Emerald Eyes

by TheApostate

In the Midst

‘The Perfidious Equestrion.’

- Queen Chrysalis on Equestria.

She had made a life back to herself. Coccinelle, after being released from the holds of the Lord Inspector, had returned to a semblance of her routine in Featherfall. Most of her clients had remained and still sought her talents, the inhabitants had effectively ostracized her. Not that she counted any as friends or cared for their opinion of her, as long as she could still get food and shelter, she did not care for anything.

In Canterlot, her family had come to visit her in her cell. Beyond quick salutes and rapidly shared tidbits, Coccinelle, even after all her ordeal, had shown them only customary attention. Her parents worried tremendously that their daughter had been stripped completely from any modicum of love she had. Her siblings had voiced the same concern.

Coccinelle was disgusted by their sudden show of care. Their attention and worry for the only real hope to see her return permanently to Canterlot and be a thrall to a family that would disregard them at a moment's notice.

She had not hidden her thoughts on the matter. Her mother said it was untrue in repeated verbose attempts, but the relative calmness of the others had made proof and dogged Coccinelle deeper in her belief. They only cared for their prestige and their fragile ego, to see their daughter back, away from the work that granted her true independence.

The Lord Inspector had to intervene to calm the hostility she had shown toward her family. With the many brief interstices they had partook in, he had come to like her. She had only started to appreciate his presence but had waited patiently for the moment for her to escape his grasp. She did not trust him, nor did he grant him and his lackeys any close attention beyond the questions they had the obligation to come toward her with. She had told them everything of note. Nothing more could be gleaned from her.

Other than the interventions of internal services (though she was not sure what inviting themselves to take tea, to then ask a few irrelevant questions, served any purpose), she had severed all connections to Canterlot.

Cooky had been waiting for her outside the house’s door. He had lost weight but, and somewhat surprisingly, he retook his lost fat nearly instantly. Coccinelle had a debt to pay, after all.

Months would pass.

She had regular visits from the local police and the few town’s idiots. At one point, someone had managed to, somehow, perfectly target her bedroom window and threw a bottle of apple cider filled with piss in it. Lucky for Coccinelle, it did not hit her, but the smell lingered for a few days afterward. The inhabitants were not all pricks, however. They had the tendency to offer her free food, and she repaid them by accepting to pay the generous tip grocery stores demanded of her when the lie would be too obvious on their expression.

A minor inconvenience, for her talents at photography and the rapidity of her work, had always made her sought out by the local nobility. Some were kind enough to take her to their magnificent abodes at their expense. They were too unwilling to pay for the services of more talented and reputed individuals than her but had no qualms about ordering garments from Canterlot directly to the north. She had used to have contacts for these types of things, but lost the commissions she would earn from sales.

But life had remained good, somewhat.

‘Cooky!’ she shouted for him to wake up, putting the teapot on the heater and resting her plate of snacks and cup on the table. ‘Get up from there!’ She slammed the book she was hovering, miraculously not spilling tea all over. ‘It is my turn to have some privileged time next to the heater.’

He did not budge.

‘You bitch. Get up, Cooooky!’

She pushed hard enough for him to get up and curl himself for a better, guaranteed seat. But Coccinelle was too quick, and, with a proud grin, stole his place.

‘I am the master, and you have to deal with it!’

He paused to look at her. She made way for him to sleep on her lap.

‘So?’

He kept looking.

‘And…? Ah!’

Cooky took his place between her legs. Less comfortable and optimal, but still good enough for a quick day nap before the 12 pm start of his day.

‘It is about the fall of a dynasty,’ she told Cooky of the book’s content. He knew every book she had read. ‘Surprisingly, a Griffon story. How… unexpected,’ she chuckled. ‘They always make more captivating tales than us. Our version would simply be resumed by: they had a dispute, the Princess intervened, worked her fat ass out of the castle, and everything returned to normal. No intrigue, no nothing. A perpetual status quo. I guess in our books the beginning premise is interesting, but then it just goes downhill real quick. I would prefer the reliance of the winged idiot plot to just disappear.’

