Coco kept close to the center of the long, spiraling staircase as she and her captors journeyed downward into the shadowy depths of the castle. It seemed an eternity had passed since they’d begun the descent. The cold, damp air made the mare shiver. A musty, decayed smell wafted out from the cracks in the stonework, reeking of stale earth and wet mortar. The smells and shadows continued to grow worse the deeper they went. Coco couldn’t bring herself to imagine what the very bottom of the castle was like.
“I’m sorry that it must come tae this. It’s a blasted shame tae have tae lock ye up...”
Coco’s ears shot up like in less than a second, and her hoof almost missed a step. No one had said a word since they’d left the great hall, and the sound of the oily voice took her off guard. The mare glanced over her shoulder at the tall, hungry-looking changeling to her left. He peered back at her and sighed wistfully. “I mean, a bonny craitur such as yerself will no fit in with the others.”
Coco felt a chill run up her spine. And it wasn’t from the cold.
“…Others?” breathed the mare.
“Aye, others,” the changeling said with a nod, “Yer a right pretty mare, and I’d be fashed tae see anythin’ happen tae ye and ruin yer good looks.” Coco grimaced as he moved closer to her. The dressmaker found something incredibly off-putting in the way he leered at her.
“What others?” she murmured, “Who else is down there?” The tall changeling’s stare broke away for a moment as he glanced upwards in thought.
“Weel,” he rasped, “I dinnae want to frighten ye, but if ye really want tae know—“
“Creeper!” barked the lead changeling, glaring at him from over his shoulder, “Yer no allowed tae spake tae the seamstress.” Creeper’s narrow face formed a contemptuous sneer.
“Why no?” he muttered, “She wants tae know somethin’ aboot where we’re headed.”
“She’ll find oot on her own,” growled Crawler, “We’re nearly there noo.” Creeper gave a sullen sigh before turning back to Coco. The mare bit her lip as he gave a smile full of gray and yellow teeth.
“Dinna give him any mind,” whispered the changeling, “He’s naught but a muckle-mou’d git.” The dressmaker gave an uncertain nod.
“I see,” she croaked as the changeling began to edge closer to her again.
“But as I was sayin’,” he continued, “Her Majesty’s got herself a wee collection o’ prisoners ’neath the castle. Some hae been down there a wee bit too long, and are rather fashed aboot it.”
* * *
At the very bottom of the stairway stood an enormous door made of heavy oak planks, held together by rusted bands of iron. Crawler trotted ahead with his horn aglow, lighting up the lock with a dismal green. A miserable frown appeared on Coco’s face as it began to open. The hinges shrieked and groaned under its weight, their cries growing louder and louder the more the doorway was exposed. When it came to a sudden stop, Coco found herself staring down a long, narrow hallway. Dim torches hung from the stone walls, bathing everything in a hazy orange light. Both sides were lined with a row of doors that seemed to stretch on for eternity.
“Come noo, lass, right this way,” grunted Crawler as he began down the hall, “Mind the doors.” Coco drew her breath as she followed. The mare glanced left and right at the cells as she went. She could hear faint noises coming from behind the doors. One to her right appeared burnt and bruised, and the sound of a hammer striking iron echoed from the other side. Coco’s ears fell limp as they passed it by, sneaking a glance at the barred window. There was a squat, burly shadow inside standing over red hot coals, but little else could be seen through the hazy smoke that poured out into her eyes. The dressmaker drew away and stifled a cough.
The smell of cinders soon gave away to a more subtle, soothing smell. Coco’s glum demeanor became more neutral as they passed a door on her left. They were down, deep under the earth in a catacomb-like dungeon, and yet she swore she smelled flowers. The mare strained her neck to peek in through the window. She only just caught a glimpse of what looked like lush, green vegetation before Crawler caught her attention. The changeling’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with a series of snorts. Coco nearly jumped out of her skin as he erupted into a violent sneezing fit. He swore and snarled between each sneeze, and she only understood half of what he was saying.
An aged, cheeky laugh came from somewhere inside the cell. Crawler’s glare looked like it was about to burn through the wooden planks.
“Ye gallus git!” he spat, swiftly planting a kick to the door, “I’ll tan yer rotten hide if ye sae much as look oot that window!” A wry glint came to Creeper’s eyes.
“That auld footer gettin’ the best o’ ye, Crawler?” snickered the emaciated changeling. Crawler’s wings twitched irritably against his back.
“Shut it,” he growled, “Or I’ll hae ye thrown in with him.”
They went on for a few minutes without interruption before they finally brought her before a door and stopped. As before, it was Crawler who undid the lock with his magic.
“Right,” he sighed as he stepped aside, “Ladies first.”
