Queen of Queens

by JawJoe

Queen of Queens

I awoke. For the first moment, the only sensation was the cold.

I raised a hoof. A fleshy wall stood in its path. I pressed another hoof against it. My prison pulsed and throbbed.

I opened my mouth. A sour, gooey substance filled my lungs.

I put my fangs to the soft wall. With one bite, I pierced through.

I heard the cocoon break. With a push, it split in two. I tumbled into freedom. I coughed and sneezed to expel the foul half-liquid that filled every crevice of my body.

I tasted air for the first time. My shaking legs lifted me. My back stretched itself with a crack. My neck, until now contorted, straightened itself.

The voices congratulated me. I opened my eyes.

The room was large and empty. No, not empty, merely dark. My slit pupils dilated. Behind me, the chrysalis had already shrivelled and shrunken. The last drops of the green slime evaporated before my eyes. Although there was no-one to greet me, the voices assured me that I was not alone.

The stone floor was a map of the world, and I stood at the centre. For I was the divine Queen of our kind, beauty incarnate.

The walls were lined by statues that looked like me: tall and slender creatures with flowing manes and imposing horns. Their emerald-studded eyes looked down on me. For I was the divine Queen of our kind, but many have come before me, and countless more would follow.

The ceiling was crafted in a dragon's image, whose imposing stone jaws seemed ready to lock around my neck. For I was the divine Queen of our kind, and my life was the most fragile of them all.

The voices urged me to go on.

“Where am I?”

I was inside the Halls of Remembrance, in the Foothills of Greenest Plains.

A terrace looked out into the world, beckoning me. Outside, I saw a black sky, illuminated by innumerable tiny sparks of light. I had awoken at night. I knew this, although inside the cocoon time had no meaning.

The fields below were not bare. Thousands upon thousands of glowing eyes looked up at me. These creatures were of my kind, but they were not like me. They were short, stubby, bald – beauty such as mine would forever remain a dream to them. Their gazes outshone the stars. Our kind gathered here to witness the rise of the new Queen. Their eyes glowed on the farthest of mountaintops, all turned my way.

One pair of eyes was missing. I knew this, although I could not possibly count them all. He would be my personal consort. In these moments, he was in the Spire of Ancients. What is the Spire of Ancients?

To the West, past the sea of eyes, stood a tower that dwarfed the mountains. In there lay the remains of every Queen who came before, and in there would I rest. The ashes of my mother were in the hooves of her consort and who would be mine. That is why I could not yet hear my mother's voice.

Through millennia, my kind had changed more than any being could fathom. Queens rose and cultures fell, but the Spire of Ancients remained untouched. I knew this, although my life had only just begun.

Of the Spire's architects, I knew nothing. Of the first Queen to be put to rest there, the voices were silent. Time had faded every legend and obscured the last myth. Perhaps the Spire was older even than time.

I looked down again, at my kind, into their anticipating eyes. They had wings. Yet they chose to remain on the ground, uncomfortable, distant, and far below.

For I was Their Beloved Queen, infinitely their greater, their most humble servant. The magnitude of responsibility weighed down on my shoulders, and it planted stones in my stomach.

For the first time, my heart beat rapidly.

My personal consort insisted to be called, in full, The Greatest Consort To Our Beloved Queen And Her Teacher Mentor Servant And He Who Will Carry Her Ashes And The Ashes Of Her Daughters.

I didn't use his name much.

At sunrise, he came to see me. By sundown, we were on a journey through the Lands of Our Kind.

“The most important thing,” he began, “is to remain calm. It will all come to you. It is only a matter of time.”

We were inside a mountain, hollowed out in its entirety. Our kind called it The Library. My consort boasted it held a copy of every book ever written, with multiples to spare.

“Is it not beautiful?” he asked.

The bowels of the mountain resonated with the swarm inside. Some of our kind hung from the ceiling, open books in their hooves. Others adhered to the walls and leapt from shelf to shelf in search of their next reading. Yet others sat above half-empty tomes, quills hovering beside them, suspended in green light.

No matter whom we passed, without exception they dropped to the ground and bowed. I enjoyed that. Their adoration radiated piquant energies.

My consort cleared his throat. “Are you perhaps too taken by the sight to respond, Our Beloved Queen Who Brings Joy And Hope To Our Kind Under The Treacherous Sky the Third?”

I sighed in defeat. “You were supposed to shut up. I was wondering if you'd catch on.”

“My apologies,” he said. “It is my duty to ensure that you are on schedule.”

I didn't bother to respond. Credit where it's due, he remained mostly quiet afterwards, speaking only to guide me in one direction or another. He led me down a chasm, where the noise of the upper library did not penetrate the stone.

Our destination was a study of some kind. A few bookshelves stood by the walls. Five of our kind sat in a circle, with one empty book in the centre, and one quill above it. Their eyes were wide and stared blankly forward.

My consort stomped. One of our kind blinked, and the quill fell. The others blinked in unison, rubbing their eyes. They turned to me, and within a second, they fell to their knees.

“It is my honour,” the first to blink said, rising. The rest of them stayed down. “I apologise for my failure to notice your presence. I was instructing my pupils. All in service to you, Our Beloved Queen Who Brings Joy And Hope To Our Kind Under The Treacherous Sky the Third.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am Whose Words Made Statues Cry, scholar and historian.” He turned to my consort. “Here for the books, yes?” A shelf-long line of books lit up in green and floated over to us.

“As always,” my consort replied, his magic taking over the stack of books. One of them came to float before my eyes, showing its cover. “These contain the detailed history of our kind.”

I glanced over to the rest. There had to be at least a dozen more, each as thick as my head. “Am I to read this all?”

“No,” my consort said. “You will find that the more you read, the more you will remember.”

A tidal wave of thoughts washed over my mind. They were not my own. “You've done this before.”

“I see to it that every new Queen remembers her heritage.”

“On that note,” the historian added, “I would appreciate if you brought these back. I would hate to write it all again. Thousands of years of memories, right there.”

“Well then,” my consort said. “We have a long way ahead of us. It would be best not to dawdle. As you were, Whose Words Made Statues Cry.”

“It was my honour,” he replied.

My consort led the way upwards, the books following us in green light. He didn't speak. A quick learner; I liked that. As we were passing through the titanic gates of the mountain-library, we met a new arrival. Seeing us, he let out a confused hiss. His legs seemed to freeze on the spot.

I expected him to step out of my way. He stood still even as my chestplate touched his muzzle. I looked down. He looked up. The pathetic thing didn't reach half my height. He shook, his eyes twitched, and his mouth made indistinct mumbles.

I touched my nose to his. “Get on your knees and bow.” With a scared yelp, he slammed his face into the ground. Behind me, my consort chuckled. “What's so funny?” I asked.

“How times change,” he chortled. He took a breath, composing himself. “This is Whose Hooves Mould Clay And Stone, and his love for Our Beloved Queens has been unparalleled for centuries. He greeted your mother, Once Our Beloved Queen, may she rest among the stars, much the same way.”

“Did he now?” I looked down at the thing cowering beneath me. His lips were dangerously close to my hooves. “Don't touch me.”

“Your mother, Once Our Beloved Queen, may she rest among the stars, embraced him. Perhaps he expected similar from you.”

I cocked my head. “Are you judging me?”

My consort raised his hooves in protest. “I would never dream if it. Nothing fills my heart with more joy than seeing Our Beloved Queens grow over the generations.”

“Oh,” the one at my hooves sighed. “How may I serve you, Our Beloved Queen Who Brings Joy And Hope—”

I planted a hoof on his nose, pressing his mouth shut. “What can you do? Impress me.” Touching him, I sensed the intensity of his feelings. He loved me more than anything, yet at the same time he was terrified. The medley of emotions tingled my back tenderly.

I lifted my hoof, and he rose slowly. He trembled, he huffed, he mumbled, and then shot into the air, flying away without another word.

I continued walking. “They're not all like this, are they?”

“No,” my consort replied. “This one is special. Make no mistake, however, for we all love you. Without the Queens, our kind would be lost to inadequacy.” Out of the mountain, he looked up at the starry sky. “Do you require rest? We have a long journey ahead.”

The flight from the Halls of Remembrance to The Library had been a long one. “Yes I do, in fact.”

My consort took me to a vast plain under the mountain. I lay down, stretching my tired legs and letting my wings rest. The grass bed was a beautiful deep green, and softer to the touch than the finest silk. My mother's work. Thoughts filled my mind again, making me grasp at my head.

My consort set the stack of books down. “Are you well?” he asked. “I am here to answer any questions you might have.”

The consorts helped bridge the gap between the generations. I knew this. “How?!” I took a moment to calm down. “These pastures are my mother's creation. You served her, and my grandmother, and the one before her, and there used to be a rocky canyon here, and—” My words choked on a painful hiss. My head was splitting.

