Queen Chrysalis smiled at her daughter, her first heir. She would never take the child seriously, but she still felt like this one was special. This one, against her thousands of children, was somehow special.
The young hatchling coughed, and blinked at her mother. Her blood red armor shone in the pale light of the moon. Her brilliant white fangs had a pearly sheen to them, and her crimson eyes glowed faintly. Her wings were like those of a bat, with triangular plates of white chitin separated by long claws.
She was a queen, the first one not of divine nature, and one of which her mother could be proud.
And she was. Queen Chrysalis felt happy, to have a child who wouldn't grow up faster than a mayfly, one who could speak to her about her frustrations, one who would be her own person, and free of the hive mind.
"Chrysanthemum shall be your name," the great queen told her.
The little changeling looked up at her mother, her big eyes filled with wonder, and pointed a hoof at her mother's nose. "Mama," she said, a smile on her lips.
Chrysalis hugged the young princess close to her chest, and said, "Yes, I am your mother." She placed a kiss on the princess's forehead, and smiled warmly.
Nocturnus shook his head as he read over the letter, his eyes filled with disbelief.
None of this made sense.
Nothing made sense.
Selena claimed to have never visited him, and yet, he remembered falling asleep next to her. She was still in Nocturnia, and there was no record of her ever leaving. None of his soldiers remembered seeing her enter the camp, but he had touched her, he had kissed her, and they had shared a day of passion.
His mind shifted to other matters, ones that made this inconsistency seem of little consequence to what the councils had decided upon.
King Sombra's armies had begun to march towards the heart of the republic, towards the capital of the world, towards Nocturnia. After exchanging many letters with the clearly deranged king, Nocturnus had decided that enough was enough.
And the councils had agreed with him.
They were at war.
And, on top of that, he had been reelected. He was still in control of his army, whereas the other consul had fallen from favor.
He was going to war.
He stood from his desk, slinging a bag over his neck, one that contained a much smaller version of his translation device. He made his way to his armor stand, where his family's suit rested. He had hoped time and time again, that he would never remove it from this spot, that it would be returned to his home once he was done with his term.
But now the day had come, when he was to lead his armies against those of this arrogant king, and show him who ruled this world.
A voice shook him from his stupor, and he turned to face the messenger. He took the letter from him, and unrolled it on his desk.
"Dearest brother in law," the letter began, not with a formal address, and not with any delay. It got straight to the point, which became more and more clear as he read it. "My king is not well. He is losing his mind. None of my followers nor I support what he is doing, and he plans to annex Nocturnia. His armies are under his total control, of a magical nature. Please, liberate us from his rule, and we will be forever in your debt. Sincerely, Matriarch Celestia."
His jaw hung open. Selena had never introduced him to her sisters, as she found it unnecessary and unhelpful, as both of them were off in their own kingdoms dealing with their own subjects. He understood this, and how couldn't he, what with being elected for a second term and all?
From what he understood, when the Goddess had created the world with her almighty thoughts and everlasting songs, she had brought into existence first her three daughters, and then the entire first generation of every single species of sentient creature on the planet —or planets, if there was other life out there.
Chrysalis, Selena, and Celestia were those three daughters, and had all separated after assisting their mother with singing all of the universe into existence. Chrysalis had made all the asteroids and comets, Celestia had made the sun and planets, and Selena, his beautiful Selena, had created the moon for all to love, as well as every star in the sky.
But then Chrysalis had wanted her own songs in creation, and broke the harmony with her sisters, bringing plagues and evil into the world. The four divine creatures had later reconciled, and finished their songs, but damage had been done.
The Goddess had told her daughters to go and make their own creations, and they had. Celestia had made the plants, Chrysalis had made the fungi, and Selena had made the animals. The Goddess had finished with the creation of ponies, which she had hoped would keep her daughters company.
And they had. Since time immemorial, each of the sisters' followers had changed. Chrysalis's people had become the changelings. Selena's subjects had become the bat ponies. Celestia's followers had become the crystal ponies.
Nocturnus shook his head as he considered the letter, trying to rationalize what was happening. If he met Sombra's armies, the king might only warp more of Celestia's followers into his slaves. If he left Nocturnia to fend for itself, it would become an indiscriminate slaughter, for the invading force had no sympathy, no conscience, no mercy.
He grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a quill, and began writing furiously.
Selena gaped at the letter from her husband, and immediately knew what had happened. She could feel a great rage, a fire within her chest, one she knew well, that she had known since the beginning of time. This, she knew, was Chrysalis's doing, and it burned like the fires of the early planet, of the first few moments, of the first second, of the first minute, of the first hour, of the first day.
No, her chest burned like the fires from which her eldest sister had been created, with that first note of their mother's songs, with the first stroke of her pen, with the first spark of brilliance from which she had crafted the entire universe.
She could feel it, the fire, spreading throughout her chest, blasting her heart into her throat, and further still it crept. It consumed her mind, bit by bit chipping away at her imagination of her sister, of the voice that had caused every suffering of her people, of her followers, of her kin.
As time dragged on, in those few moments, as the letter glided down to the ground, ponies outside began to shout, looking up at the moon.
The once pearly white of her first creation, her legacy, began to turn, first as red light fell over it, then as its surface ignited. The room around her burned as her rage grew, and her chest heaved with loathing for her medial sister. Her eyes filled with rage, rage, rage, and the flames were stoked by her anger, her hatred of that, that...
She took a deep breath, and the fires died down, the moon began to cool again, and as she continued to reason her way back to a sensible state of mind, her eyes opened. She could feel the change, something terrible inside of her, and, for a moment, the mirror before her made her jump.
Those eyes were not hers. That face was not hers.
She blinked, and it was gone, as was the fire.