//------------------------------// // Entry Forty-One // Story: Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant // by SugarPesticide //------------------------------// October 26, 1000 ANM Well. Events have certainly … transpired. There is little more to reveal without outright expounding upon the details. I shall tell of what has happened since the clandestine meeting with my changeling minions, and then I will hope that the dear readers in my future empire do not think less of me for it. Do not all ponies have faults? The changelings returned to the Dreamscape to help manipulate the workings of Chrysalis’s developments. All except Bumblebee, that is. He seemed curiously hesitant at the prospect of facing his queen again, though I cannot say that I fault him for such a sentiment. Taking pity on him as only a gracious princess can, I allowed him to stroll about the castle and keep an eye on affairs. It was highly likely that when the changeling race emerged from the Dreamscape, they would arrive in the place where the veil between the worlds was thinnest — that is, at the moment, Canterlot. It would not do to be taken unawares. I spent the remainder of the seventeenth in deep thought. There are not many instances in which I may put aside all else and devote my brainpower to one particular topic, so I felt it reasonable to plan during the calm before the storm. Sadly, no flash of my usual brilliance lit the evening, and I was forced to retire with a considerable degree of chagrin. The eighteenth came in the morning, as days tend to do. As I approached the dining hall, finally freed of the taint of orange soda, there was a lull in the air that made my ears prick forward and my nostrils flare. It seemed as though the castle itself was waiting for something, though for what I could not fathom. At the time, I thought it simple enough to attribute the strange atmosphere to the oncoming Nightmare Night. To celebrate the night of one’s own darkest hour is a peculiar concept. Even after Sister Dearest explained her admittedly noble actions regarding the matter, I still feared loved that the ponies would fail to separate me from the demon that wished destruction upon their heads. By the time I had taken my seat at the table with my little family, I was uncharacteristically subdued. Sister Dearest noticed this, of course, and inquired as to what was the matter. “It is nothing of concern,” I assured her, mashing my serving of eggs with the tines of my fork. “And even if there was an issue, am I not entitled to brood?” “Of course you’d say that,” Blueblood said sulkily. “And yet I’m villainized if I so much as frown. The standards, they have doubled.” “Hush, you colt. The adults are conversing. Sister, what events are in place for this macabre celebration? It seems I must attend some droll assembly in order to improve whatever nonsense events are taking place.” “You actually want to go outside?” Mi Amore Cadenza shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve done that all of three times since you came back. I guess those sloths, or at least their ambassadors, must not have been all that interesting.” “At the very least, their political situation is looking up,” Sister Dearest said with a smile. “For Nightmare Night, ponies love to disguise themselves in costumes and ask for candy at all the homes they come across. I believe the tradition began as a way of turning away Nightmare Moon’s attention. Or, failing that, they try to calm her wrath. Nowadays, however —” “This is all very interesting,” I lied, less than eager for the familiar elephant to be dragged into the room. “But what of the festivities? Are there no balls or galas or even parades?” “It depends on the city,” she said, sipping at her tea. “Notably, Trottingham delegates a citizen every year to act as a sanitized version of Nightmare Moon. She tends to terrorize everypony else and steal their sweets unless she is driven away by light. There is a reason why everypony who live there owns a flashlight, after all.” “Spare me the details. It appears that the demon takes precedence at every turn.” Sister Dearest fidgeted. At her side, Blueblood coughed awkwardly. “I can understand, of course. There was no telling whether my true self still existed in any capacity within that frozen shell.” My shoulders rose and fell. “But it would be satisfactory to not be reminded of my little failure every other day.” The three of them glanced each other. “It matters not.” I pushed away from the table, scraping the floor with my chair. “Food no longer tempts me. I want to be alone.” I left. I could feel their eyes on my back as I passed from the room. I realize now that they meant me no harm. But it was difficult for such a fact to come to mind when my (admittedly feeble) attempts at reconnecting with the common pony were thwarted by the lingering crimes of my alter ego. It was thus that I arrived in the Bat Cave in a foul mood. I felt little desire to show mercy, so I provided Micah Jayfill and her little friends with a new film, titled The Colors of My Possession. I have heard rumors amongst the servants that, despite popular appeal, it is a truly disgusting piece; such an opinion seemed to be shared by my