Changeling

by Criticul

Awakening

Luna went without dreams.

She could still sense the world moving—churning—around her, but still she lay in a realm between unconsciousness and lucidity; all blurred together in a meld of sensations that she could not separate.

She could think too—she could think all sorts of thoughts: is this the end of it all? Could this be death? It certainly did not feel as though she was alive; never could she express both feeling and numbness without binding them as separate: awake and asleep—living and dead. And there was pain too, along with sickness and regret and fear.

Oh, yes, there was fear. Even in her state of ambiguity, Luna felt fear; it crawled upon her like spiders, prickling at every bit of skin she had, crawling up and down her spine in evanescence. Torture, silence, corruption—all skittered through her head. Thousands upon thousands of years remained endured—all for this, so that she might fall to a lone parasite. Had she never carried the lust for virtue, she might still be resting at home with those she loved: her sister, her subjects, and all the comforts that surrounded her. There, she was offered everything, but she’d traded it all for this—these shallow, dying breaths.

Hours passed, though she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t days or months. There was no sense of time within her, as light and dark remained inseparable within her mind. Without a consciousness, she knew not sleep, and without sleep, she knew not whether time was firm or drifting. Were her senses active, or were they memories? Again and again, the princess cycled through dull contemplation, seeking answers in a world reliant on madness alone.

That is until she heard the voice.

It came echoing back into her mind—something she had heard just before falling under.

“An interesting toy.”
Luna struggled for control, but found only the dreamy numbness.

“An interesting toy.”

Again and again, the call rang through her head. Having no physical self, Luna could not sense a source, but merely knew its presence. The voice brought with it a new sense—a desire that festered in the princess’ lonesome heart.

Reality called for her.

“Wake up, Luna. The night is dying, and the day marches on.”

She could hear the taunts brought in from nothingness. Not dead—not yet. Her body was far gone, but not abandoned. Control still rested within her.

“I see light in your eye. Sister, I’ve come to take you home.”

Luna’s eyes snapped open.

Air filled her lungs with one desperate gasp.

Pain rocked through her skull, but there was feeling again! Such beautiful pain!

She could see—she could see in the darkness. She could see walls like onyx and floors of fine grass, growing without warmth or sun. She could see the shadow which sat on the grass beside her bed.

She saw herself in the darkness, or something she once called herself.

“You… you aren’t…”

The nightmare lifted its head, but dared not open its eyes. Still, it faced her with such intensity that she could feel its stare pulling her closer—closer into bloodied memories.

The shadow opened its mouth.

“The choice never leaves, Luna. Light. Dark. What do they truly matter? I offer you a chance to prove yourself to me. Maybe you live to the end of it, hm?” As the creature opened its eyes, the illusion faded to dust. The flesh decayed, and the skull twisted and morphed. When it was over, there only remain two envious eyes, bowed in solemnity. “Though, I can’t promise that you’ll want to. I already know how this ends.”

Luna shuffled in her bed, struggling for better grasp of her muscles. The panic that had long poisoned her mind was fading, but it was quickly replaced with dread. Looking over to her caretaker, she saw a familiar red book resting beside her.

“I found this sitting with the rest of your stuff. How much have you taken from it?” Chrysalis held the book before her, taking care to not allow the pages to fall. The cover, when shrouded behind the queen’s green essence, turned black. “I read this once, you know. In fact, I carried it for quite some time before making one little mistake. Needless to say, I thank you for returning it to me.”

“But it’s—“ Luna stuttered in her sub-paralysis. As each limb returned to her—as each joint snapped back under her—a heat grew in her gut. The dread still built.

“But it’s not mine?” Chrysalis stared at the book for some time before continuing. “No, you’re right: it’s yours now. There’s nothing too important in there anyway—just an old client who ranted about far more than he knew.”

It was then that a wayward thought rolled into Luna’s head and out through her mouth. “So you knew Barlowe?”

“Oh, I knew him well!” the queen smirked. “He was interesting. Of course, he was nothing to you or me, but I’d say that he was something like your sister: filled with spirit and high-talk, but none of the strength behind it. But then again, I’m sure you’ve already been told about how Celestia took a bit of a spill, hm?”

Luna coughed, “He was a client? I don’t—“

Chrysalis smiled in her opponent’s moment of discovery. “He was a client in the sense that we traded services, of course. Though, I can’t say he was particularly happy with what I had to offer—he was a rather paranoid creature to start with. Barlowe had a tough shell around him.”

