//------------------------------// // The Button-Faced Man. // Story: Where the Monsters Live. // by Hopefullygoodgrammar //------------------------------// By the time that Chrysalis had made it to the other side of town, the skies had darkened with swollen clouds that bled torrential rain and a powerful wind had picked up to drive fine particles of dust into the changeling’s sensitive eyes. Chrysalis had wanted to go farther, but the lack of sufficient love at the facility meant that she could only concentrate on keeping her housefly body cohesive, and even that task, one which she and all other changelings had learned to perfect in their early years, was beginning to tire her. So, with great hesitation, she took shelter in the lobby of an old theater. The theater was located on the outskirts of the town, which was composed of crumbling tenements and abandoned storefronts, where the stink of piss and stale cigarette smoke clung to almost everything and where hungry eyes watched from alleyways and peered from between blinds. Chrysalis didn’t fear the druggies, or the more desperate of the homeless, or even the paltry amount of gang members who clustered about the less decayed of the buildings. Even as Love-starved as she was, she was confident that she could deal with anyone who wished her harm. What she didn’t like, however, was how quickly her memories caught up with her. She had flown as fast as she could, going over the directions that Narcisse had given her, hoping to reach Athabasca by morning. But the storm had put a swift and decisive end to that hope, and now the horrors that she had witnessed were clawing their way from the dark places that she had relegated them to. I saw a man die today. she thought as she returned to her natural form, stumbling over her hooves from either exhaustion or lingering horror, I saw him, I saw him take his blades to his skin, his own precious skin, all because he wanted to prove that he was like me...all because I toyed with him. A pang of guilt struck her heart and she stopped as her legs began to quake. It was true that she had played mind games with the ponies back in Equestria, always whilst under the guise of another, but it had never resulted in self-mutilation. This world is far, far crueler than Equestria and Narcisse was clearly unstable. You should have known better. she chided herself. Chrysalis let her ears and head droop at the realization. And who was to say that her little love games hadn’t resulted in death? She had never stayed around for too long after she had fed herself and obtained enough love for her subjects. “Stealth and subtlety are a changeling’s forte.” That had been the phrase that her royal tutors had hammered home over the years. If she was to be a queen and rule well, she had to maintain a cover of deceit and cunning, never getting attached to a target, but making sure that they mimicked the emotion well enough to avoid detection. And-once the task was complete- she was to leave with her prize. But then what happened? she wondered, We never killed anypony when we assumed their identity and we released them when it was done. But….what happened when they returned? We wiped their memories and just...left them near their homes. She felt an invisible weight in her chest grow heavier. How many lives have we destroyed? How many marriages were ruined? How many budding loves were crushed because of us? Was….was there a better way? Chrysalis thought back to all the lectures given by her tutors on the ponies. They had all said that the ponies only seemed trusting and accepting of all races, but that it was all a smokescreen that hid centuries of bigotry. The tutors-as well as the many history books- had all said that the ponies had hunted changelings down and killed them in the early days, before they had learned to shapeshift. But what if they had all been wrong? What if I could have tried for diplomacy? Did I doom my subjects? The thought sent a tidal wave of horror and sorrow through her heart. She fell to the ground fully, tears welling up in her eyes as harsh sobs escaped through her clenched fangs. “Oh, sweet Maker...I’m so sorry, my poor little changelings.” she whimpered, “Please forgive me...please….” The next few hours of her life was spent lying on the dusty floor, sobbing brokenly into the grime as the possibility that she had killed her subjects tormented her, tearing at her with unseen talons and jeering inside her head. The torment lasted well into the night. The coldness of the concrete and the faint drumming of the rain on the roof were her only companions, ones that she thought appropriate for someone like her. I deserve this. she thought, I deserve to be in the dark and the cold. I killed my poor subjects, I’ve left widows and orphans alone in Equestria to face the fury of the Royal Sisters, What have I done? What have I- A scream brought her miserable thoughts to a sudden halt. Chrysalis looked up and opened her tear-swollen eyes, feeling her blood go cold as she got to her hooves. The scream had come from close by. Maybe in the next building over, which was an old, burned out husk which she