She nudged Cooky.

‘You don’t care, do you?’

He stayed asleep.

She snorted amusingly and pet him on the head. He stretched and curled up once more.

The wind whistled inside her house. Snow started to fall.

‘The road will be closed, Cooky. No one will bother us,’ she said with a broad smile.

Coccinelle opened the book and began to read the first words.

‘Wake up.’

Coccinelle opened her eyes at the uttered order. Two glimmering green eyes met her yet-to-be-attuned vision. She could not help but make a mirthless smile.

‘How are your nights?’ gravely asked Coccinelle, unbothered by Chrysalis’s presence.

Chrysalis’s head jolted upward. ‘Explain.’

‘Still waking up randomly without finding sleep? Your twenty hour days; you knocking frantically at my apartment’s door just to pass the time when you were bored after waking up at three in the morning; the nightmares you were so unwilling to fully disclose about.’

Chrysalis lunged forward and grabbed Coccinelle’s throat. ‘We all have those fits, Pony,’ she cursed. ‘I am far from the only one.’

‘But yours were recurrent and almost r-r-regular. W-we spent four years close to each other, I k-know you.’

‘If I was so close to you, why did I leave? It makes little sense,’ rasped the Queen

Chrysalis released pressure, letting Coccinelle take a long breath of relief. The mare cleaned her lips. ‘Because, one day, you showed yourself to me – by accident. You had said you wanted to try a new regime. I had noticed you started clothing your mouth. You were weak because of it, very weak. I tried to help, but nothing worked. I went to the kitchen to get you something. Then I saw that crooked horn, the fangs, and the whole package. I… yelled – to stay polite. You wanted to convince me it was rational – sensible. That you won’t attack me. I refused to hear. You were losing the argument. Then you fed enough to flee. And here we are.’

‘And you think that horn is a unique feature of mine?’

‘It looks eerily similar. So, yes.’

‘A birth defect,’ she surprised herself with the admission. Not even Alkenex was told the factual reason for her horns shape. Like for everyone, he was told it was a battle scar. ‘Nothing more will be added.’

‘Then you remember me!’

‘No.’

Chrysalis did not give Coccinelle the time to speak.

‘For all my amnesia of appreciating a time spent in Equestria around Ponies, your trust and belief in me is-’ Chrysalis noticed she was thinking aloud. ‘It is clear I trusted you, too – or that version of myself trusted you.’

‘It is still you. You and Seli are the same!’

‘I would have remembered. I would have not forgotten.’

‘Then what happened?’ Her smile failed to hide her trembling voice.

‘I was installed as Queen… It must be that.’ Chrysalis paused. She wanted to reach for her neck but forced her claws down. ‘Join me,’ she whispered like with a mouth full of dust, with a sudden flicker in her eyes. ‘Become part of my court. Become a trusted member.’

‘You are using me-’ the mare raised her voice in sudden anger.

‘Coccinelle is dead,’ declared Chrysalis, placarding Coccinelle on her living room’s floor.

The mare ponderously crawled away. On instinct, her horn lit up in preparation for a stand, to then be snuffed like a simple candle.

Chrysalis continued. ‘And she will be reborn under a new name, a new face, new colors, and into a whole new life.’ She approached Coccinelle, putting a claw on her shoulder. The feeling was almost disgustingly familiar but calmed the Unicorn enough for her to glance back at the Queen once more. ‘But I might in the future with the time and interactions we will have.’

‘I-I will join you in your kingdom?’

‘In a way. You will work for me and gather intelligence. We will always be in direct contact, do not worry.’

‘You are using me! I am not a tool!’

‘And I want to experience a peaceful night for once!’ she yelled and let it set in Coccinelle’s mind. ‘Knowing someone like you will be useful,’ declared Chrysalis.

The madness seemed to have receded. Those emerald eyes looked familiar. ‘I-,’ She felt the materializing argument to be useless, held from creation. ‘Sel- Queen Chrysalis, I mean.’