“He beat you, didn’t he? He knew the entire time.”

The queen opened her mouth, but stopped short. Her eyes lit up, and Luna could see the sparks of thought and calculation residing behind the emerald cloak. She was defeated—Luna knew that much. Only Chrysalis’ arrogance could have unhinged her thoughts; she needed time to think of a perfect response—one that had her winning the entire time.

Just as the smile fell off the parasite’s face, Luna grinned.

Her thoughts were reaffirmed.

“Yes, he won in the end.” Chrysalis chirped.

Luna winced.

Chrysalis nodded, continuing, “He got exactly what he wanted. I’ll never see him again, nor do I particularly care to. Understand that when I left him, he was torn up—almost to a sickening amount, really.”

“But you let him go?” Luna questioned.

“He sort of left by his own accord, if you understand what I mean. Luna, there are certain things I can’t really control. For instance, when you pulled one of my own from death and treated him as a tool before finally hanging him up by his neck.”

Luna looked down at her choker; the violet blood still painted the thorns.

“Of course, I did that last part, but that was more of an act of mercy.” The queen’s eyes flickered cold; rage rested somewhere behind her swagger, and Luna could sense it. “There are two things in this world I know, princess. There are two things I really—really—know. I know there is life, and I know there is death. I don’t like it when the two are combined, understand?”

The mare remained silent, still lying helpless amongst the bed sheets. At least she knew that Chrysalis didn’t want her dead—at least not yet. No, she’d put Luna up in the most peaceful prison cell that she could muster; the bedding was undoubtedly stolen from royalty, as were the rest of the furnishings. Everything was exquisite—truly—though abstract. It was not simply because the flooring was, in essence, a well-trimmed lawn, but it was in the way that all her things were aligned with the wall. Nothing—not one piece of furniture touched the wall. Every bit of it, from the chairs to the armoires, was aligned so that it would be standing just in front of the chitinous black that surrounded them.

Chrysalis saw her victim’s eyes panning, but opted not to speak. Instead, she stood up and leaned over the bed, placing her hoof just beside Luna’s neck. “This is my bed, I hope you know.”

“Then why did you give it to me?”

“See, remember when I said that I wanted you to prove something to me? Well, this is me proving something to you: I don’t live off suffering. I told you, just a bit before you tried to obliterate me, that we were both sociopaths. This word doesn’t mean good or bad—it’s a statement about what we value.”

Chrysalis licked her lips before continuing, “It says that we don’t think in good or bad. We don’t really even have a conscience—we just exist to fill desires. Lies, manipulation, torture—they’re all part of our little search for what we want, but so too is happiness, mercy, and freedom.”

Luna coughed again, this time spitting up a bit of blood that had been resting at the back of her throat.

“No doubt you’re thinking something innocent: ‘Oh, but queenie, I don’t do those bad things.’ Well, that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re a manipulator—an emotional calculator—just like me. All it means is that you get what you want easier by being a good pony.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to think that?” the mare mumbled, mostly distracted by the presence of feeling in her legs.

Chrysalis responded with a smirk. “I didn’t, but telling you that was enough to get your attention on the challenge rather than the accusation. You know who else would respond like that?” Chrysalis tapped her sternum. “I would. And you know what else? If I was you, I would be fighting for enough control to bleed my opponent dry.”

Luna stopped fidgeting for a moment and twisted herself towards the parasite. “Oh, really? I thought you would be taking notes,” she played, hoping to keep her prey from slinking away.

“Luna, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. But if you want to take notes, now would be the time: I’m going to give you a little hint, since I find you so interesting.”

“And what’s that?”

“No matter what you do—no matter how many ponies you save—you, me, and all the other killers will end up in the same place. All of us—every last being in this hideous, twisted world—will end up together in the end, and regardless of how moral our actions are, we will all be given the same reprieve.”

Chrysalis backed out of the room, still grinning as she was when the pair first met. As the parasite faded from her hearing, Luna could hear one last whisper.

“Kill me, Luna. Come kill me. Be the one to match me, hm?”

Then came the silence.

Luna remained in the bed for minutes, lying flat on her back, staring into the darkness of the ceiling. Her eyes were unmoving. Her breath was left to shallow pattern.

All she did was think—think again and again over everything the parasite had left her with. Chrysalis was an insane creature, but that was by no means a surprise. It was in her stability—her rationality and perception—that Luna could not understand the creature. It was not simple chaos, as with Discord, but of a madness so convoluted that not even she could break through the barrier.