surmised had once been a restaurant by the charred remains of its sign. Another scream pierced the night, louder and more frantic, a scream of pain that was closer than it had been before. No sooner had that realization hit then she heard a door somewhere in the theater burst open, followed by the sound of running feet. Reacting on instinct, Chrysalis shifted back into a housefly and flew up to land on a nearby wall. Barely a minute later, a woman ran into the lobby. She was young and fair-haired, with a small nose and thin lips which were trembling as tears leaked from her heavily-made up eyes, leaving tracks of mascara down her white cheeks. The taste and smell of fear poured off her in waves, and it was no guess as to why. The poor girl was bleeding from several deep gashes that marred her thin arms like tattoos, her palms had been flayed and the skin hung down in thin ribbons, and her thin, revealing clothing had been torn-as if by hand. Someone must have attacked her. Thought Chrysalis, feeling a cold knot forming in her stomach. Someone violent, someone with a weapon. As she watched, the girl sank to her knees, gazing at her palms with a look of detached horror and disgust. She’s going into shock. Chrysalis realized as she watched the girl stare at her wounds. Should I help her? I could fly to some dark corner and take on my human form, then I could help her, protect her, she looks so helpless... Then the door burst open a second time and, even as Chrysalis had started to shift, a shadow fell upon the girl. Chrysalis landed without a sound, her transformation from changeling to human halted and forgotten, as the shadow raised a long, wickedly-sharp blade and brought it down on the girl’s chest. The blade split her chest, drawing forth a spray of blood. The girl barely had time to scream before the blade rose and fell a second time, widening her mouth from ear-to-ear. Chrysalis stared in horror as the girl fell to the floor, gurgling her last breaths through her slashed mouth. Despite the fact that she was dead, the shadow, a man by Chrysalis’ guess, wasn't satisfied with his work until his knife had unmade the poor girl’s face. Chrysalis tasted the bloodlust in the air, distinct from the actual blood and the smell of early death, and hoped that the man would be too distracted by his gruesome task to notice her as she snuck away. But, even as she began to inch her way backwards, the man stopped hacking at the body and turned around, clearly intending to leave. He stopped dead when he saw her. Chrysalis’ face and torso were human, but her natural black chitin overtook the pale flesh of her lower abdomen and elbows, leaving her looking like some horrific living melding of human and insect. The former-queen knew this, but she couldn't move, not when she saw the face that looked back at her. The man was wearing a mask, that was, at least, what she hoped. The mask was made from dirty gray burlap that was pockmarked with fresh blood. Quick breaths hissed out from two nose slits and saliva moistened the area around the crooked zipper that served as the mask’s mouth, the silver teeth of which gleamed like rows of tiny diamonds in the low light. Two black button eyes stared unblinkingly back at her, rounding out the twisted visage. The Button-Faced man cocked his head and advanced a step, his breaths slowing down somewhat as he passed the blade from his left hand to his right. Chrysalis noted that his hands were covered by chain-mail gloves. Gloves to keep the blade’s hilt from slipping, he’s smart, whoever he is. She thought distantly as she backed away. The Button-Faced Man had advanced a step farther before Chrysalis found her voice. “St-stay away!” she hissed, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. The Button-Faced Man stopped, then reached up with his free hand and unzipped his mouth. “What are you?” he asked, his soft voice betraying a faint trace of fear, as well as excitement. “I said stay back, cur!” growled Chrysalis. powering up her magic and levitating a nearby plank of wood off the ground. The Button-Faced Man cocked his head, then looked down to the dripping blade in his hand. He looked back at her, sniffed the air audibly, then turned and fled, leaving a trail of red behind him. Chrysalis let out a shuddering sigh and let the plank drop. She turned her gaze to the girl’s body, which was already beginning to attract flies. She forced herself to look upon the pulped mass of meat that had once been a face which had kissed and laughed and smiled and frowned. Now Chrysalis couldn't distinguish her lips, nose or eyes. The Button-Faced Man had erased her identity with his knife. As she watched, a bloated fly landed on a small island of intact skin and began to feast. It was too much for her. She ran, discarding her human form in favor of her natural one. She took to the skies, letting the wind dry her tears and calm the roiling in her stomach. This place isn’t for me. She thought as she flew, Maybe Midian will offer me sanctuary from all of...this. She prayed for safe passage, and flew on with the image of that ruined face still burned into her mind.