prisoners, who complained about idiots trying to be meaningful and instead coming off as manipulative. Whilst they were suffering in the theater, I regarded my reflection in the pool. She was a scrawny pony, appearing barely old enough to be called a mare, though her eyes spoke of experience that predated continents. I wondered again at how I might return to my former glory, but no solution presented itself. It was a depressing pattern to fall into, but there was little else for it. “Who is that mare I see,” I mused, “staring straight back at me?” I considered for a moment, thinking of my weaknesses and how they had led to my ruin. Strange how weaknesses tend to cause such things, is it not? Few tragedies (or, at least, few I have seen) have been caused by the victims’ strengths instead. Would it not be simpler to find one’s downfall in a series of events in which she was secure and confident in the notion that all of her efforts would succeed? “Uh, hey, you look overly philosophical over there. You should probably tone it down.” I turned to the Asteroid of Friendship. On the screen, the captives appeared to be on break, though the automatons themselves were nowhere to be seen. Only Micah Jayfill stood there, looking impressively irritated. “Ah!” I crowed, melancholy forgotten. “Could it be that the film has at last broken you? No, that cannot be correct. You are not yet a sobbing shell of your former self.” “I love you too, Princess,” she said dryly. “But that’s not important right now. Be careful of stares.” “Is there any reason why I should take seriously the vague statement you have constantly reiterated over the last several weeks?” “Because it’s true,” she said, and so utterly failed to convince me. “These things do happen. Don’t say I didn’t tell you to watch out … no pun intended.” “I shall not need to take such an action,” I assured her. “And even if I did, your lack of specificity would make it impossible to use effectively. Surely you do not expect me to walk blind for the rest of my days?” “Y’know, she’s got a point there,” said Gem Torque, popping out from who knew where. “The ominous warning thing doesn’t really work when the ominously warned aren’t superstitious.” “Yeah, well, everypony knows that they have to show up in every story with magic,” Micah Jayfill reasoned. I considered this. “... For ponies, that would be every story.” “Exactly.” “Bah!” I spat, causing them to jump. “You speak in riddles. I grow weary of your antics, beggar mare! Return yourself to the theater, lest I cut off your oxygen supply for defying your inevitable continuation of torment!” They scampered off, shouting something about a “movie sign.” Raven T. Automaton followed lazily, clutching a comically oversized sandwich. All the ponies in that asteroid are certifiably insane. With their torment renewed, I found myself alone, save for the scattered reflections of myself in the crystal walls. A lone mare, little larger than the average pony, still trapped under the shadow of envy and overzealousness … I thought of Sister Dearest, of Blueblood, and of Mi Amore Cadenza, none of which had holidays in memory of their darkest hours. How amusing, I thought, easily returning to the detestable pastime of brooding. I return to Equestria to find that almost everypony I knew is gone, and it is not enough: I must be greeted with a night specifically set aside for Nightmare Moon of all creatures. With these thoughts on my mind, I peered into the pool again. My reflection peered back. It was quite an ordinary exchange, and looking back I wonder what possessed me to pursue it further. My nose touched the water. I gazed into my own eyes, wondering whether they would create some new holiday in an effort to repair my mood. “Surprise,” I said, as quietly as I could manage. The water only rippled a little. “Surprise,” my reflection echoed. And then Chrysalis pulled me in. In my defense, it was not the sort of exchange one can prepare for. How often does a pony, in a moment of weakness, seclude themselves where no others can reach them? It happens frequently, of course. And how many of those, securely secluded away, are attacked from the least likely angle? None, as is logical. I truly do not understand all these changes that have occurred over the last millennium. I must have been disoriented from this for some time, for when I next became aware of my surroundings I found myself somewhere entirely different. Once again, my eyes informed me that I had entered the Dreamscape, yet the circumstances were far removed from those of previous excursions. I was splayed against a tall outcropping of crystal, with my back to the cold surface. My limbs were stiff, but when I tried to alleviate this I found that nearly every inch of my body had been encased in a slick green material, hardened to a firm consistency. Only my head remained free, though even this was nigh immobile as my horn had been glued to the crystal in the same manner. I stared at the scene before me. All I could see were changelings. Changelings stretched to the horizon, changelings hovered in the air, thick enough to blot out the haze. They formed a constantly shifting mass, chittering, buzzing, hissing, muttering, roiling. Every