“Remain calm,” my consort said. “You're remembering the thoughts and feelings of the Queens Who Came Before. I am here to help you enact order on that chaos. It is perfectly natural, Our Beloved Queen Who Brings—”

“Stop it,” I said. “Why do you do this?”

He blinked obtusely. “You are in pain, I can feel it. It is my sworn duty to help you process the memories.”

“No. The titles. Why do you insist on these long titles?”

He looked surprised. “Because it is your name. Do you not remember? I would never dream of disrespecting you.”

I slammed a hoof at the grass. “Well, stop it.” Pain pierced my head again. “No. No, hold on.” I put a hoof to my forehead. They whispered again. “It is because you live forever.”

My consort smiled proudly. “You are correct. We are our names. Or, perhaps, our names are what we think is worth remembering about us.”

“You are all immortal,” I continued. “But I... I only live twenty years.” Hearing my own words, the horror of my condition dawned on me. “Queens only live twenty years.”

“It is true, your time is running out. Our Beloved Queens possess a drive that the rest of us cannot begin to imagine. You are the heralds of change.”

“That's why we're important,” I said with a newfound understanding. “Without us, you wouldn't know what to do with your eternal lives.” Suddenly, I pitied them. How empty their lives must be to devote their existence to beings such as me. “Let this be my first change, then: I refuse to waste time with your full name, Consort.”

He put up a hoof in objection, but one glare silenced him.

“And you will call me Your Beloved Queen, and no more.”

For a moment, he looked surprised. Frightened, maybe. Then a smile overtook his lips. “That is new, Our Beloved Queen Who...” He chuckled. “Our Beloved Queen, that is different.”

“Different is what you love.”

He tilted his head a little, smiling. “It is indeed.”

I put my head onto my mother's grass. Consort understood and lay down as well. Out in the open plain, I felt uneasy at first. But with the Queens watching over me in the sky, I had nothing to fear. The Lands of Our Kind existed for me and were mine to toy with as I pleased.

For the first time, I fell asleep. Distant songs and prayers that spoke of my glory carried me to my dreams.

The next day dawned. A cold shiver woke me. I opened my eyes. My mother's grass was gone, replaced by a tiled marble floor. Massive walls surrounded me, and above, a glistening ceiling of glass and diamonds.

I shook Consort awake. “Consort. Consort! Where are we?”

Consort lifted his head, as bewildered as I was. Then a grin crept up his lips. “He never ceases to amaze me.” He stood up and offered a helping hoof. “Let us have a look around, shall we?”

A cathedral had been erected around us overnight. Baroque spires loomed over great rococo halls, twisting, curved shapes covered by the finest golden-gilded marquetry. We scaled staircases whose walls were paintings and walked through rooms scented by roses.

We found no-one to greet us. Yet the cathedral seemed to guide us; one room opened elegantly into the next, new colours and shapes begging to be seen. In the end, we emerged on a balcony overlooking the green plain. There sat Whose Hooves Mould Clay And Stone, eagerly bowing before me. Down in the fields, hundreds more of our kind bowed as well.

“Did you do this?” I asked.

He didn't rise. “I had to call on my apprentices to finish in time.”

I glanced back at the monumental structure. I hadn't seen half of it. Putting a hoof on the architect's cheek, I made him rise. “Most impressive,” I said. “I am pleased.”

He snuggled his cheek against my hoof, smiling, all but melting at my touch. The anxiety I had felt in him had vanished, replaced by unadulterated adoration. I couldn't help but smile. For this was our kind: a race of artisans and philosophers, of poets and singers, of explorers, writers – creators, all out of love for me.

The Lands of Our Kind were vast, and there was much to see. Our journey was near-on a year long, and Consort brought before me many more of our kind.

The First To Sail The Eastern Seas claimed to have been born over five millennia ago. He Who Tames Dragons was more humble, putting his age in the low hundreds. The Bringer of Light In Our Kind's Darkest Hour said he was exactly a thousand years old.

The Architect Of The Chapel Of Tears For The Lost refused to see me, citing the destruction of his greatest creation at the hooves of a Queen. He had been hurt in the past, Consort explained, and had not created anything since. His home was Cenotaph, City of Empty Graves. Consort explained there had been a war between our kind and another – one that we lost, and casualties were many. Cenotaph had been erected not at a Queen's behest, but by the broodmates and friends of those who perished. There they lived, but a few hundred of them, in isolation and in defiance of the Queens. As they were but an irrelevant fraction, no Queen had bothered with them.

I had no intention of begging fools back. Their blasphemous hatred was delicious enough.

Lesser kinds needed to feast on the flesh of others. They dug their hooves and paws into the earth to devour what grew in the dirt. Our kind needed not condescend to feed on the foul substances of the world.

Love, hate, jealousy, friendship – emotions quenched our appetite. Catharsis, caused or lived, was our sustenance. To live, we needed to create new things. We had to grow.

We had to change.

We toppled statues to erect monuments even greater. Palaces were run into the ground in favour of temples far more grandiose. Some of our kind swore that the simplest of things were the most beautiful of them all. Others retorted with complexities that took a hundred conjoined minds to understand.

Perfection was our goal, for perfection needs no change. If we created the perfect piece of art, there would be no more need for art.

Perfection would sustain our kind forever.

The Forest of Giants clung to the Southern Mountains, spreading out across three and a half pinnacles and valleys. From the roots that tore into rock, it took a full minute of flight to come above the foliage. There Consort and I perched on a leaf. It did not bend under our weight, and we had room to spare.

Consort emptied his bag, throwing onto the leaf several scrolls, books, and a large, curled-up leather sheet. “Our Beloved Queen, it is time you began remembering the Lands Outside.” He unfurled the sheet, revealing a map colour-painted in excruciating detail.

The map depicted all kinds of creatures in their respective lands. Their enchanted ink slid along the leather, bringing the figures to life. Every inch had a story to tell. Ink-creatures prayed to their gods in temples and waged wars on their enemies.

The world was in constant change, and change was beautiful. That's what the voices told me. The ascension to the leaf had tired me. Looking at the map was enough to renew my strength.

Consort puffed his chest proudly. His carapace shimmered in the afternoon light. “I have found the beginning of the second year ideal to start studying the world at large. Worry not, I have refined my methods through many generations.”

On that piece of leather, the entirety of our history was summed up – or what we remembered of it. Just as the ink-creatures lived and died, so did seas and oceans dry up between great landmasses. Rivers flowed, conjoined, and broke apart. Mountains were born to live brief moments before the earth swallowed them again.

The rest of my kind experienced the changes first-hoof. I would only see an immeasurable fraction of eternity. Death wasn't what scared me. Oblivion was. Was this all that would remain of me? A picture on a dead animal's skin, words on a page?

I couldn't look up from the map. “Was she a good Queen, my mother?”

Consort tilted his head. “I am sorry?”

“What do you remember? What can you tell me about her?”

Once again he smiled. He did that a lot. It grew on me, over time. Clearly I wasn't the first Queen to ask this.

Consort gestured at the map. “Take this, for example. Our Beloved Queen Whose Beauty Sets The Hearts Of Our Kind Aflame the Fourth had our best artisans tan this leather. Our most prestigious painters decorated it, working in tandem with the our oldest explorers. But the magic...”

He raised a hoof above the land of beasts half-lion and half-eagle. The ink-figures skittered out of his shadow. “The magic is all hers. The map was exquisite by itself, but it was your mother who brought it to life. May she rest among the stars, for she was truly gifted.”

Consort retracted his hoof. “In fact,” he continued, “this very forest was planted by your mother's namesake, Our Beloved Queen Whose Beauty Sets The Hearts Of Our Kind Aflame the First. All of this started with a single seed.”

He looked down at the forest.

“Alas,” he went on, “I was not in service of the crown then. I know this much: thirteen generations of Our Beloved Queens passed between her and your mother. All their creations have been toppled, destroyed, replaced, or remade. Yet the Forest of Giants stands today, such is its beauty.”

The figures danced on the map and forests swayed in invisible winds. “Thirteen generations,” I muttered, “and nothing remains.” Closing my eyes, I tried to find memories of their works. My thoughts were blurred and half-faded. They were lost even to me.

As I looked at the map, something caught my attention. Far to the North of the Lands of Our Kind, past a mountain range labelled the Wall of Life, was a land called the Kingdom of Death. Dread overcame me, but I could not tell why. Little equine things bowed before a bigger equine thing.

The big one, she looked like me. But she was bloated, fleshy, wet, and thick. Her body was covered in hair and plumage, and she wore a simple tiara. Even the youngest of our kind could create something a hundredfold more elaborate.

Consort leaned over the map as well. “Once again you defy expectations. I had never served one of Our Beloved Queens that took interest in the Kingdom of Death.”

I looked up at him. “It gives me shivers. Why?”

Consort raised his head, looking to the Northern horizon. “Beyond the Wall of Life, death reigns. There live beings who look like our kind, but they count their lives in decades. An immortal being rules over them, and she is revered as a god. It is a strange land.”