What did Chrysalis actually want?

If knowing a mare’s desires told the world of them, then Chrysalis was but a ghost in the world. Power was simply not enough for the parasite: she taunted death openly, but not in the sense that she dominated it. No, she was within death—her mind was twisted around the idea.

But where did that leave her?

Luna slipped out from under the covers.

She gathered the journal…

…and she returned to her place…

…reading by the light of magic...
...looking for some light to guide her.
--~~--

What I learned today was not so much an observation about myself, but of the nature of sensation. Of all our capacities, there is only one that we truly trust: sight—the rest are prone to our imagination.
And indeed, when I say that we surround ourselves with imaginary things, I do mean it quite severely. Our egos are so massive that often we forget that lies even exist around us: we treat mistakes as truths, but do nothing about them. This idea—this sickening thought of my own self-destruction—has not stopped plaguing me since I moved in.
Take for example this thought.
I saw royalty today.
That’s right! Celestia herself had come to speak to my family. I cannot say why, but the mare had suddenly thought it a good idea to visit the outer reaches of her country. It was awfully strange, I’ll grant you that, but it was not truly unlike the princess. She is well known for her bottomless adoration and her beneficence—and this certainly took the best of both.
Yea, I could see it in her eyes—the love that fueled her. It was almost too beautiful—something I dared not compare to my own Spring, if only to keep myself a devoted husband. But even with my disdain, I could not resist the idea of temptation. I played with my mind, you see. I played a game of trade and gamble.
How much would I trade my wife for?
The thought brought horror to me, but during the entire meeting with the princess, I was rendered a fool to the dreams. On one end, my Spring stood faithful, and on the other, I placed various amounts of beauty and wealth. Green eyes, I saw. A defined family and wealth and intelligence—they were all great treasures. In my mind, I created the definition of beauty.
Then Celestia asked me a question.
Of course, I couldn’t hear her in my reflection, but then she repeated.
“Do you love your wife, Barlowe?”
Spring had left the room, off in search of tea.
“Well, yes,” I responded. “I love her more than life itself.”
“Do you really, though?” Celestia continued.
And I responded, again, “Yes, I really do.”
Well, Celestia just sat there for a moment, caught in a moment of absolute contentment. She was proud of me, I know. It was there in her heart and in her voice that she loved me as one might love a brother or a sister that they respected over all else.
But in my mind, I saw different things. I saw myself ripping through flesh and blood and terror.
I saw myself slaughtering all my love: Celestia, Spring—all of them. I knew not why, but the thought had run through my head in only an instant. Something provoked me—something dark. There’s something dreadfully wrong with this house, and I know it.
What I saw was so different from what I wanted or heard or smelled or felt. And I wonder if it was really true—if the rage in my heart is truly there. I’ve been pent up for so long, I don’t even know if I speak the language of the people any more. It’s all a haze, really. Everything I see—it’s always the same, day after day, but none of it is right. I need to be free. I need to go on a vacation.
And more importantly, I need to get back into my poetry.
I am without words recently, but I was able to put together one short piece. Hopefully I can come back and edit it later.
Stranded amongst the living and dead
Unsure of my fate
Dancing between the light and dark
Still they call “Beauty”
“You forget”
“What you should be”
And I look to both sides
I think to myself
And I believe I find beauty
But it’s in both
Not one
Not Life or Death
The ballad of our constant pain
They are all stories
For us to enjoy while living
But soon we’ll stop
We’ll see
An evening of death
Where we cannot tell those stories
Where they ran dry
But we will still walk on
Undistracted by the fate
The death
We have so desired

It’s not much, mind you, but I tried my best.
And I’m almost ashamed to admit it, but this poem means so much to me—death means so much to me. There are so many questions I have about it—so many little insights that I dream to share.
But in the end, I know that they’ll never fall upon Equestrian ears. It is simply not proper to speak of, nor do any other ponies care to share my interest.
No, if the conversation was about fuzzy hats, I’m sure they would have countless maxims for me to take note of, but when it comes to something unknown—something important—I’ve been dealt the hand of absolute silence.
We’re all afraid of something, which I see now. We all create lies around us to keep ourselves safe from the truth lying just outside the walls. Even when our minds accept the truth, we will push out the meaning. Even when our minds accept the meaning, we deny the truth.
It’s an endless cycle.

She does not carry.
She does not carry.