Coco reluctantly trotted into the room. It was surprising large, and lit by a series of candles sitting upon a flimsy wooden table in the middle of the room. Coco paused as she saw her own sewing machine sitting upon it surrounded by most of her thread and needles, which had been messily scattered across the soft planks. Whatever was not on the table was dumped in a pile in the corner. Much to her dismay, most of the thread had come off the spools and had become tangled in ugly, shaggy wads.
But what caught most of the mare’s attention was the enormous mound of cloth that took up nearly half the room. Her mouth dropped open as she looked it over. It was compiled of ancient, moth-eaten fabric, the colors faded to drab shadows of what they once were. The threads were loose, and whatever wasn’t full of holes had shrunken and wrinkled into useless scraps. A sour, stale, mildewed stench hung heavy around the yellowed sheets and tattered carpets, so pungent that it made her cringe.
Coco looked to Crawler with questioning eyes. The small changeling put a hoof to his mouth and cleared his throat.
“Right then,” he said, “We’ve tried tae make it canny for ye. Sae, uh, there’s whit ye’ll be workin’ with.” He gestured to the pile of putrid cloth. “We gathered up some clayis for ye frae around the castle.” Coco’s knees almost gave out. The mare glanced at the pile, then back to Crawler, and back to the pile again.
“But…I…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t believe it needed to be said in the first place.
“We’ll be comin’ tae check on ye every forenoon,” said Creeper, setting a box on the table, “Tae bring ye food and drink, and new tackle if ye need it. Maybe some company, if yer lonely.” Crawler glared at his brother, but said nothing.
“Alright, lass,” he sighed, “We’ll be seein’ ye taemorrow.”
With that, the three changelings left, leaving Coco alone in the cell.
* * *
A muffled gagging came from Coco’s throat as she held up a rotting nightgown in the direction of the candles. The shriveled, purple silk was covered in discolored blotches, making it look like the hide of some diseased animal. The mare turned it over a few times in her hooves, squinting through the dust and dirt that clouded her vision. A quick pull at one of the sleeves made a fringed tear at appear at the shoulder. Coco sighed and tossed the garment into one of the many piles that was accumulating in her cell. The nightgown went into the one designated for ‘maybe salvageable’. That pile was the smallest one.
The worry in the dressmaker’s eyes grew with each passing second. She glanced at the box on the table. It was the same one Chrysalis had thrown to her earlier; filled with the tattered clippings of formal-wear that she was expected to make out of rotting, centuries-old fabric. Coco looked away and focused on the next piece of ratty clothing in the pile. Small tears began to peek out from the edges of her eyes, blurring her vision. She sniffled as she wiped a tired hoof across her face, not caring about the dirty smudges it left on her eggshell coat. Deep down, Coco knew she was only delaying the inevitable failure that awaited her. Nothing could be made from these scraps except dishrags, and even then, she suspected they’d dissolve in water.
Her head began to droop as she let the rag fall from her hooves and flutter to the floor. It wasn’t fair.
“Why the long face, my dear?”
Coco’s head snapped back up in frenzied fear at the sound of the high, shrill, raspy voice that seemed to thunder throughout the quiet cell. She looked to the door expecting to see a changeling guard peeking in through the window. No one was there. The dressmaker jumped to her hooves, nearly tumbling over in her bewilderment. She caught sight of something on the table as she righted herself.
It was small, barely reaching up to her shoulder, and entirely green. Its patchy coat was green, its bloodshot eyes were green, and its snarled tail was green. The bony body supported a bulbous head, making it appear like an emaciated foal. Its face was sharp and angular, with a pointed chin and a narrow muzzle. The ears were enormous and bat-like, and between them grew a stunted, gnarled horn. Two large eyes were trained on Coco with a keen intelligence, and an unnerving touch of something else.
The dressmaker could only stare open-mouthed at the creature. It stared back, cocking its head from side to side. Once or twice it lifted its floppy, brownish-red cap and scratched at the tangled green mane underneath. At last, Coco found her voice and broke the awkward silence.
“…H-hello…”
“Good evening,” the creature said. The dressmaker took a moment to muster up her senses before speaking again.
“Who are you?”
The creature’s eyes flashed with something foul for a fleeting second before returning to a warm curiosity.
“That all depends on who you ask,” said the creature, “I’ve been many things to many different ponies; A friend to some, an enemy to others.” Coco took a wary step back at the mention of ‘enemy’. The creature let out a shrill cackle as he caught sight of her worried frown.
“There’s no need to be fearful, my dear. Most of my enemies have been changelings. I suspect that they’re your enemies as well?”