A tide of memories flooded my mind. None of them good. “The Queens, they were all afraid.”

“In her final year,” said Consort, “Our Beloved Queen Whose Beauty Sets The Hearts Of Our Kind Aflame the First led an army against the Kingdom of Death. Equestrians, those living there call themselves. Their lives are short, but their magic is immense. They draw their strength from the bonds they share. Indeed, such is their devotion that if we were to harness their magic, our kind might feed on it for a hundred generations.”

“For a hundred generations,” I muttered, “we would need no change. Perfection.”

Consort shrugged. “An illusion of it.”

“What happened to the army?”

“No-one survived,” Consort said. “Her ashes were sent back in a box. That is when Cenotaph, City of Empty Graves was built. Death is the Equestrians' life. It is the driving force behind their nature and an integral part of their culture. Our kind was put on this earth to create, not to pillage. That is why, if you are thinking of going there, I must strongly advise against it.”

His words fell on deaf ears, however. I would succeed where my predecessor had failed. Equestria would be mine.

I would be remembered.

For my second birthday, I had the Forest of Giants pulled out by the roots. In its place my kind planted the Field of Roses. I tore myself a rose, inspecting its intricate design. This rose was born for me, its beauty engineered to make me smile. Now that I tore it from its sustaining soil, it would shrivel and die.

For me.

My kind never dies. Eternity is our playground. We strive to find perfection. We never end, for we are infinite. The oldest of us remember the earliest of days. The Spire was there.

The Queens were exempt, and for that we were revered. The rest of my kind had an eternity to spend. I had twenty years. On the first day of my twentieth year, I would provide an egg to ensure our lineage continues unbroken. When the Sun set on the last day of my twentieth year, I would die. As my soul ascends, my daughter hatches to continue the cycle.

“Our Beloved Queen,” Consort said, “I must insist that you pay attention.”

As a gesture of our familiarity, Consort added “Friend” to his long list of titles, right between “Mentor” and “Servant.” Not that I ever bothered with his full name.

I eased my grip on the rose, and a summer gust carried it away. Looking down, one rose stood out from the rest, for it looked off-colour and faded. The garden was imperfect. It would have to be remade.

Consort threw a heavy book before me, trampling the faded rose. “With all due respect, Our Beloved Queen, I am wasting your time.”

“I have eighteen years left,” I replied.

“And you must devote them to your studies,” Consort said. “You wished to learn Equestrian. I will teach you, but you must pay attention. Now, I was just telling you about their irregular verbs...”

I looked to the North. “Why is it that no Queen has ever learned their language?”

“Learning an alien tongue takes a long time,” Consort replied. “Something which you do not have.”

My predecessor sent her army against Equestria wholly ignorant of their culture. I wouldn't make that mistake.

“I apologise,” I said, turning to Consort. “Please, continue.”

A mansion with an open terrace towered in the Plaza of Waterfalls. The pleasant breeze of the cascades caressed my mane as I enjoyed an Equestrian book. Consort could only scour three books written in the pony language in the Lands of Our Kind. The Library was incomplete after all.

A shadow passed over me. The Sun silhouetted a feathered creature. As it descended, I saw that it was no bird, but a winged pony. Pegasi they called themselves, if memory served.

How did he get here? Outsiders may not visit the Lands of Our Kind, for they are not worthy. As the black pegasus touched down, I took a cautious step back. Memories surged in my mind, but I found no example of such an unexplained arrival. My servants weren't with me, for I preferred not to be disturbed while practising the alien tongue.

The pegasus dropped a bag which seemed as big as him.

Words, what are the words? “Who are you?” I asked in his language.

The pegasus bowed deep before me, eyes closed. A spark lit up under him, and a green flame consumed his feathers and hair. The fire danced away to reveal a cheeky grin.

“Consort!” I pulled him to his hooves. “It's been two months. I was so worried.”

“I was given a task, and I sought to fulfil it.” He gestured at the bag. “I brought as much as I could carry.”

I poured the bag out onto the balcony. A dozen books, two dozen, a hundred – how many were there?

Consort chuckled. “Be mindful now. You do not want to damage them.”

I ploughed through the pile. So many colours, so many different sizes, themes, kinds! It had been a slow, boring afternoon, yet now I felt fresher than ever. The book that eventually held my interest was the one with a golden unicorn's head on the cover. I cracked it open, ready to devour every word.

“Once upon a time,” I began reading out loud. I wanted to impress Consort with the progress I'd made. “In the...” And there I went, running into trouble at the first sentence. I held the book out. “What's this word mean?”

Consort peeked over my shoulder. By our difference in height, he had to stand up to do it. “Magical,” he said. “In the magical land of Equestria.”

“There were two regal sisters who ruled together, and created harmony for all the land.” I put a hoof to my chin. “Didn't you say there's only one Princess of Equestria?”

Consort smiled. “Do you recognise the expression, once upon a time?”

I shook my head.

“It means a long time ago,” Consort explained. “So long ago, in fact, that most ponies cannot remember. If I am not mistaken, this is a book that talks about a feud between two members of the Equestrian royal family, nine hundred and ninety-one years ago. I recall the event in vivid detail. The skies were dark for four days. But their kind dies, and their memories are lost. Hence they write these simplified accounts, so that they can remember.”

To the West, a tower that pierced the heavens cast its shadow on the mountains. “I suppose the Spire of Ancients was built once upon a time,” I said.

Consort gave the Spire a glance. “One might say that.”

A new fear gnawed at my thoughts. “Aren't you afraid? If you were to die, all your memories, thousands of years, they would be lost forever.”

Consort rolled his eyes. Was he belittling me? “If I spent the next hundred years writing an autobiography, who would watch over you?”

“I'm sorry, I just—”

His eyes went wide, and he put his hooves up in protest. “No, no, don't be.”

Now he interrupted me. The nerve. “You will accept my apology, that is an order.” He nodded sheepishly. “I care about you, Consort. I missed you. If you had not returned...”

He stepped closer. “Do not imagine such terrible things. I was in no danger. They could not possibly see through my disguise.” Green fires enveloped him, and he emerged a pegasus. “Our kinds have not crossed paths in generations. They simply cannot remember.”

I had always been comfortable in my carapace, for my form was beauty incarnate. The rest of my kind was not as fortunate, so they changed. I could hardly imagine an entire kind that stayed the same forever. For our kind, change came as naturally as breathing, and happened nearly as often.

“Don't they change at all?” I asked.

“Not like we do,” Consort said, transforming back. “They are born small, and grow for a while. Their proportions undergo a gradual change. Over decades, their skin becomes rugged and wrinkled, and their hair loses lustre. Did you know they actually try to stop this change? If it were up to them, they would indeed stay the same for their entire lives. Strange things.”

I fished around in the pile of books. “Is there one on their biology?”

“I may have picked up one or two,” Consort said. “I don't suggest you delve deeply into that, My Beloved Queen. You might not finish.”

“I can read pretty fast, you know.” I picked up a book that had a pony skeleton on its cover. Then I stopped, letting it slip from my grasp. “What did you say?”

“Have I said something wrong, My Beloved—” Consort paused. “Our Beloved Queen.” He chuckled nervously. “I must apologise. Forgive me for being so forward, Our Beloved Queen, but you are special.”

I looked away, raising a hoof to hide my smile. When it wouldn't disappear, I decided to embrace it. I looked back at Consort with a full-blown grin. “No, don't stop. I don't mind at all.”

Over the following years, Consort had visited Equestria – The Kingdom of Death – more times than I cared to count. He brought me books, toys, paintings, figurines – anything he could escape with. Sometimes, he was gone for but a week. Other times, I did not see him for several months.

The One Who Ran A Thousand Days had to stay still for the time being. Between his fangs he clutched the stalk of a great leaf – saved from the Forest of Giants – and waved it up and down, gently wafting the air to create a breeze. In the Stained Glass Fortress of Heatsink Plateau, the Sun quickly became unbearable.

Through the red glass floor, I could see a plethora of more servants, waiting to jump at my word. Without Consort, however, I felt lonely. The book with the golden unicorn lay open before me. Its seams had gone weak and gave out in a spot. I could not help but return, time and time again, to the page where the Princess of Equestria banishes her sister.

More powerful than the words written were the ones missing. The book spoke of the battle of the two sisters, but fell silent regarding the following millennium. For a thousand years, the immortal ruler of Equestria was alone. Her loyal subjects, trapped in their pointless cycle of birth and death, could give her little comfort. The Princess was forced to live on with no-one – “nopony” – to confide in.

Perhaps my short life was a mercy.

“Please,” I said, turning to The One Who Ran A Thousand Days. “Take on Consort's image.”

An irradiated green fire washed over him. Consort's eyes looked at me, awaiting approval.

