Chapter 9
 
>The house is quiet once more, but the tension is still there.
>It immediately crushes you, the emotions left choking you.
>You vacate the room as soon as possible, going for your own.
>It is actually right next to hers.
>Even with a spacious, two story building and yet the two of you still want to be right next to each other.
>Present moment excluded, of course.
>You actually had a third room made, right in front of yours.
>It was ‘mom’s room.
>It was furnished and well kept by you and yourself only.
>You wouldn’t let the housekeepers touch the room.
>It felt like she was there.
>Sometimes you went in and thrashed the bed sheets, just to convince yourself.
>You often peeked through the door, hoping to see the familiar face.
>And tonight, you catch yourself doing it again.
>It’s late already; you barely see anything in the room.
>The window on the far side of the room lets in some moonlight.
>You barely make out where the bed is, and it is not surprising it is empty.
>It’s always empty.
>You run your hand through the thick blanket, finding surprisingly clean.
>Sitting on the side of the bed, you stare into the darkness.
>After a moment, you begin to speak.
“So… Hey, mom.” You whisper, as if reciting some prayer.
“Got in a fight with Christie today.”
>You pause.
“I know, I know, apologize and whatnot.”
>You find yourself smiling, mother’s speech already ringing in your ears.
>Funny how you never took them seriously, now you barely remember anything she said.
>Maybe now you’d take her words to heart.
>What was that saying she always nailed to your head?
>You’ll never appreciate anything till it’s gone?
>Something with that line, she always had it in some form of a metaphor.
>Something about fountains.
>You want to tell her about what Christie is up to, the stallions she was often seen with.
>Your condition.
>Maybe it will help you feel better.
>But for some odd reason, you can’t continue, the words only choking up your throat.
>You go silent again, unable to form anything against the spectre of your mother.
>And as if rushed out, you hastily leave the room.
>You don’t want to go back to the nauseating bed of yours.
 
>Darting out of the house, you make your way to the city, hoping for some sort of a reprieve.
>You shouldn’t be running; it just pushes your already weakened lungs.
>Phase two can’t be cured, it’s already too late.
>You know that.
>You worked with it so many times.
>Chrysalis doesn’t know- she can’t know.
>You remind yourself to slow down; now walking through the dark streets of Canterlot.
>Maybe you can find something to drink.
 
>Pouring yourself a cup of any alcohol you could find, you quickly down it.
>This can’t be good for you.
>You never even liked alcohol.
>The after-taste killed you, and its effects weren’t pleasant as well.
>You only drank because Christie said you should.
>And after so many years, it’s almost a habit for you.
>You supposed it was one way to keep her close.
>Now, what was phase three?
>You can’t breathe, you can’t move, you are paralyzed.
>Every drop of the medicine burns your chest, but it’s the only way to keep yourself alive.
>The green plague, a terrible, terrible disease.
>You’re glad most of it is rooted out of the Canterlot, you saw ponies fade away once too many.
>… What’s with the depressing thoughts?
>Alcohol kicking in.
>Christie is working so desperately trying to clean up your lungs, but she’s just scratching the surface.
>Only treating the symptoms.
>It’s downright impossible to purge this from your body.
>Hey, everyone dies eventually.
>Your turn jut comes up sooner.
>But still, no telling her.
>You’d rather spend the rest of your days in blissful, ignorant joy.
>You’d like to believe she takes great joy and pride in keeping you alive.
>Just the thought of it locked up your chest.
>Sighing, you take another drink.
>Your throat burns as the liquid goes down.
>Alcoholics must be masochists.
 
>You stagger out of the bar, and return to your wanderings.
>You begin to stagger, almost tripping many times.
>Funny, you don’t feel drunk.
>Two turns and three rights leave you in a very familiar part of the town.
>You push through the wooden door, broken glass shattering under your weight.
>Almost nothing is left in the house; most of the furniture was either thrown out or brought into your new home.
>What was left was taken by the looters.
>You stealthily go up the stairs, just like old times.
>Peeking through mother’s old room, you sneak into yours.
>You sit where your bed once was, on the hard, cold floor.
>Not like there was a difference anyway.
>Hugging your legs close, you bury your face between your knees.
>And then-
>You sob silently, trying to not wake mom and Christie.
 
>How long did it pass?
>Two, three hours?
>Anon isn’t back yet.
>Chrysalis slowly lifted herself from her bed, rubbing her eyes.
>It felt like waking from a bad dream.
>Maybe if she told Anon her intentions first, he would’ve reacted better.
>No, that’s like putting make up on a pig, it’s still a pig.
>And if he knew, he’d never agree to let her help.
>Chrysalis sunk into her pillow again, knowing things will be better by morning.
>Yeah, she’ll have Anon apologize over some toast.
 
