//------------------------------//
// By the Light of the Lantern 
// Story: The Unicorn and the Stranger 
// by PhycoKrusk 
//------------------------------//

	Later that night, Rarity awoke with a start. She hadn't meant to fall asleep — certainly not when there was a changeling in residence — but it had happened anyway. It also seemed not to matter, for she found herself in surroundings as familiar as she could have hoped, recognizing her resting place as Driftwood's bed. The changeling himself was not inside with her, which gave Rarity senses of both relief and worry.

The front door of the bungalow was opened, and she could see the dark shape of Driftwood laying on the sand out front of it, illuminated by the low, flicking light of a lantern. With a steadying breath, Rarity rose and quietly approached, observing as Driftwood's ears — if, indeed, changelings had ears — swiveled back as she stepped onto the sand, even if he did not otherwise acknowledge her presence. He was watching the ocean, and continued to watch the ocean when she came to a stop next to him.

“May I ask what you're doing?” she asked. “And why you’re doing it where somepony might see you out of disguise?”

“I’m keeping watch for them, so they won’t lose the way,” came the reply. “We spend so much time in disguise. We don’t wear disguises for this. It’d be disrespectful.”

Rarity considered this for a moment. It didn’t make much sense on its surface, and resolving to hear a fuller explanation, she settled down onto the sand beside the changeling. “Who were they?” she asked.

Driftwood was silent for a few moments, and then he turned his attention from the ocean to the unicorn beside him, not reacting when she flinched just slightly. “What happens to a pony when they die, Rarity? Do they all go to Elysium?”

“Most do,” Rarity replied, turning her own attention to the ocean. “But I suppose if they were sufficiently wicked, they would go to Tartarus instead.”

Driftwood nodded, the action visible only in Rarity’s peripheral, and looked to the ocean again himself. “What ponies would call ‘Tartarus’, changelings call ‘Gehenna’, and while ponies go to Tartarus only in the next life, changelings are in Gehenna in this life.”

Rarity was immediately shaken by this, and turned her attention back to Driftwood. “That is what changelings believe? That they are born into a life of punishment and suffering?” she asked, aghast.

Driftwood gave his shoulders a small, indifferent roll. “Can you refute that belief?” he replied. “I could feel your revulsion when I revealed myself to you. We’re horrible to look at by the standards of most creatures. Ponies think of us as parasites, or even predators, and they think our shapechanging to try and hide how horrible we look is deceitful, even with all the bits and effort they spend on makeup and clothing and extra houses. A changeling that’s known to be a changeling is rarely safe for very long, so we spend most of our lives hiding, pretending to be something we aren’t as if we had a choice. An entire culture that considers forthrightness a virtue, forced into telling lie after lie, just to survive until the next sunrise so the cycle can repeat, until the last changeling is gone. Doesn’t that sound like Gehenna? Like Tartarus?”

Rarity watched Driftwood, still shaken. Finally, she drew in a deep breath and asked, “What happens to changelings when they die? Do they stay in Gehenna?”

“Most do,” Driftwood replied, turning his attention back to Rarity. “But some are fortunate and find the way back to Shamayim.”

“Is that what a pony would call ‘Elysium’?”

“It’s where we come from, where we hope to go back to.” Driftwood heaved a heavy sigh. “No one knows why we were banished. Maybe all changelings were ‘especially wicked’ then. Maybe it was just a few of us, or two, or one, it doesn’t matter. We aren’t there anymore, and all we can do is hope that when we die here, we don’t come back here.”

Driftwood fell silent, having nothing further to say on the subject, and Rarity fell silent, having a good deal to consider. Both of them looked out at the ocean again. After nearly half a minute, she thought of a new question: “Is the lantern to help the dead find their way? Back to... Shamayim?”

Driftwood remained silent for a few moments, cocking his head to one side while he thought. “When a changeling is dying, we gather around them. Their family, or friends, or even another stranger hoping to go home, and whoever sits at their head will light their horn. We hope it lights the way,” he said. “But we need love to live, and even lighting my horn would burn the love I have, like a candle. I know some unicorn magic, so every night, I come out here and light this lantern with it and hope that it lights the way for the changelings who die alone.”

“So that even the ones who don’t have somepony to light their way might still return home?” Rarity offered as an ending to Driftwood's words.

“Yes.”

Once more, they both fell into silence, until it was broken by Driftwood. “Rarity, I know I haven’t done much to endear myself to you, and I won’t blame you if you’ve decided to leave,” he said. “But will you stay with me for a bit? At least until the lantern burns out?”

Without a word, Rarity stood up from the sand just long enough to move and lay down again, pressed against Driftwood. They both remained silent, watching the ocean by the light of the lantern.