Ponies were easy to tell from one another. They came in different shapes and colours, to speak nothing of their three breeds. I wondered if a pony could tell our kind apart. Consort was shorter and a few shades brighter than The One Who Ran A Thousand Days, and his eyes were a little farther separated. His fangs were longer, but his horn was stubbier and jagged at a sharper angle. Were such minutiae lost to those not of our kind?

I felt guilty, looking at him. “Change back.” He obliged without a word. “Thank you.” Consort was a whole week late now. He'd have laughed me all the way to the Spire, had he seen that.

Movement downstairs. The swarm of servants parted before the new arrival. I met Consort atop the spiral stairs, greeting him with my embrace.

“Now, now,” he said as I wrapped my legs around him. “At least let me put my things down first.”

I released my hold and gave space. “You show up on the day, and you expect me not to care?” I scoffed. “You almost missed it.”

“Did you imagine I would not be here on your birthday?” He chuckled. He did that a lot. “Do you not know me? Sorry about your birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, it's only the eighth. Now, what have you brought for me?”

An immense wall of undyed glass looked out to the plateau. Consort walked up to it and took a large, rectangular, flat sack off his back. The thing had to be as big as him. He unfurled the sack's bindings to reveal a painting. It depicted six ponies in a frozen cave, two of each kind. Above them, ethereal-looking equines swirled in a haze of blue. The eyes and horn of one unicorn glowed.

“Might this cheer you up?” Consort asked, trying the painting on the wall. “We'll need to wedge this in here.” He turned to me. “If you wish for it to be here, that is.”

I cocked my head, inspecting the painting. “Didn't you bring anything else?” Feeling warmer than comfortable, I turned to The One Who Ran A Thousand Days. “What are you staring at? Keep fanning.”

“It was not easy, acquiring this piece,” Consort said. “I had to steal it from a museum.”

“A museum, what's that?”

“It is a place where they guard old things.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because Equestrians are strange creatures,” Consort chortled. “They could not pinpoint its exact age, but they estimated six centuries.”

“It's not even that pretty.” I turned to The One Who Ran A Thousand Days. “Go downstairs and fetch me Gives Life By Red. See how he can improve this.” He nodded, carefully placing the fan on the floor before scurrying downstairs.

“The ponies would frown at you for doing that,” Consort said. “To them, this is a priceless relic.”

“To me, it is ugly as sin,” I replied, “and they will frown at me for more than this. The tunnels into the North-Western volcanoes are already complete. The forges will be ready within the week.”

“Have you reviewed my suggestions for Chief of the Forge?” Consort asked.

“I have indeed, and I have cast them aside,” I replied. “I've chosen Blacker Than Black That Bends Anything He Touches.”

“Oh? I had not considered him. By all means, a fine smith.” His words were those of approval, but his tone betrayed apprehension. “I do not recall him making armour.”

“Do you not approve of my decision?” I asked.

Consort was silent for a moment. “You really are going along with this. Should you not wait until succession is assured?”

“My last year? Am I to wage war old and frail?”

“If you were to...” His breath caught, and he looked away. “If you were not to return, that would be a great blow to our kind.”

“Has that never happened?” I asked.

“A long time ago,” Consort replied. “The Queens had to start over. No memory survived. Not only that, but...” He cast his gaze down. “I could not bear to lose you, My Beloved Queen.”

I lifted his chin. “When will your next trip be?”

“To Equestria?” He blinked. “You have gone too long without my support as it is. A consort spending so much time away from His Beloved Queen is unprecedented.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” I said. “We've been apart far too much. I should accompany you.”

He gasped and put a hoof on my chest, pushing me away. “Absolutely not. I refuse to put you in such danger.”

I pushed past his hoof, stepping up to him. “The ponies are harmless, that's what you keep saying. I have made my decision.” Consort clenched his fangs, pleading with eyes in place of words. “My first visit to Equestria shall be one of leisure,” I said. “Next time, an army will follow.”

On the dawn of my tenth birthday, we set out. As we soared, the Lands of Our Kind showed us breathtaking vistas. Anywhere I turned, there was always something new to behold.

No wonder. Our kind was made aware of my departure, The One Who Ran A Thousand Days saw to that. In preparation for my historic journey, our kind clawed out valleys of gold, diverted rivers and built cities in our path and wake.

As we approached the Wall of Life, the glowing eyes of our kind grew scarce. Lands were left uncultivated, rocks unchiseled. The looming presence of the Kingdom of Death drove away even the most brilliant artisans.

By nightfall, Consort and I left behind the tallest peak of the Wall of Life. Before us, the vast land of Equestria spread past the horizon. I recognised the landmarks of their Southern border from my books, but they could not prepare me for the sight.

We came upon a great forest. Far beneath us, in the darkness, a patch of light stood out. A humble pony village, home to no more than perhaps a hundred, nestled within the trees. We touched down at the edge, concealed by the forest.

“Are you certain?” Consort asked. “There is nothing interesting here. Our goal lies farther to the North.”

“Do not question me,” I replied, stepping from behind the tree.

A black pegasus pulled me back. “Then first we must become like them,” Consort said. “The Equestrians are quick to trust their own kind, but they are most wary of strange visitors.”

The Lands of Our Kind were closed to outsiders. The ponies, while often fearful of other kinds, were ultimately accepting. I'd read stories of griffons, ponies, donkeys, mules, and several other kinds living in communion. Indeed, the lesser kinds seemed eager to condemn their cultures to a fiery death in the melting pots of shared cities.

But then, none of them had much to lose.

My carapace boiled, and a green flame burned my mane away. I, the majestic Queen, was replaced by a regular, dull-red unicorn. “Now, shall we?”

“After you, My Beloved Queen.”

One would expect the village to feel bigger from the ground. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling of enclosure. The houses were tiny and cramped, often with only one floor. The greatest monument they had was a crude depiction of some bearded pony, shorter even than me, near the town square.

I wondered whether these ponies ever left, surrounded by the forest as they were. To live a whole life on these streets... the thought made me shiver. I caught myself planning improvements for when this land became mine. The boorish houses of sticks and mud would make way for glorious monuments.

But that would need space. The forest would have to go.

Some of the books I'd read spoke of the ponies' legendary hospitality, provided you were one of their own. I walked up to one of the smaller homes and knocked on the door.

Consort rushed to my side. “With all due respect, My Beloved Queen, what are you doing?”

I knocked again, stronger this time. A window at the back lit up. “I came to learn about these things, and that's what I'm going to do.”

“The ponies might be kind, but they have their limits. You cannot reasonably expect them to welcome a complete stranger into their home in the middle of the night.”

“Can't I?” I grinned. “Well, if we don't instantly become best friends, then I may just find out what an angry pony looks like. I am dying to know.”

“No, My Beloved Queen. You are not really.”

“Who's there?” came a grumpy, rusty voice from inside. A “stallion,” I guessed.

“Please,” Consort whispered, “allow me—”

“Hello, my pony brother!” I said. “My name is Red Mist. What is your name?”

The lock clacked, and the door opened just enough for the stallion to cast a suspicious glare outside. “Are you like a crazy pony?”

“Honey,” I heard a new voice from inside, higher-pitched this time. Probably his partner, his “wife.” “What is it?” the voice asked. “Who's that?”

The stallion closed the door. “I 'unno,” I heard him say. “Some kinda' weirdo couple.”

“Excuse me,” Consort called out. “We are but two weary travellers, and my friend appears to be very, very drunk.”

I leaned to whisper in his ear. “What did you just call me?”

“Work with me,” he whispered back. “Lean on my side. Quick, do it.” The door creaked open again, a little wider this time. The stallion inside shot Consort a questioning gaze. “I apologise for her behaviour. She comes from a distant province, and she's not entirely accustomed to our ways.”

The stallion sighed. “What can I help you with?”

“Seeing my friend's inebriated condition, I must humbly ask to spend the night in your home. Dusk took us by surprise in the forest, and we have been trying to find a place to stay, but...”

The stallion looked back to his wife. The wife shrugged. “Can't turn them down, can we?” she asked.

“Oh, fine,” the stallion said. “Come in. But just tonight.”

Consort sent me a smile, then stepped inside. “We'll be out of your hair by dawn, I promise.”

What's the phrase? “Thank you,” I said, closing the door behind me.

“Le'ssee,” the stallion began, “where can we make space for you, hmm.”

He walked through the house, lighting lamps on the way. There was a main room, bigger than the others, with a fireplace and an old, raggedy couch. Horrible yellowed-white tapestry covered the walls, and the whole building smelled of pest repellents. The foul air made me gag.

There weren't many rooms to explore. They had a kitchen where, judging by the crumbs on the counter, they also ate. There was a room with two beds: one big and one small. On the smaller one, a tiny pony lay. As I turned into the room, it pulled the covers over its head.

The stallion lifted the side of the bigger bed, climbing under. “I think we got some of them old blankets. You can sleep in the living room, I hope you don't mind.”