single eye was fixed upon me. While I tried to grasp the situation in its entirety, the changelings directly before me suddenly parted, and their queen stepped forth. In that moment, I vowed never to refer to Bumblebee as smug again, for the oily grin and half-lidded eyes Chrysalis boasted were enough to make me forget the sinking sensation of fear love, replacing it instead with a teeth-gnashing rage. “Luna,” she said, stepping forward enough that she was no longer confined to the lower edge of my vision. “Do you remember when I told you that you’d be pleased with my surprise?” I parted my lips, but only an undignified croak emerged. I was quite unused to the effect of my stretched throat on my voice. “I lied,” she said unabashedly. “You are a bit of a foal, aren’t you?” Now that was an insult I would not stand for. I strained myself and found my words. “You … Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!” She cackled. “Are you implying that you knew this would happen? Or are you just trying to salvage some bit of dignity in your twilight hour? What an idiot.” Her loud guffaws sounded oddly muffled in the close confines of the surrounding changelings. None of them partook in her mockery. A few exchanged uncertain glances. “You’re stuck here,” she said, suddenly straight-faced. She leaned forward, and I noted how much taller she was than me as her nose nearly touched mine. “And you have nopony to blame but yourself. You are without a doubt the worst princess I have ever seen.” “Be that as it may,” I replied, unwilling to let my tone adopt any shakiness, “I would call you the worst queen I had ever seen, but you are not worthy of licking the shoes of the true bearer of that title.” I expected her to retaliate, but no sudden blow fell upon my face. Instead, she gave me a slow smile. Her fangs glinted in the faint glow of the entrapping cocoon. “Look at you. A declawed cat trying to intimidate me with furballs. Forgive me if I don’t feel an urge to take your squirming seriously.” I felt an urge of my own, prompting me to search for a stronger insult, but none fitting to pass from a princess’s lips came to mind. She exhaled deeply and deliberately, and her breath crept across my face with the odor of warm honey. Then she pulled back, apparently pleased with the (correct) assumption that I would be unable to smell anything else for days. “As you may have noticed, events have been put into motion quickly,” she said, falling into the classic tendency to exposit for the doomed. “There is enough love here to ferry my changelings into the waking world, and more to spare besides. Sadly, I have reason to believe that the ponies will not be as accepting of our kind as you have claimed. So I will be … an ambassador, if you will. One that hides under a mask that I’m sure is very familiar to you.” Her chitinous form was obscured in a flare of green flame. I winced at the sudden light, but it died soon enough, revealing a sight that had met me at every mirror. If not for the smugness on her muzzle, I might have wondered if I was looking into a mirror. “You wondered about tells,” my double said. “In truth, I did choose my own. And rightfully so, don’t you think? Only the form of an alicorn really suits me, at least besides my own.” “Wait,” I said. My dawning horror, temporarily halted by the shadow of defiance, renewed its charge. “How do you know I was speaking of tells?” When she laughed, it was not a sound that should not have emerged from my throat. “Don’t you get it, Luna? One of your spies is one of mine. You really aren’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?” My breathing, already hindered by my awkward position, hitched. One of my changelings … Chrysalis had known all along. For every second of my suspicion, she had an inkling of it. Part of me ignored the urgency of the situation as I wondered, with more than a little unhappiness, which of them was the traitor. “What an idiot,” she said again. One of her changelings snickered at this, though it soon trailed off upon realizing that it was alone. I was tempted to comment that such a statement provided a terrible excuse for a catch phrase, but she seemed unlikely to allow any criticism at this point. Megalomaniacs are terrible at finding faults in themselves, which makes me quite glad that I am not one. Her horn glowed, and a space between us was torn in a burst of unlight. “Much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have sights to see, ponies to enslave, worlds to conquer, et cetera. Since you’ve helped me so much, I think it would be reasonable to watch me infiltrate your little society. It’s the least I can do for somepony who’d happily stab an ally in the back — a mare after my own heart.” Her words were sincere. I tasted bile upon hearing them. With a last laugh, she stepped over the threshold. The portal remained open, allowing a clear view into the now-occupied Bat Cave, but when a curious changeling poked its undulating edge, the backlash flung him into the startled hooves of his cousins. I had no choice but to watch as she went about the palace, sullying my face with her … face. She spoke with the servants with a laugh, made a show of devouring her meals, and spent