took one last look around the room, each face brought with it a memory etched into his heart. Some good, some bad, but all precious to him in their own way. His stony expression finally broke into a warm smile. “See you later,” he said happily as he walked out through the great wooden gates of their hideout one last time. *** The museum was quiet, empty. A stage, and the performers were all about to make their appearance. Cutter breathed deeply, staring at his prize. It glistened eerily in the darkness, radiating a light that was entirely its own. To any other thief, it would have been his goal, but to Cutter it was merely a doorbell. He approached slowly, as if enacting a summoning ritual. He knew he would get caught, but for him that was the point. Mere moments after he grabbed the jewel ten spears were at his throat. He played dumb. “Damnit, I can’t believe this!” he growled. “This gem was going to change my life!” “Oh, it will, lad,” one of the guards said mockingly. “Once she gets ahold of you.” The others laughed, and Cutter stood there, frozen. Seconds later, Princess Luna glided in through a window in the roof of the building, draped in the night itself. Even for one as arrogant as Purse Cutter, she inspired awe and fear in equal measure. “What doest thou desire? Tell me, as all the others have.” Cutter grinned wickedly. There was no sense in lying to her. “A challenge,” he said. “Hmph,” she said, thoroughly unimpressed. “Sleep.” The world around him became soft and warm, as if he was resting his head on a pillow under a beam of summer light. He felt himself being lifted, and the giddy joy of flight enveloped his heart. For the first time in years he felt like a child again; a genuine joy replaced the smug feeling of pride he had thought was happiness for so long. *** Cutter opened his eyes, and rubbed them until he could see clearly, burning as he forced them to adjust to the light of the room around him. At first he had assumed it was the throne room, but for all its marble pillars and grand tapestries lining the walls it was a strangely serene place, not at all like what he had expected. He found himself sitting on an enormous velvet cushion, but was too uncertain of his surrounding to risk moving. Weird, I thought it’d be a cheap, hollow castle full of tacky expensive stuff, but it’s so quiet... “Good morning, young one,” a kind, motherly voice said. Cutter turned, and saw Princess Celestia sitting before him, pouring a cup of tea. “Good morning, Princess,” he said, his tone neutral. “I know you did this intentionally,” she said, her voice still kind and gentle. “For the challenge, was it not? Interesting. Most of your peers saw me as a fate worse than death, yet you sought me out. You could have simply asked, if you wished to speak with me.” “The theft was a statement of intent, Your Highness. I wanted to prove that you are nothing more to fear than a jail sentence. I will not be changed by whatever strange tricks you’ve used on the others,” he said, his voice full of pride. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, handing him a cup. “Alright,” he said, picking up the cup and sipping it a little too eagerly. He had hoped his willingness to go along with whatever game she was playing would surprise her, but her face was as serene as ever. “You aren’t surprised I haven't asked for a different cup? That I don’t think this is drugged?” “No,” she said simply. “You aren’t the first to try this tactic, by the way.” A chill ran down his spine. No. No! Keep calm, even if others have tried to address her like this, you can still defeat her! You’ve braved worse, now make your brothers in the guild proud! he thought to himself, beginning to panic. “S-so, what are we going to talk about? I assume that’s how this works. That or you blast me with one of those “Conformation Spells” you love so much…” he said, shifting about on his cushion a little uncomfortably. “Oh, you mean the Reformation Spell? I’ve never used that on anyone. Frankly, I only allowed Twilight to use it because she wasn’t ready at the time for more… diplomatic means. Thankfully, the business with Discord didn’t even require it, in the end,” she said, taking a sip from her own cup. “I’ve seen what you do to them. They come here as adventurous souls, ready for anything, and leave as broken shells, smiling simpletons like all the rest. You claimed my mentor, Shadow Shifter. Now he’s content to ‘live’ as a teacher, if you can even call that a life,” he spat, throwing the Princess a look of utter hatred. She didn’t even blink. “I have changed no one. They chose to change. I merely showed them what they could become,” she said. “Oh? And what do you see in me, ‘Your Highness’?” he said, putting a nasty edge of sarcasm to the title. To his surprise her gaze turned to one of sadness, sympathy. She placed her tea down on the saucer, and carefully stared into his eyes for a few seconds, as if to gain some understanding of what hid behind them. “In you? I sense sadness. Deep, unfathomable sadness. The last one, Chase, was full of anger, but you carry a terrible sorrow with you, Sunny Ski-” “Don’t you EVER call me that name!” he shouted, suddenly standing up. His mask cracked and fell away, revealing an anger that until now he had been able to hold in check. “You hide your true self, as if it dulls the pain... but it doesn’t, does it?” she asked. “I won’t change! I don’t care what you say or do! I’ll let it wash over me, pass through me! The others failed because they resisted, but I’m smarter than that! I’ll let your words glide off my back, and then you’ll finally realize you can’t win!” he said, his voice a bitter blend of conviction and spite. “Win?” she said, her eyes as sympathetic as before. “I don’t care about winning. I want to help you, child,” she said, raising her cup but not drinking from it yet. “Help me become an ‘upstanding citizen’, like the rest of those zombies? All of my friends, they’re gone now! Dead!” “They’re not dead, they have simply changed their minds.” “Or had their minds changed for them,” he muttered darkly, “The ponies I knew and loved are dead,replaced by dreamy-eyed husks,” he said in a bitter whisper. “...I think that’s enough for today,” she said, lowering her teacup. “When can I leave? Once I’m a good little boy?” he said, snarling at her. “Three days. If you still wish to leave after that, then you may,” she said. As he turned to be escorted to a room outside, she said one last thing. “Your brother misses you.” Cutter stopped. For a second, his past fell upon him like the coldest rain. He turned back, his eyes full of tears. “He can’t. He’s gone. Goodnight, Princess.”