“I suppose they are,” admitted the earth mare, “They’re enemies of most ponies, as far as I know.” The creature sighed and shook his head.
“They’ve never been fond of ponies. Sometimes I doubt that they’re fond of each other.” Coco glanced to the door of her cell.
“I’ve noticed.”
The creature craned its neck and peered at the pile of rancid clothing behind the mare. “…I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but those clothes are beyond darning.” Coco followed his gaze to the mound and bit her lip.
“I know,” breathed the mare. The thing on the table raised an eyebrow.
“Then what are you doing with them?”
Coco drew a deep breath of the stagnant dungeon air.
“Queen Chrysalis wants them made into new clothes for the changelings to wear to the Crystal Ball.” The creature’s eyes widened at this, and he leaned forward with a bemused frown.
“The Crystal Ball?” he echoed, “She wants clothing to attend the Crystal Ball and you have to make it out of this?” He waved a spindly foreleg across the room at the piles of decayed cloth. Coco only gave a solemn nod in response.
“That seems…Well, to be completely honest, a bit much,” said the creature, “It’s no wonder you look so glum, my dear.” Coco fell into a dejected slouch and stared at the crumpled dress before her.
“There’s no argument there,” she sighed.
“I suppose the consequences are severe if you can’t produce anything?”
Coco looked up at the creature through her limp bangs to see him investigating her sewing machine, pawing at its components with a skeptical air.
“They said they’d kill me.”
One of the creature’s oversized ears pricked up and swiveled in her direction. An unnerving grin of sharp, yellow teeth flashed across his unsightly features. It vanished as he turned back to her and was replaced with a concerned frown.
“Then I suppose,” he said, “That you want to make the clothing so that she spares your life, correct?” Coco shifted on her hooves uncomfortably.
“I-I would, yes,” she said, “But the material’s beyond saving, and even then, there’s no way I could finish them all by next month.” The creature gave an understanding nod of his head and stroked his chin with a calloused hoof. Coco could see the gears of thought turning away behind his eyes, but could not discern what it was they were processing.
The table and its contents suddenly rattled as the tiny green unicorn leapt onto the dusty floor and began scuttling toward her. The dressmaker took an uneasy step back. It moved with a spidery grace that raised the hairs of her neck.
“Oddly enough, my talents lie in the situation you now find yourself,” he chuckled as he plopped down in a mound of musty linen. Coco frowned in confusion; apprehension knotting her stomach as the creature gave her an overly eager smile.
“What do you mean?” murmured the mare. She winced as the creature’s horn lit up with a sharp crackle. Writhing tendrils of green energy snaked over to the ‘Maybe Salvageable’ pile and took hold of the purple nightgown Coco had just inspected. The creature giggled as it flew across the room and landed before them.
“I am skilled in many things,” said the creature as it looked the dress over, “But above all, I exceed in tasks relating to textile work.” More shimmering tendrils sprouted from the creature’s horn and reached into the numerous pockets of his vest. They emerged with spools of coarse thread and rusted needles in their grasp. The creature’s eyes lit up with zealous glee as the tools began jabbing forward into the decayed scraps. Coco watched in dumbfounded awe as the needles began working at an incredible speed, working their way up tears and darning odd punctures. The earth pony’s tired eyes blinked heavily as they tried to keep up with the glowing green needles. They had an almost hypnotic effect, and Coco could feel her eyelids growing heavier with each passing second.
“And~…That should about do it.” Coco was jolted awake as the shrill voice of the creature reverberated in her ear. The startled stare on her face grew even more intense when she saw what had happened to the nightgown. It had been restored to a beautiful garment of shimmering purple silk, the collar and sleeves adorned with golden trim that glittered as if it were real. The seamstress slowly reached out a hoof to touch the gown. It felt as smooth and fine as water. She looked back to the creature to see every inch of his twisted face beaming with pride.
“You’ll not find a better gown than that, my dear,” he said, “That is, unless I decide to make one.” Coco’s open mouth twitched at the corners until it formed a smile.
“T-thank you,” she breathed, her voice rising to a grateful chime. The earth pony felt a tingling rise up into her chest. It was a combination of excitement and hope; two things that she was unused to feeling.
“You’re very much welcome,” the creature said with a small bow, “I’m always looking out for those who are in trouble.” He smiled at Coco and grasped her hoof with his own. It was as cold as ice and felt rough and leathery like snakeskin, but Coco didn’t let any of her revulsion show.
“I…don’t have any way to repay you,” she said, sheepishly averting her gaze. The creature smiled in a curious way.
“Your company will be enough,” he said, “It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to talk to.” He glanced back at the mound of clothing. “But I suppose we should start. We’ve got a lot of work to do, my dear.”