His words didn't interest me as much as the picture on his flank. I turned to Consort. “Is that the, the thing?”

“Cutie marks, they call them,” Consort whispered.

“It shows their special talent,” I said, explaining more to myself than him.

The ponies' marks were similar to our names, in a way, except they had them crudely implanted on their hair and flesh. I'd read cautionary tales for the young ponies that talked about the dangers of trying to change their mark. Unlike our names, their marks were branded on them for life.

This one had a hammer for a mark. Perhaps he was a creator too: a blacksmith or similar.

The stallion rose, pulling out a dusty, rolled-up duvet. “Say,” he began, turning to Consort. “Your friend's pretty tall, where's she from?”

“Oh,” the mare sighed, putting a hoof to her forehead. “Don't start, Hammer.”

“She hails from Germaney province,” Consort said.

How strange, these ponies: rather than live free under the stars, they clustered into arbitrary settlements, counties, provinces where they stayed for generations.

“I don't know nothin' 'bout them Germanes,” the stallion replied. “But I thought they spoke more like frogs, croakin' and barkin', but your friend's hissin' and clickin'.”

“Don't pay attention to him,” the wife said. “He doesn't mean to be rude, really. He's just a little dense.”

Throwing the duvet onto the living room floor, the stallion harrumphed. “Well 'scuse me for being a little grumpy. You two can sleep here, hope that's fine. Don't try to steal nothin', not like we have much.”

The concept of stealing relied on the ponies' assumption that they owned anything on this earth. The world belonged to our kind. That he thought one of their own would steal from them was justification enough.

“Goodness sake...” The mare shook her head. “Hold on a minute.” She disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray between her teeth, holding some pony food. “Apple pie?” she mumbled. “You must be hungry. I'm sorry it's not fresh, but please, have some.” For lack of a table, she placed the tray on the floor, shooting an angry glare at her husband on the way up. “As our apology.”

The thought that I would put something that grew from the earth into my mouth was an insult in itself. Yet the offer would have been most impolite to decline. My horn lit up green and tore me a bite. Consort helped himself to a piece as well. We exchanged a short look before biting.

The taste of mud and dust filled my mouth. Maggots writhed on my tongue. Consort swallowed with a smile. I spat.

The wife stepped back, surprised. The husband looked angry. Fascinating.

“Too far!” he yelled, stomping over. “Get out.”

I poked a hoof in the bedroom's direction, where the pony fledgeling covered under its blanket. “Did you make that?”

“Excuse me?” the mare asked.

I looked the two ponies over. “Do you love each other?”

“Enough is enough,” the stallion said, shoving me. “I want you out of my house.”

As his hooves touched my skin, green magic wrapped around them. A thought cast the stallion at the wall. The mare's scream was cut short as I pounced on her. Green flames burned away my disguise.

I leaned down to the trembling mare. I opened my jaws, devouring the fear that radiated from her eyes. With every sip I took, her eyes lost some of their shine.

Hooves clopped on the floor. The stallion swung a chair at my head. With a spell, I stopped it before impact, twisting the chair from his grasp and throwing the stallion onto the floor. The mare was by now a hollow husk. It was the stallion's turn. Fear spiced by fury.

I finished my meal. My head throbbed. The Equestrians' love burned within my heart, and I was intoxicated by the heat.

Consort sat in the corner, still in disguise, looking at the spent ponies. He was not smiling.

The fledgeling stood in the doorway, quaking but making no sound. Green light enveloped it and brought it before Consort. “Hungry?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, eyes still on the parents. “Thank you, My Beloved Queen.”

“Suit yourself,” I said as the pony floated in front of me. I opened my mouth.

“Please let her go,” Consort said. He was looking at me now.

“Why would I do that?”

“You have fed, and I... I have lost my appetite. There is no call to harm the child.”

The green glow dissipated, and the pony fell to the floor. “I can't believe you, Consort. They are not of our kind.”

“I know how it feels to lose those close to you,” Consort replied. “I think the filly has suffered enough trauma for one night.”

The flame in my heart died down. Beneath me, the fledgeling was frozen in shock. I lay down before it, bumping its nose with the tip of a hoof. The only response was that sweet, terrified stare. I found myself giggling.

“Your parents will be fine in a day.” I took a short glance at them. “Maybe. You watch over them, and call for help, but only after the Sun rises. You will not speak of us. Understand?”

The pony stared.

I put a hoof under its chin. “Understand?” When I pulled my hoof back, the pony nodded meekly. “Good.” I turned to Consort. “Now then. I believe you wanted to show me 'Canterlot'.”

Canterlot was the ponies' capital – so called for their conviction that this city was somehow more important than the others. Leave it to the ponies...

This city, at the very least, didn't leave my eyes sore with its dreariness. The spires of Canterlot, I had to admit, were an imposing sight. I adored the way they incorporated rivers and waterfalls into the city vista. I may just keep this city, I thought, after Equestria is mine.

It appeared we'd arrived on a special occasion. According to Consort, the city was decorated even more than its usual splendour. Magical lights danced in rainbow colours above, flowers festooned windows and balconies, and the city teemed with life.

Normally, Canterlot was a city of “nobles” – ponies who hoarded the largest part of their kind's wealth – yet now the streets were filled with ponies from all walks of life. Consort and I were just another couple amidst the sea of new arrivals.

A crier stuffed a flier in my hoof. It was coronation day.

It was at midday that the carnival began in earnest. Princess Celestia of Equestria had elected a new princess. The crowd was shepherded to the palace courtyard. There they corralled us to the sides, leaving a large, empty space in the middle. On the palace balcony, the new princess appeared.

The newly crowned princess introduced herself as one Mi Amore Cadenza. As she prattled on about her gratitude to her friends and mentor, I asked Consort to translate her name. My Love Cadence.

We were much alike, she and I.

The Princess of Love, she was pronounced. As her servants dragged her across the courtyard in a golden chariot, I saw the faces of her subjects. How they fawned and swooned at her gaze! Where most pony bodies repulsed me, her presence was enchanting. I found myself charmed by her grace. Let it not be said that I do not appreciate beauty.

Princess Celestia watched over the scene from above. The frothing of her bottled-up emotions was invisible to the ponies, but an open book to me. Celestia smiled, for she was happy. She smiled, for she had to keep regret at bay. The ring of guards around her helped to further separate herself from the rest of her kind. It was easier that way.

Why these ponies chose to devote their lives to a being who will outlive and forget them, I couldn't possibly imagine. Ants worshipping the oncoming hoof.

As the chariot sped past us, something else caught my attention. The Princess of Love sent a sly look at one of the guards. He wore different armour, that one: it was painted in bright colours and was more ornamental – thereby even less functional – than the armour of the rest.

I leaned to Consort without taking my eye off the stallion. “Can you feel it?”

He looked at the gilded guard and sniffed the air. Then his gaze turned to the princess in the chariot. “They are in love, My Beloved Queen. Immensely so.”

The ruler and her servant.

What a queer idea.

My stay in Canterlot ended up longer than I first imagined. Consort and I stayed at a noble couple's mansion – not that we relied on their hospitality this time around. We took their shape and replaced them. The servants didn't realise.

It amazed me, the difference between this place and that humble forest-home. These nobles were descendants of ponies who had done great things in ages long past. Why the deeds of their distant ancestors afforded them riches today, I couldn't wrap my mind around.

The servants, although allowed to live with us, had to stay on the lower levels of the mansion, and had no rights to our wealth. Save, of course, for the payment we had to give them every few weeks, which they promptly spent on food, music, and usually members of their opposite sex. Money served as a barrier between death and their pathetic existence. For money, they stooped to clean up after others too lazy to do so themselves.

I admired their persistence. Their willingness to serve would, indeed, serve them well in the future.

From time to time, we observed the petty rituals of nobility. In our free time, we “vacationed” to see the most delightful sights Equestria had to offer. In the land of ponies, meaningful change was scarce, for death quickly claimed their most brilliant minds. Yet the Kingdom of Death was vast enough that there was always something new to behold.

We grew complacent over time, so much that I sent Consort back to the Lands of Our Kind to bring news of my well-being. I had him repeat this time and time again during my stay.

The most uncomfortable thing about our façade was sharing the bed. I knew enough about pony biology, and although we couldn't, and wouldn't, Consort explained this was of a symbolic significance.

It wasn't until one of the butlers discovered the real nobles – hidden in a scarcely-used corner of our deepest cellar – that things became complicated.

I awoke, in the middle of the night, to a spear pointed at my face. I sat up, poking Consort.

Several guards surrounded the bed, weapons at the ready. A shaking servant stood at the door, stuttering half-words to one of them. I recognised the one whose spear was closest to my eyes. His ornate armour made him easy to discern even in the dark.

I pushed the spear aside with the back of a hoof, affording a theatrical yawn before speaking. “How may I help?”