an inordinate amount of time with Sister Dearest. I listened to what she said at first, but the same insipid remarks, repeated over and over again, were of little interest to me. If not for Chrysalis occasionally crossing a window, I would have entirely lost track of how long I had been trapped in the Dreamscape. Time is not a rule in that place, or even a guideline. Have not ponies experienced horrendous nightmares that seemed unending, even though they were only dreaming for a few minutes? Such is not an illusion of the recovering mind. I will not bother the reader with a lengthy account of my despair. I have more dignity than to subject to that image. Instead I will move ahead to the moment when, after standing about without purpose for so long, the changelings found their quiet chittering broken by a groan. My ears perked at the sound. An idea came to mind, and I acted accordingly. “You there!” I called, and the weight of all eyes fell upon me. “You seem to be the reasonable sort, as you show disdain at the thought of simply standing about like aimless gulls.” “That simile doesn’t work,” one of them piped up. “Aimless implies movement.” “This is not the time or place for technicalities,” I said, not eager to derail the lecture before it could properly begin. “Let me ask you something, former Dreams. Chrysalis’s plan is a glorious one, is it not? She seeks a new life for all of you?” There were murmurs of agreement. “Wrong!” I bellowed, and they started. “Let me make the matter plain. Before I arrived here, in the broken wastes of the Dreamscape, she was content to be the Matriarch of a doomed tribe. What efforts did she make for your sakes? If I recall correctly, she was even willing to obliterate one of your brothers to prove a point when I set hoof here for the first time in a millenium. I find it difficult to believe that such could be the action of a ruler with the best interests of her ponies at heart.” I watched their reactions as best I could, and was rewarded with the sight of several shifting uncomfortably. Evidently, my first audience with Evral had had more than one witness. “Of course I returned,” I continued. “At risk of life and limb, I returned! And why? To provide a gentler life for all of you. I unveiled this proposal, and Evral found herself in a bind. If she rejected my offer, she would lose the respect of the subjects who turned to her for guidance and hope, and what good is a Matriarch if her children are wayward? On the other hoof, if she accepted, she would admit that her ways of leading had failed miserably, and she would likewise lose the respect of her Dreams for failing to find a solution in a thousand years while a dangerous outsider accomplished such a feat in minutes. “So she created a choice of her own. She became Chrysalis and pretended to agree with the exodus, and all the while she plotted. Why should she lose her power to the great Luna? Her scheme was a simple one: she would betray her illustrious ally once the exodus was completed, and so reap the rewards for herself. Now ponder on this: is such a scheme born from a mind that places one’s subjects over oneself?” I must make something clear at this point. I did not know for certain that such were Chrysalis’s thoughts. I was merely extrapolating, as one of my status has license to do. The results were, of course, within the bounds of the reasonable, at least from what I had seen from Chrysalis’s action, but much creative thinking was required to arrive at such conclusions. To use the vernacular, I was in fact “making stuff up.” Nevertheless, such “stuff” seemed to strike a chord with the changelings. As I looked upon their faces, I noted that the majority bore expressions of thoughtfulness. Several looked at each other, speaking in hushed tones of what they had seen and heard over the past weeks. My voice rose. “Do you honestly believe that she cares for any of you? Is this not merely a bid for even greater power?” I was pleased to hear a chorus of grumbles. It was satisfying to see that more changelings beyond Bumblebee could see reason. Then I remembered the Bumblebee might be the traitor, and the light of my pride dimmed a little. But I could not stop to dwell on it at that moment, for what use is there in fretting over something outside of one’s control? “She is a master manipulator!” I cried. “Are you tools to be picked up and discarded at her leisure? I say, neigh! For you are your own ponies.” “We’re changelings,” one of them reminded me. “That too. And you must not forget it! Is it not your choice if you wish to live peaceably among the ponies of Equestria?” “Yes!” another exclaimed. Then she paused. “Or is that no? That’s some awkward syntax right there, Princess Luna.” Nevertheless, the others added their assent. The murmurs of their realization rippled across the black tide in a motion of chitinous waves. A few stepped forward, and their horns glowed the same color as the unrelenting cocoon, coaxing it into peeling apart as they reclaimed the stolen love magic. Once I was free, I stood tall and proud in the midst of that proud people. My wings flared, and I drew their attention at once; they ceased chattering amongst themselves and waited for me to