‘Seli,’ conceded the Queen. ‘If you want to call me “Seli”, you can. As for your new life, your first rebirth will happen later. Follow me, now.’ She turned away from the mare.

‘First rebirth?’ There was no hesitation in her question, only the most basic curiosity.

‘Yes – first. You will become a creature without a fixed name or look, or even character. You can remain a Unicorn, become a Pegasus, a Griffon, Hippogriff, and many more. Even one of us. You will become my personal informant. My paramount giver of the truth. You will not morph. You will transform into something new. Only I will know of your true name and identity. You will lose family and all past relationships. You will help us, the Changelings, to save ourselves from privation. Do you accept this new fate of yours?’ Chrysalis let her fangs glint in the light in the semblance of a smile.

To let her life away, Coccinelle wondered. To abandon her nation for the service of a foreign monarch. It sounded interesting, enticing even. She had left her old life in Canterlot for the very prospect of reuniting with the only true friend she ever had. This was it. Partially so, but this was it. There was nothing left for her in Equestria. Who will miss her? Clients? A family she never related to?

But…

But she was surely going to bring down the country she grew up in. To, perhaps, bring it into the Changelings’ fold… Should she commit to that most grievous act of betrayal? Did she really care that much? What would she be gaining from continuing her existence in Equestria? She will never be left alone, always followed, always searched, always scorned, and always shunned.

Why do I care so much for her?

The question seemed obvious, simple, and stupid. She should have asked herself that very thing before undertaking… everything.

What could it be? she asked herself bemusedly, feeling as if she had forced the question out. Is that belief? Faith? Love, even?

They all felt almost foreign. Emotions she knew the meaning of; things she understood and could differentiate. She thought. Neither concept had any recognizable tonality. Belief is when, even when presented with all matters of contradicting arguments, the core idea remains unflinching. Faith is similar, and love too. The latter, however, is more fickle. Less prominent and unquestioning.

Attachment?

It sounded easier, simpler, and better. Coccinelle was attached to her friend and cared for her.

She just did. She just… did.

Coccinelle fixated the Queen determinately, her eyes glistening. ‘I wholeheartedly do.’

The Queen smiled. ‘Good. Follow me. We have a long way to the Hive, Cici.’

The mare grinned. ‘It was the name you used to call me by.’

Chrysalis paused. She glared back at Coccinelle with a single eye, partially hidden by her odd mane. The mare answered with a nod.

The Queen turned away, walking like nothing had interrupted her, expecting the Unicorn to trail her.

And Coccinelle did, her awoken cat passively resting on her back.

The trio walked into the raging blizzard.

Powerful winds howled uncontrollably, the cold too much for the mare to walk properly. The Queen did not flinch. Her bearing was of pure confidence. It was as though she was strolling through a field under a warm Sun.

Coccinelle did not question. The act seemed like something one like the Queen could conjure. Nothing too much that warranted questioning.

Then, the storm ceased around them; snow and debris carried by the wind like frozen in place. Something warm basked her, uncomfortable, unwanted. A ghostly sensation spiked her back. The mare turned, but the cat had ran towards the Changeling. She cried for it to be ended, but the Queen did not react to her voice; she was pointing her head to an invisible sky. The shouts fell silent; her mouth refused to open. She crouched, hiding her head between arms she felt breaking, all the while trying to quell the quickly building-up pain. Whatever modicum of sound she could hear was replaced by a constant, powerful resonance. All senses nearly gone, the mare resolved herself to the torture.

A violent flash of green light erupted, blinding her and overwhelming her nerves.

As suddenly as she had lost consciousness, Coccinelle opened her eyes to find herself in a room with a single, stylistically barred window. She was lying on her length on a large, white bed. Her vision caught the sight of a single, partially opened wooden door.

Lord Inspector? Foul Pony, she cursed, a bitterness she recognized in herself but somehow more attuned, more focused. Familiar but also utterly foreign.

Rising herself slowly, the sound of a distant melody playing in her mind, Coccinelle scratched her hornless head with her right claw and spread her wings.

And then, she screeched.