The guard moved the spear back. “I am Captain Shining Armor of the Royal Guard under Sun Princess Celestia of Equestria.” I rolled my eyes. I came all this way, yet the titles hounded me. “You and your husband will have to come with us.”

Consort and I exchanged a quick look. “I don't see why,” Consort said.

In the hallway, four guards walked past, two appropriately pony-sized bags between them. “Well, there's a reason,” I said.

“You'll have to come with us,” Shining Armor repeated. “Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Get out of the bed, and let us escort you.”

I smiled. “Oh, certainly.”

My horn lit up, and our covers shot up from the bed, wrapping around Shining Armor's head. As he struggled to cut himself out, I jumped to avoid another guard's strike. With a spell, I tore a spear from a guard to whack a third one on the head. I only used the butt; no blood would stain this beautiful room on my account.

Consort held his own. A spear broke on his back as he kicked a guard in the face. At the first opening, we started for the open window. Consort was closer and went first. As he leapt from the window, his noble unicorn disguise sprouted wings. I jumped right after him.

My tail got caught, and they yanked me back, hitting my head on the windowsill. A spear flew out the window. Intended for Consort, I imagined. Green fire burned my tail away to free me from their clutches. I reached for the window, but magic surrounded my hooves and pulled me to the ground. They slammed the window shut. One stomped on my wing, and I felt something tear.

Consort dove through the glass, showering the room with shards. He roared and screamed unlike I'd ever heard my kind do. He shrugged off the spears coming his way, throwing the heavily armoured guards against the wall. In a second, he took me in his hooves and bolted out the window into the night.

He dodged spears and outflew the chasing pegasi, storming for the mountains above. All throughout, he breathed heavily through his teeth. Finally, with a sharp turn, he dove through a narrow crevice on the face of the mountain. We landed with an inelegant roll, slamming into a large, glowing crystal. At the impact, our pony disguises evaporated, and our true forms emerged from the green flames.

I jumped to my hooves, scanning for pursuers. We were inside a cave, full of these purplish crystals large and small. High above, a minute crack ran down the top of the cave. No ponies in sight.

Consort coughed. He leaned against a crystal protruding from the ground, his carapace dented in countless spots. “Guess we did it,” he muttered. From cracks on his carapace, faint green lights seeped. His mouth leaked green, droopy fluids. “I think my soul is fading.”

I put my hooves around him and pulled him close. “No,” I said. “You did it, you... thank you, Consort.”

His lungs rattled with each heavy breath. His gaze wandered for a while before he looked at me. “Well, I suppose...” A sly grin crept up his face. “I did rather well, all things considered.”

As I held him, I felt everything in him. His honour, his devotion to me. His surprise and pride at saving me. Every breath I took, I inhaled a whiff of his happiness, untainted by fear of death.

His grin forced a smile on my lips, too. Before I knew it, I was laughing, pulling him even closer.

“Spears,” he chortled, sputtering. “Iron, coal, wood.” He tapped on my chestplate. “They thought to hurt you with steel and wood!” He burst with laughter, unable to contain himself.

I couldn't help but go along. “But you showed them.”

“The glass, My Beloved Queen, get down!” He thrust his hooves at me, tackling me in play. I fell over, and he dropped onto me. He rolled off in a second. “I apologise,” he said between bouts of laughter. “I did that. I really did that!”

I realised my wing didn't hurt any more. Despite almost being captured, or worse, at the hooves of these lowly beings, my heart beat with joy. I felt like I did when I feasted on ponies: whole. But this time, there was no searing pain in my chest. Only a feeling of utter contentment.

Consort continued laughing. On his body, I saw no wounds. “Consort, your carapace.”

He raised a hoof before his eyes. “Huh,” he hummed, standing up. “It would seem I really am just that good.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself now,” I replied, getting to my hooves as well. “Do you know where we are?”

“Do I?” He looked around. “The old crystal mines. They run through the mountain of Canterlot, extending into the bowels of the earth. Long ago, the pony tribes waged wars for a chance to plunder their treasures. Now they are all but forgotten. Again, a testament to their ignorance.”

“You know the way out?” I asked. “This much excitement has been enough for one trip. I'm aching to go home.”

“You cannot fathom how delighted I am to hear that,” Consort replied. “There are many ways out.” He pointed at the crack where we swooped in. “I don't suggest taking that one. They might still be outside. We'll just have to find another one. All the time in the world.”

With that, we set out deeper into the mountain, watching for a tunnel that may lead to the surface. The glowing crystals – beautiful in their own right – lit our path. We didn't talk much in the meantime. It was best to focus on the task at hand.

Though an indistinct giggling overcame us any time our gazes crossed, even that died down over time. After a while, I wasn't trying to find an exit any more. I enjoyed admiring the crystals with Consort.

It was after an hour or so that Consort cleared his throat. “May I ask, My Beloved Queen, how many Equestrian idioms have you learned?”

I looked at him questioningly. “I know a few.”

Consort looked away for a moment, licking his lips as if feeling guilty. He turned to me with a grin. “We really gave The One Who Ran A Thousand Days a run for his money.”

It took me a second. Then I burst out with laughter. So did Consort.

Word of my return spread like wildfire. For weeks candles and bonfires lit the nights, and the sounds of fanfare filled the day. Consort thought it best not to think about our preparations for war. The ponies were ignorant of our plans, and I needed time to rest.

To celebrate, they erected cities lined by statues of me. They carved mountains in my image. As I travelled across the Lands of Our Kind, millions followed, seeking a chance to bow down at my hooves.

For my eleventh birthday, Whose Hooves Mould Clay And Stone built a city of porcelain atop what once was the Field of Roses. Christened the City of Poets, it resonated with beautiful songs day and night. The winds carried the music through the land, and all our kind feasted on its beauty.

Yet in time, even the sweetest melody loses its taste. Things would have to change again.

Consort and I sat in the city centre, architectured to amplify every note. The rest knew to stay away, lest they disrupt the songs. Our peace was disturbed by the frantic arrival of The One Who Ran A Thousand Days. He quickly dusted himself before dropping to the ground, eyes closed, and mouth running.

“I came as soon as I could,” he jabbered. “I'm truly sorry for the interruption, but—”

I stomped. “Rise. What is it?”

“Incident at the forge. The volcano, the mountain collapsed.”

I gaped. “Impossible. You build cathedrals overnight, yet you can't construct a few tunnels?”

“The construction was perfect,” he wheezed. “It was no accident. Sabotage!”

“What?” I asked. “Did the ponies learn of our plans?”

“That's the worst,” he replied. “It was our kind. Cenotaph.”

“Casualties?” I asked.

“Hundreds, almost everyone. It was a massacre. Blacker Than Black That Bends Anything He Touches gave his life to save who he could.”

“What of the equipment?”

“Most of it has been buried or melted, Our Beloved Queen Who...”

I didn't hear him finish. A seething hatred flared up in me. Cenotaph. Betrayers turned murderers!

I took a deep breath and shot to the sky. Above the singing city, I screamed. “Silence!”

Mouth by mouth, the City of Poets fell silent. Consort flew up beside me.

I turned to him. “Empty the city. Bring the survivors of the forges to me. I want to know everything.”

By the time I'd listened to their accounts – all twelve of them – the Sun had gone down. The citizens of Cenotaph had appeared and swooped down in throngs. They knew exactly which structures to strike to bring the tunnels down. The forges were upturned, the seething lava filling the crevices of the mountain. Those fleeing were thrown back or struck down.

They didn't fight back. How could they? To raise a hoof on our own kind – unimaginable.

Upon my porcelain palace, I sat atop a balcony that overlooked the empty city. Creeping roses clung to the walls around the balcony – a reminder of the Field.

Consort floated beside the balcony, wings buzzing quietly. “An unspeakable crime, My Beloved Queen. I would never have imagined they were capable—”

“They are!” I yelled. My voice echoed through the city. “The workers, how old could they have been? Hundreds of years, thousands? And they took it all away, all out of hatred of me.”

“I urge you to strongly consider your course of action,” Consort responded. “Clearly, those of Cenotaph are opposed to the war effort.”

“What is there to consider?!” I snapped. “Murderers, all of them. I want the city wiped off the face of this earth. I want their heads on pikes.”

“Or you could forgive them,” Consort said. “Cease your plans for war. Show them that you listen.”

“I can't believe you, Consort,” I replied. “Forgive them, are you mad? They refuse to forgive Queens.”

“Understand,” Consort began, “that I will stand by you no matter what you decide. As your consort, however, I will always stay an advocate against violence.” He sat down beside me. “Do not mourn the lost. To have our lives end at your service is the greatest honour. Few are those who think otherwise.”

“Those of Cenotaph are among them, evidently,” I said. “We have to start over. Weapons, armour... so much lost.”

“Your predecessor, may she rest among the stars, brought with herself all those who had the slightest knowledge of warfare. You know what happened to them.” Consort leaned closer. “Like I said, perhaps you should reconsider your plans.”