guide them further. “Thank you, my friends,” I said, and I meant it. “Do not think I will take your kindness for granted. I will handle this portal with care, and soon it will lead you to a place in Equestria where the sudden presence of millions will not cause alarm. Then, at long last, you will be free.” There was a mighty cheer that echoed across the terrible wastes. My mane fluttered in the face of it, and with a smile I turned to that window to Equestria and lit my horn. It was not an easy task. It is true that recently I have come and gone as I pleased, but there is quite a difference between that and being forced into that place by a megalomaniac monster of a mare. I was assured of my ability to gain control over it, but as I prefer immediacy over eventuality it seemed reasonable to work as quickly and efficiently as possible. As the changelings watched, I pored over the intricacies of the portal. It was a spell of a most curious design, for despite its thousands of interlocking components there was no obvious weak link among them. My magic roved over cantrips and incantations, seeking the key to unraveling Chrysalis’s control over it and asserting my own. In addition, it was a lengthy process. I will not hesitate to admit that. And such an endeavor was not entirely assisted by the unyielding stares of the swarm. Even less helpful was the unending scene before me, in which the bug wearing my face smiled with Sister Dearest, chatted with Blueblood, and engaged in tennis with Mi Amore Cadenza. It was difficult to focus on my task when my mind constantly brooded on how they could fail to notice the deception. Did they really believe I would dare to play tennis in such a way that no windows could shatter from either the ball or my voice? Eventually, my magic flicked across a key thread of the spell, and like the flip of a switch I shifted the portal’s destination. The landscape beyond changed to a crashing ocean, then to an unforgiving desert, and finally to a rolling field of endless green. “That should be sufficient,” I said, wiping the perspiration from my brow. “I believe it should permit all of you to escape into the waking world. Should I test this theory?” A nearby changeling shook his head. Cautiously, he stepped forward, poked the portal, then drew back reflexively even as his hoof passed through it. He looked at me, as if expecting permission, and I smiled in confirmation. With a squeal of joy, he galloped through, and his cheers continued to ring when he had reached the other side. The others wasted no time. It was all they could do to avoid trampling each other in their eagerness for freedom, yet the stream of bodies scampering through the portal did not slow for even a second. Many expressions came my way, and I examined them as intently as the swift motion of their exodus would allow. A few bared their fangs at me, and it took me some time to realize that these were not attempts at smiles, but rather scowls. I returned them in confusion, for did I not save them from an eternity of the Dreamscape? But those were few and far between, for the vast majority were beside themselves with joy. (For all I knew, that might have literally been the case.) Not all eyes were dry, and many even approached me before departing, granting me a bow or the occasional embrace. I was uncertain what to make of this. Was this what it felt like to be appreciated? I wondered on this, trying to understand why this feeling was not so strange as I had imagined … and then I realized where I had felt this before. It was in the company of those in the castle, those royal ponies who knew me in an age when few others did. Whenever Sister Dearest draped a wing over me, or Blueblood assisted me in my plans, or Mi Amore Cadenza bickered with me over some trivial matter. The assurance that, despite my occasional complaining, they never abandoned me. At least, never willingly. I thought of Chrysalis. I thought of her schemes to destroy everything I cared for, up to and including … everything, to put it bluntly. And even as I smiled and waved at the departing changelings, something inside me tightened and coiled, like a snake waiting to strike. For Equestria was mine to conquer, and mine alone. I would not let that creature harm a hair on my little ponies’ heads. It was maddening to simply sit there and wait, but I would not deny the changelings their freedom. As they continued to vanish through the portal, the moon rose and fell on the other side. Only as the next morning dawned did the tide slow into a mere trickle, and when the last of them had gone through I seized control of the portal and returned its focus to Canterlot. Chrysalis could be seen through it, going about her nonsense without an ounce of suspicion on her part. I charged into the portal, preparing to — — be thrown back against the crystal in an undignified heap. I lay there for a moment, more surprised than hurt, before shaking myself and returning to my hooves. It was evident, I thought as I dusted myself off, that Chrysalis had made it possible to only view Canterlot through the portal. I considered the possibility of joining the changelings in their grassy glory, but quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way