>Morning came is a blink of an eye, and Christie felt refreshed and ready.
>She’ll just have to confront Anon over breakfast.
>Preparing her reactions, Chrysalis gingerly made her way to the kitchen.
>Her food was ready, a fork and a knife flanking its sides.
>She glanced to the other side of the table, noticing Anon’s food untouched.
>She waited for a while, slowly eating her own food.
>Where the devil is that human?
>She got up from her seat, fuming.
>Some nerves he had.
>He’ll soon learn to not anger the Changeling queen.
>She kicked open his room door, her horn glowing.
>But he wasn’t there.
>He wasn’t anywhere in the house.
>Chrysalis asked the maids, and they said they never saw Anon come in since last night.
>He’s probably letting off steam, she thought.
>Or piss drunk and on some random street.
>Either way, he’ll be back.
>Hopefully.
>Chrysalis quickly put the issue behind her, and then proceeded with her daily duties, managing changelings here and there, meeting ponies of important stature.
>She worked to rally all Changeling populace in Canterlot, trying to increase her own numbers.
>For what, she couldn’t tell anyone.
>It was odd, being the new superpower in the lower reaches of Canterlot.
>The Queen of Changelings, and the Queen of the underworld.
>Fitting, she supposed.
 
>Lunch time, and still no sign of Anonymous.
>He’ll be back, he’ll be back.
>Her entire day went on, with that phrase repeating over and over.
>Only after midnight Anonymous showed his face again, clothes messed and flustered face.
>She couldn’t even get mad at him, he couldn’t understand her.
>Chrysalis could only watch as Anon stumbled (rather humorously) into the third room he kept to himself.
>Still, he just ignored her the whole day and did not say a word upon his return.
>Such arrogance cannot be tolerated!
>Now more angry than worried, Christie made her way to the beige door.
>Slowly pushing it open, she was immediately greeted with a rhythmical sound of sobs.
>She peeked through, seeing Anon curled up on the bed.
>The sheets were a mess, turned and halfway thrown.
>”Anon?” She asked, her worry growing once more.
 
>You turn slowly, pretending to see something by the door.
>Someone was there, you just heard them.
>You can’t really make out who it is.
>You wipe the tears on your face, not wanting to show anyone that you are crying.
>But you’re still talking with mom.
“It’s great seeing you again, mom. Everything’s fine- have you seen our new house? You can fit the old house in this one, and we’ll still have room to spare!” You laugh.
>You sigh happily and plop onto the bed, still talking gibberish with your mother.
>You don’t even notice the door close, no one else joining you.
>You still go on about your life, how you settled in the life of the upper class, having a larger home, not being so dirty and all.
>She just sat by you listening carefully with her ever warm smile.
>You’re not sure when, but you dozed off, still off about how you should handle the situation with Christie.
>When you wake, it is still dark.
>The moonlight is just as intense as before, illuminating the room.
>You expect to be bathed in the white light, seeing how the window was right above the bed.
>You quickly notice the shadow loomed over you.
>You groggily lift yourself up; your brain still addled with the alcohol.
>Your eyes slowly make out the figure in front of you, sitting by the bed.
http://youtu.be/mS9U75YC-jA
>Her eyes gleam by the moonlight, the pair you know so well.
>Her hair was tied to the back, just like how you always remembered.
>The thick smell of chemicals filled your nose.
“Mom?”
>Without a second thought, you quickly wrap your arms around her.
>She returns the gesture without a word, gently tapping your back.
>You want to say something, but nothing comes to your mind.
>So you simply stay there, rocking silently.
>Tears start flowing immediately.
>You begin to sob again, no matter how hard you try to stop.
>She ruffles your hair, a small smile growing on her aged face.
 
>Chrysalis only entered the room later on, when everything died down.
>The door creaked loudly, quickly betraying her position.
>Still getting no response, Chrysalis poked her head over the door.
>Anon was lying on the bed again, muttering gibberish.
>She entered the room, closing the door behind her.
>Coming up next to her friend, she sat by the bed.
>She could smell the alcohol from here.
>She leaned closer, trying to make out what he was saying.
>He seemed to repeat the same word over and over again.
>’Mom’.
>She saw the stains on the sheets, and hoped it was not what the thought it was.
>At least he seemed so peaceful.
>Chrysalis took the chance to look around the room.
>She walked over to the desk on the corner of the room, noticing an inkwell and a quill.
>She checked the drawer underneath, only to find a pile of unmailed letters.
>Each of them was addressed to his late mother.
>She dared not look into its contents, but she could feel the strong waft of emotions over the paper.
>Closing the drawer, she turned to Anon once more.
>He seemed to miss his mother a lot…
>A crazy idea comes to mind, and she goes over the bed again.
 