From the wall, I picked a rose. Those in the mines, they had spent their lives devoted to the Queens. To me. When those of Cenotaph came for their lives, they didn't so much as fight back. I held the rose out. Unclenching my hoof, a gust carried it away.

They were no more averse to their demise than a rose in the wind. Ultimately, their tragedy meant nothing to me.

Yet a Queen must tend to her garden.

I turned to Consort. “I will not be remembered as a failure. Cenotaph must be punished.”

“Please,” Consort said, “let me go to them. I know they can be persuaded. They can forgive the Queens.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Consort opened his mouth, but choked on his word. He looked away briefly to take a breath. “I have forgiven the Queens too.”

Consort insisted they would listen to him, being one of them. He would convince them to abandon their blasphemous hatred. For if he could change, so could they.

From the broods of those lost at the volcanoes, I rallied an eager army. I called upon He Who Tames Dragons to lead them. They weren't many – a mere two hundred dared answer my call. With a lust for revenge in their hearts, I needed no more. The army surrounded Cenotaph. I hoped the message was clear enough.

Consort entered the city at dawn with a small escort. Disguising myself as one of them, I accompanied him. Every eye in the city turned to us as we descended among the empty tombs. Cenotaph marinated in grief. I could taste it in the air. It radiated from the walls and poured from every window.

We alighted atop a towering monument that listed names on every side, and the city gathered around us. From there Consort preached of the foul creatures of the Kingdom of Death. He preached of revenge and justice, of lives lost but not wasted. For hours the city listened in silence. For a long time, they remained on the ground. As a show of respect or confusion, I couldn't tell.

Consort preached of the Queen's forgiveness, provided they joined the war.

Something snapped inside the crowd. The silence was broken, first by quiet murmurs, then by angered shouts. The faceless voices accused Consort of being a traitor. The Queen's pet. They asked how he could speak of forgiveness.

Consort was not deterred. He preached of the Queen's wondrous plans, of the riches of the Kingdom of Death. But the crowd could no longer be sated.

One flew into the air, coming level with us but keeping his distance. “You dare show your face here?” I recognised him as The Architect Of The Chapel Of Tears For The Lost. “Have you forgotten our brothers?”

Another flew up, closer this time. “Go back to your tyrant!”

I clenched my fangs.

A stone flew through the sky, its arc coming to an end at Consort's face. He grunted, putting a hoof over the place of impact. In him, I sensed sadness – and love. He loves those of Cenotaph, and now his heart was breaking.

“Shall we leave?” I whispered.

He thought for a moment, then shook his head.

Around us, more and more took to the sky, and they inched closer and closer. I exchanged a look with the rest of Consort's escort: a group of three.

One of the fliers spoke up. “Your Queens have sent thousands to their deaths, and now she'd repeat it!”

“What would we be without Our Beloved Queens?” Consort asked back, his voice wavering.

“Perhaps we should see,” one of them said, rocketing for Consort. I and another escort stepped in the way. We grabbed him, but not before he could shove Consort. “We don't need your Queen,” he said, struggling.

“Even now she has us surrounded,” another one said. “Why do you think that is? I'd rather die than heed the tyrant.”

“It is only to ensure you will not hurt anyone else,” Consort said. I couldn't tell whether he believed it himself. He probably wanted to.

The swarm around us stirred. Consort turned to me. With a deep breath, I nodded upward twice. That was the signal to leave.

Consort took off, and we flew after him. The swarm closed above us.

They flew at us, too many to hold them back. They pushed through the escort to get to Consort. We fought back, but Consort didn't. I saw them pin his wings and drag him down where countless more waited for him. They kicked and bit and shouted, yet all Consort did to defend himself was speak. His words were drowned out by the swarm.

If I managed to kick one of them off, two more took his place. The swarm swelled, wings buzzed, and soon I couldn't see Consort at all. I used my magic to throw them left and right, yet they kept coming. I endured their kicks and the jabs of their horns, retaliating with my own. An animal, they turned me into.

That was enough.

Green fire enveloped me, restoring my true form. Those who held me gasped and let go. Around me, as more and more noticed, the air began to clear. They were backing away. They could easily have overpowered me, yet my presence struck terror in their hearts. Weak-minded fools.

Disregarding the rest of the escort, I flew for Consort. On the ground below, I saw the swarm throb. I swooped down with great speed. Those between us who were too slow to notice were cast aside in green light, or rammed outright.

“Let him go!” I screamed.

Dozens of glowing eyes stared up at me from below, curiously at first. In the next split second, they too looked mortified. In the next, they began scrambling out of the way, jumping, tumbling, and trampling over one another.

I landed, legs trembling. Consort lay at my hooves, carapace battered and wings half-plucked from their place. His eyes had lost their glow.

Had I been too slow? No, no, no...

I took him into my lap. “Come on. You're stronger than this.”

Too simple. Too quick. Is this all it took?

He didn't respond. I noticed I was rocking back and forth, Consort in my hooves. My lips contorted. Slowly, a grin settled on my face. I started laughing. “You're better than this!” I shook him. “Wake up!”

The city had gone quiet. The buzzing of wings was gone. I heard hooves drop onto the ground. The rest of the escort team alighted beside me, beaten but not broken.

I lowered Consort's body.

Those of Cenotaph, they were around us, all on the ground. They kept their distance, ten, fifteen paces. In their eyes, I saw confusion and fear. In the air, I tasted hatred.

I sensed no regret.

I looked back at Consort.

So this is how it feels.

I let Consort go, standing up. As I looked the murderers in the eye, a new fire flared up within me. The heat consumed my heart. My body. My very soul. It boiled within me until I could no longer contain it.

I screamed, fangs bared. Inarticulately, without meaning or purpose.

The burning fury drove out the cold sorrow that filled Cenotaph. I saw them all take a step back. A few stumbled, only to continue crawling away. I knew they could feel it, the anger, the seething hate. Good, I thought. Their fear would sweeten tonight's feast.

I took Consort into my hooves. To the questioning looks of the escort, I again nodded twice. They watched us leave.

I called before me He Who Tames Dragons. By my word, those of Cenotaph were no longer of our kind. I told him they had one night. If a single soul escaped, I would have the soldiers' heads as well.

None would escape, of course. I was there to make sure of that.

Such it was that Cenotaph became the City of Graves. Dawn broke on one hundred and fifty-one survivors. One hundred and fifty-two hearts broken forever.

At the base of the Spire, I dug into the hallowed earth with my own hooves. May The Greatest Consort To Our Beloved Queen And Her Teacher Mentor Friend Servant And He Who Will Carry Her Ashes And The Ashes Of Her Daughters rest among the stars.

I thought that watching the culling of Cenotaph would mend my ruptured heart. Yet the next day I awoke with a greater wound. A gaping emptiness ate away at my being.

Everything lost its taste.

One thing kept me alive: the knowledge that The Kingdom of Death would be mine. It would all be worth it.

Consort's death had taught me the devastation of a broken heart. I thought of Equestria – of Cadenza – and I realised I would need no greater army. One hundred and fifty-one would be enough.

The One Who Ran A Thousand Days was sent to deliver a message to the ponies: that Canterlot would fall.

Change.

Change was coming to Equestria.

On the day of my wedding, they prepared a bouquet of flowers by my mirror. I picked a rose from the batch, twirling it with my magic before placing it onto my mane.

This day was going to be perfect.

I did not love the groom, for in my heart there was no room.

Shining Armor would be mine.

That day was going to be perfect.

For years after my failure, I didn't change a thing.

Our kind never forgets.

In my fever dreams, the faces of the lost haunted me.

For my sixteenth birthday, I had Cenotaph rebuilt, greater than it had ever been. It had to be.

For my seventeenth birthday, He Who Wrote The First Song orchestrated a requiem. For a year, half a million tongues in the City of Poets sung for the lost.

Flavourless.

My body swelled with horrid green pus.

My form, once slender and sleek, became bloated and rugged.

My every pore oozed with liquid.

I was hideous.

On the dawn of my twentieth year, I birthed my daughter.

My animalistic shrills echoed through the diamond-walls.

“Your leg, The One Who Ran A Thousand Days,” I panted.

He stretched out a hoof. Pushing, I bared my fangs and bit down on his leg. It helped with the pain, and muffled the screams.

The egg was as big as my head. Over the course of the coming year, it would grow to rival my size.

I lamented that she will remember me. My actions would be passed down for eternity.

I wished for oblivion.

I thought of ending my life before my daughter came to be, but I was a coward.

I hoped that Our Beloved Queen Who Shall Not Repeat Past Mistakes will live up to her name.

It took weeks for my abdomen to shrink. I would never regain my youthful beauty.

In the Halls of Remembrance, the shrivelled husk of my chrysalis had never been moved. I sat atop the terrace, looking to the Wall of Life. “Come here, Ran.”