of knowing where that field stood in relation to Canterlot, and I dared not risk saddling myself with a journey of weeks or even months. Had she anticipated this possibility? How disturbing. Naturally, I was unwilling to allow her cleverness to prevent me from returning. My magic swept over the portal once more, this time trying to break the seal that prevented others from using it. It held firm, and I was beginning to feel the toll of acquiring no sleep or sustenance, but I refused to waver. The magic was strong, but I was an alicorn. I could overpower it. I had to. Something clicked. In an instant voices washed over me, and I drew back for a moment before leaning forward to listen. My powers still fiddled with the portal, but that was no reason to ignore information. I am an excellent multitasker, or so I tell myself. “— and so I told her that her choice in breakfast was a sure sign of insanity!” Blueblood was saying. Was he really this excited? I had not heard such a thing since my return. “Oh, Blueblood.” Chrysalis was eating grapes while lounging on a couch in his chambers. It was astonishing how quickly the servants had brought those rooms back to normal. Perhaps I should convince Sister Dearest to give them a raise. “It’s true,” he said. He sat down on the carpet — on the carpet! — and stole a few grapes for himself. “And that’s why I’m not permitted outdoors on Nightmare Night.” “You are quite full of interesting stories,” she said. “I am glad you felt you could share them with me.” “So am I. Can I be honest? It’s nice to just spend our time together as mother and son, rather than as conspirators. Not that it isn’t nice to conspire,” he added hastily. She smiled. “I understand perfectly.” “So what were you speaking of with Auntie Celestia? I haven’t seen you two so amiable since … well ... before everything. What are you two up to?” “Don’t be a foal, Blueblood,” she laughed as she munched. “It’s perfectly normal for two sisters to want a little bonding time.” Blueblood did not respond. He had gone perfectly still. “... Blueblood?” she asked. She prodded him in the side with her magic, and I noted that it remained as green as when she was in her true form. “What’s wrong?” “Can you repeat that?” His voice was quiet. “Can you repeat what you just said?” “Sisters like bonding time? That’s it, essentially.” He stood up. With deliberate, even steps, he walked toward the hearth and looked into the fire. “Is there something the matter with that?” Chrysalis’s voice wavered a little. For a while there was no reply. The flames crackled on, even though the sun was streaming through the window behind them. “Can you tell me what you shouldn’t have said?” It was less of a question than a calm demand. When he turned, his expression was neutral, but for the tightening of his jaw. “There were four words you shouldn’t have said.” She put on her best expression of puzzlement. It was not quite convincing. “Where is she?” She tilted her head. “What do you —?” “Where is my mother?” Suddenly he was all rage, lifting her by the neck with a darkening field of magic. At its touch, the illusion peeled away to reveal the glossy chitin underneath. Chrysalis did not fret. Rather, she smirked even as she was shaken about. “She’s gone,” she said in her own voice, and her laughter was dry. “This operation is mine now! Rest assured, you’ll never see her again!” His lip curled in hatred. “Tell me where she is.” “As if that matters!” she crowed. “You can’t possibly save her now.” “Try me.” A grin split my face. “That is my colt,” I said, caring not that none could hear me. Chrysalis lit her horn, but Blueblood was faster. The whites of his eyes faded into green, and wisps of violet smoke rolled off them like fog. With a blast of alicorn magic he threw her against the wall, where she was embedded comically in a changeling-shaped hole. She struggled for a moment, then wrenched herself free in a burst of her own magic. “So, you think you’re big and bad, hmm?” Her fangs glittered. “Well, the big leagues aren’t exactly the place for you, little foal. Just try that again, why don’t you?” There was no verbal response. Instead, Blueblood’s magic circled her like a ring of fire, and tendrils of them snaked in to weave in and out of the holes in her legs. She smirked and made to lift a hoof, but it was as if she had been weighed down by thin chains. Her legs were shrouded in magic, appearing almost fluffy in texture. Chrysalis screamed. She screamed as she stared in horror at some invisible sight, eyes locked onto the space in front of Blueblood. Her jaw hung enough to let her snake-like tongue protrude stiffly from her mouth. Her entire body quivered in an effort to be free, and her wings fluttered hard enough to buzz, but the magic held fast. I withheld my cheering, however, as she closed her eyes with gargantuan effort. She still shuddered, but despite my son’s assault she managed to draw upon her love magic and fire a relentless beam of energy at his face. He was forced to shift his focus slightly and conjure a shield of dark crystal to halt her assault, redirecting it at an odd angle. With his attention split, she was able to struggle harder against her bonds, even