>You clench your teeth, desperately trying to silence yourself.
>”Shhh…” She whispers, calming you with her soothing voice.
>You eventually manage to control yourself, wiping your eye with a hand.
>She lets you down to the bed, tucking you in.
>”Goodnight, Anon.” She whispers, before leaving the room.
>You fall asleep immediately, and you had to admit, that was the best sleep you had in a long time.
 
“Morning Christie.”
>”Morn, Anon.”
“Slept well?”
>Christie pauses for a moment, chewing her toast.
>”Yeah, I guess I did.” She flashes a smile.
>You nod understandingly, busy with your eggs.
>The table goes silent, but you can tell the tension died down significantly.
>Testing the waters, you begin small talks.
“So.”
>”So.”
“How’s the work lately? Lots of ponies coming under your cause?”
>”It’s going great.” She replies flatly.
>Well, not as significant as you thought.
>You prod the egg with your fork, distracting yourself.
“You know, about that night-“
>What of it?” She cuts you off abruptly.
>You recoil slightly at her reaction.
>She’s staring straight at you right now, her face waiting for something.
“I just wanted to say-“
>She blinks once.
“I mean what I want you to understand-“
>You grin, stopping yourself.
“You know what; let me make it up to you. How about we talk about this over dinner?”
 
>You shuffle around in your clothes, you never had to dress this fancy before.
>A suit, a tie, everything.
>You even had your hair done, all made out and all.
>When did you and Christie ever done this before?
>Something you might call a date.
>It was back when you were in the slums.
>Just when you were old enough to reach the top cupboards.
>Well, just barely.
>Chrys was already in her phase, she even had braces fitted.
>She started caring so much for her looks, growing and cutting her mane.
>But let’s put that aside, the queen is approaching.
 
>You remember the cold rainy day, not sure about the date.
>The two of you were crouched under a canopy.
>You also remember that was the time she took interest in some stallions as well.
>She went out more often (much to mother’s chagrin) and came home much too late.
>She had a few relationships, and they always went bad.
>It was always the same thing, Christie approaching somepony under a guise, falling in love, revealing her true self, and the rejection.
>Rinse, repeat.
 
>Chrysalis sits across from you, in her own, changeling form.
>Looking at her now, it is amazing how much she had changed.
>”Now, what are you planning, Anon?” She asks.
“Well, first of all, I wanted to apologize over what I did that night.”
>”Let me stop you right there, Anon. I don’t want to hear it, let’s put that behind us.”
 
>It was another night of her dates, and as always, Christie comes home crying.
>Mother tries to comfort her- like she did always- but this time, it’s worse.
>Christie rips off her dress; which was a distasteful palette of pink, and storms off to the back yard.
>Mom stands in shock, never seeing her so enraged.
>You sigh and get up.
>Time to comfort the changeling again.
>You find her sitting in the middle of the rain, head hung low.
“You know, I keep telling you it won’t work.” You tell her, making your way.
 
“Don’t you think we need to at least do something about it? It’s bad to leave a wound untreated.”
>”Come on Anon, we don’t have to apologize, I’m over it.”
“Fine, no apologizing then.”
>”Was there anything else?”
>The food comes in, laid out in front of the two of you.
“Yeah, I had something else to say.”
>”Well then, go on.”
 
>”Why can’t I be loved?” She mutters, snorting up the snot.
>You crouch next to her, looking straight forward.
“Oh, don’t get like that, I’m sure there is someone who likes you.”
>She looks at you with those green, wet saucers.
>”R-Really?”
“Really really.”
 
“You see, about the weekly healings…”
>”Is there something wrong?” Chrysalis immediately springs into life, some emotions injected on her face.
 
>”W-who?” She stutters, still in her tears. “Who’ll love an ugly changeling?”
“Well, I think you look for the answer too far.”
>The two of you go quiet, only serenaded by the pitter-patter of the rain.
 
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
>”Tell me what?”
“The medication… doesn’t work. You’re just slowing down the process.”
>”But what about your mom-“ Chrysalis quickly cuts herself.
 
“I’ll love you, Christie.” You smile, clearing a stand of mane covering her face.
>She lets out an innocent smile, her mismatched fangs showing.
>”Really? You’ll love me?”
“Yeah! Mom too! We’re family!”
>Her face begins to glow, the smile growing.
 
>You take a deep breath, and go on.
“I’m going to die, Christie.”
>She freezes in place, her face in a mixture of horror and shock.
>And by second, everything feels darker.