The One Who Ran A Thousand Days sat down at my side. “Yes, Our Beloved Queen?”

I didn't turn to him. “The day approaches.”

“I shan't leave your side,” Ran said.

“They might kill you,” I replied.

“Then I will be glad to go.” He sniffed. “I shall forever miss you.”

That made me smile. “You're four hundred and fifty-five years old. I think you'll get over it.”

He looked to the North as well. He fidgeted a little before turning back to me. “Our Beloved Queen, what if they refuse to give me your ashes?”

“Then I will not speak to my daughters. They will have my memories either way. Nothing of value might be lost.”

I could tell Ran didn't like that, but he was afraid to mention it. “Shouldn't you pick out a place in the Spire of Ancients?”

“I trust your judgement, Ran.” I turned to him. “We'll set out tomorrow.”

From Equestria, one could not see the Spire. Fitting; I'd never have seen the majestic pinnacles of Canterlot, had I not crossed the Wall of Life.

Ran flew behind me, his long cape waving in the wind. He was squeamish about returning to the Kingdom of Death. I had to take the lead.

Our disguises were inconspicuous enough: two dull-coloured pegasi. We wouldn't use them for long.

In Canterlot, I could not feel the energies of Cadenza. When I inquired from the haughty citizens, they acted as though I were insane. The princess had not been to Canterlot in years. The purple busybody had apparently sprouted wings and taken her place.

Ponies changed faster than I thought.

The flight was long, but I didn't stop to feed. I knew Ran could take it, and I – I had to. Time was running short.

Cadenza lived in a warm magical sanctuary, far in the frozen North. I admired the crystalline architecture. Had I seen this earlier, I could have done something similar back home.

Alas, it was too late.

The princess wasn't hard to find; she held court at the centre of her crystal palace. The majestic throne elevated her above the congregation of guards and petty nobles. Her beloved prince was the closest to her, but still several steps lower.

The girl had her priorities in order.

As Ran and I alighted, the guards clenched their weapons and Cadenza shot us a questioning look. “I am not expecting visitors.”

I looked at Ran, and he at me. “Good luck,” I said.

“You too,” he replied.

A burst of brilliant green flames blinded the ponies. A second passed before they saw us. Ran and I exchanged another mischievous look. Fear descended on the room like a sudden blizzard.

Shining Armor's boiling fury washed away the cold. Within a moment, the guards were upon us. We did not resist. Pinned to the ground, I once again had the pleasure of greeting the guard-captain's spear in my face. I wondered if he'd ever made the connection.

“Chrysalis,” Shining Armor said.

“Is that what you call me?” I asked, chuckling. “Do I remind you of the things that crawl in the dirt? How uninspired.”

He responded by sticking the spear closer. Had I not pulled away, that thrust may have got my eye. “I don't know what you're planning, but I won't wait to find out.” He turned to another guard. “Restrain them and bring them to the dungeon. Separate cells.” That guard quickly leapt out a window.

I sighed. “You know you can just ask, boy.”

He didn't respond. The other guards prodded my carapace with their spears, and one told me to rise. The guard who had left now returned, bringing two sets of bindings with him. They used their magic to lock them around our legs and wings. Then came the prodding again, this time towards the stairs.

I started moving. With my hooves bound together, I couldn't go very fast. The prodding continued, as if they didn't realise. Barbarians. I looked over my shoulder at Cadenza. She sat on her throne, feelings of fear and hate bubbling in her. “Aren't you going to ask why I came?”

A guard shoved me, pressing me forward. I heard the fluttering of wings. Cadenza landed nearby, behind a wall of guards. “Why?” she asked.

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry.”

Since when did ponies build dungeons? It was most uncharacteristic of Cadenza. Perhaps she inherited the palace – yes, that made sense.

The cell was barely enough to turn around in. I'd have shrunk, had they not sawed my horn off within the first hour. I hoped Ran was okay.

There was much moving around, for the first day. I imagined they checked every last guard and citizen in the city to make sure we hadn't infiltrated them. Foolish. Yet who could blame them?

At any given moment, Cadenza had at least six guards posted at my cell. The mare herself, however, didn't show up for a long time. The first day was boring. My greying carapace began shedding, and I started playing with the scraps.

On the second day, hunger grew. The black, dry bricks and iron bars were devoid of emotion. I couldn't feel my wings any more, but that might have been the binding's fault.

It was a nice surprise, seeing Cadenza's face on the third day. Her appearance brought with it a whiff of fresh air, the smell of flowers, crystals, and even some snow. I gorged myself on the taste of deep thought that emanated from her.

“Your changelings are nowhere to be seen,” Cadenza said, sitting down a safe distance outside the bars. “Whatever your plan is, I'm not seeing it.”

I chuckled. “I already told you why I'm here.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

She raised her eyebrows. I recognised this sign of intrigue or surprise.

Under the watchful eyes of her guards, I told my tale. I spoke of our people, and the Queens. I told her about change. She left before I got to the wedding.

She was back the next day. I sensed curiosity. I weaved the story on. I told Cadenza of the hundreds I killed. I told her my plans for Equestria. I told her of my failure. She left before my daughter came to be.

The next day, she came to me again. I told her of my daughter and what I expected from her. I told her that she would remember me, and that my memories would be passed down for endless generations. I explained that my twentieth year was coming to an end. She left when I told her I had two days left on this earth.

On the next day, she didn't show up.

Night passed and morning came, yet Cadenza was nowhere to be seen. I began making peace with my cell as my final tomb. It was hard to keep track of time in there.

In the end, Cadenza did come. She didn't speak to me at all. When I opened my mouth, she silenced me by raising a hoof. She nodded at a guard. He took out a key and opened the lock. Cadenza motioned towards the stairs.

An entourage of guards led me to the top of the crystal palace. With wings bound and shackles around my hooves, it was hard to scale the stairs. They threw me onto a balcony before retreating to the palace.

After a few lonely minutes under the declining afternoon Sun, Cadenza flew by. She perched behind me. I didn't feel like turning.

“Who is the other one?” she asked.

“He is... my consort. I would appreciate if you brought him to me.”

The flapping of wings. I was alone again. The Sun neared the horizon. I couldn't even see the Wall of Life from here.

Movement. Chains rattled. Ran skipped over, fighting against his bindings. How considerate, I thought. They even returned his cape.

He tripped and tumbled into me. He stayed leaned against my chest, showing no intentions of rising. “Days spent alone,” he muttered. “Dark. Cold. Hungry.” He shivered.

Had my hooves not been bound, I'd have embraced him. I set my chin on the stump of his amputated horn. Even now Ran adored me. I sensed his strength return just by being near me. Had I been a better Queen, I'd have returned his love sooner.

Cadenza sat behind us. I lifted my head, pushing Ran away as I raised my hooves. Grinning, I waved my shackles in the air. “Would you be so kind?”

Cadenza's horn lit up. Faint blue light surrounded our bindings, and they fell undone to the floor.

“Thank you,” I said.

Ran wrapped his legs around me, and I laid a hoof over his back.

“You don't deserve it,” Cadenza said.

I turned forward. The Sun kissed the red horizon. “If I am to be remembered, I do not want to be hated. I am sorry, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.”

She was silent for a while. The Sun began sinking behind the horizon. “I accept your apology.”

Of course she forgave me. Or if she hadn't yet, she would in time. That's the nature of ponies. Ironic, in a way – our kind could've learned much from them. I could have been the catalyst.

As the horizon swallowed half the Sun, I felt a crack in my back. I twitched, and Ran pulled away.

“Here,” he said, laying out his cape on the balcony. “Sit on this. I shall collect your ashes in it.”

Standing up was more difficult than I thought. My body creaked and cracked with every movement. I dropped onto the cape with a tired sigh.

Cadenza stepped closer. “Does it hurt?”

I laughed quietly to myself, putting a shaky hoof under Cadenza's cheek. “Thank you for asking, dear. I've had worse.”

When I put my hoof down again, I realised I could no longer feel the crystal floor beneath me. I tried to shuffle around and shift my weight, but my legs didn't respond. The Sun was almost completely gone.

My front left leg gave way first, snapping in half. Then my right detached from its shoulder. I fell forward.

I couldn't feel my hind legs. Did my back break in two?

In these very moments, my daughter was fighting her way into this world.

I saw the pink pony lower her head. Or was she grey?

Colours were smudged and shapes were blotched. The darkness did not scare me.

There are things I could never forgive. I've done more that cannot be forgiven. Yet here I was.

So much could've been avoided. I wish I'd have been a better Queen. Consort had tried to show me. On my better days, perhaps, I even understood. It's a shame I forgot.

For all the lives I had cast away, for all the suffering I had caused, had I made a difference? Just as the origins of the Spire had been lost, so do the sands of time bury the greatest legends. Could my flicker of existence matter, an eternity hence?

The stars beckoned me. For the first time, my heart felt whole.

And so I go –

Like a rose in the wind.