managing to pull a leg free. The beam increased in intensity. Cracks spiderwebbed across his shield, and his teeth ground together as the alicorn magic faded a little around the changeling. “No,” I said. My horn blazed like a beacon in the shadows of the Dreamscape, and I launched spell after spell at the portal without a shred of mercy. “You will not touch him, Chrysalis. You will not harm the ones I love. I will destroy you first!” I may have said something else, but in all honesty I doubt it was anything intelligible. The portal stood firm, but in my fury I was unfazed. I called upon every ounce of strength I had, then tapped into the power of the Dreamscape itself. Darkness surged through every muscle; eldritch energies vibrated every bone. A rush of blood nearly deafened me, but I heard something crack, and stars swam before my eyes. My balance faltered, but I continued to pull, filling myself with magic faster than I could cast it. I noted Blueblood beginning to strain. Opposite him, Chrysalis’s teeth were locked into a predatory grin, though her eyes remained shut tight. With a cry, I poured enough magic into that blasted portal that it turned blue. Though my horn felt near bursting, I did not relent. The spell shattered. In an instant I charged through, still glowing with power. “Behold!” I bellowed, blasting her with a veritable torrent. “It is I who have the advantage now! Face me rather, queen of lies!” “Wha—? Luna?” She gasped as she was knocked over so violently that her magic was disrupted. Her stumble gave her the time to see my face, and her eyes widened as she attempted a counterattack. I gave her no quarter. Though the alicorn magic keeping her still had dissipated, my own magic was quick to compensate. I seized her effortlessly and slammed her into the floor with enough force to make the room shake. Before she could so much as groan, I slammed her again. Her horn lit up, but another violent encounter with the floor seemed to dispel that idea. I am uncertain as to how long this pattern continued. I only know that my vision did not lose its reddish tint until her form was well and truly battered, with her limbs dangling limply below. Over the rush of my heavy breathing, and even as my heart thundered on, I heard a croaking, feeble mewl. “You are a bit of a foal, Chrysalis,” I spat. “You have gleefully abused my trust and that of your subjects, attempted treason of the highest order, and schemed to throw Equestria into a new era of misery and woe. Nightmare Moon would be proud.” “Not …” She coughed, an ugly hacking sound. “Not like Nightmare Moon. I …” “For your atrocious avarice, I sentence you to the punishment that all tyrants must suffer …” I allowed myself a grin. “An eternity of solitude.” “No,” she whimpered. Her breathing hitched as I turned her to the still-open portal. “You can’t do this to me! I am a queen!” “Did I not already inform you that you are not worthy of that title? You are deaf as well as idiotic. Now begone!” And with that, I pitched her horn-first into the Dreamscape. My righteous fury was tempered with amusement when I noted that she was flying without wings, so strong had I thrown her. But such distractions would not do: I concentrated on destroying the portal, unraveling every last thread of magic within the span of a few seconds. As it faded away like wisps of smoke, I released a sigh so heavy that I could hear the windows rattle. “Mother!” Suddenly Blueblood was nuzzling me, looking quite ordinary again. “You’re here! The real you, and … you’re huge!” “I would take offense to that,” I panted, “but I am beginning to feel the lack of sleep affecting me. I am quite relieved you are well, Blueblood. Help me to my chambers, and we will discuss matters in the morning.” He made no argument, and together we crossed halls and stairs on our way. Nothing was said in that time, for what can anypony say in the wake of the manipulations of a nightmare of a matriarch? In any case, Chrysalis’s apparent lack of action since taking my place left little reason for concern. I will have to indicate my pride in his swift action. If the years have dulled his skills, they have not done so by a significant degree. When I managed to collapse into bed, I nearly fell asleep in that instant. But a thought occurred to me, and I called for Blueblood to wait until he could leave. “Kindly watch the changelings, if you would. One of them is not what he or she seems.” He looked puzzled, likely at the apparent tautology, but nevertheless he agreed to scrutinize their actions between then and the morrow. As he departed, I felt a great weight lifted off my shoulders, a weight that I had been entirely unaware of bearing until that moment. Since then I have been laying here, transcribing the facts as best I can. It seems prudent to do so, so I have been fighting the siren song of slumber for so long as I have been able. It is too tiresome to determine what to make off all these events. Clearly I am disoriented to a significant degree, for even now I see stars swarming before me. Thus I will sleep, and sleep will finally claim me as its prize. I should end with some pithy saying, but I cannot summon the energy to care for such a tradition. Now I sleep.