Hundreds of Changelings were flung from Canterlot Castle. Some survived the fall, others didn’t. The first “thought”, more akin to an impulse, was concern for the queen. It was getting to the Queen and regrouping with the rest of the hive. This was the thought of all the surviving Changelings.
All of them, but one. The first thing in this one’s mind was a pink pony, with hair unrestrained and eyes bluer than any river. It recalled the look in her eyes as she played her little game, challenging him to take one form or another. In her eyes, there were no fear, nor was there hate. She did not see a Changeling. She saw a living thing, who was unfortunately at cross purposes.
Her uniqueness continued in the battle. The Changeling was one of the longest living in the hive. The Changelings’ keen, innate eye for detail was even greater in him. He could see the strategies of those who threatened the Queen. It could see their next move, even if it could not resist them. He could see all of their moves, except for the pink one. She was a hurricane. Nothing was planned for her. She changed attacks in the middle of them. A punch would suddenly end up to have been a throw of pastry. A shot from her canon would change from shooting the strange materials to shooting her. She was kind, wild, unique. Perfect. All a Changeling could not be.
For the first time, a Changeling worker felt desire. It had gazed upon perfection. When you saw perfection, there was no point in emulating, no, in being anything else. It had to be perfection. Only then would it break free from the constraints of the hive and truly be. But perfection implies one. There cannot be two perfect beings; the existence of the other devalues the truly perfect one. It knew what must be done, to become one of a kind at last. It shifted into the pink one’s form, and never before had anything felt so right. It smiled, smiled in a way indistinguishable from the ones the pink one would often adorn, and perhaps just as real.
And so while every other Changeling converged upon its queen, one worker looked into the horizon and took its first few steps towards Ponyville and perfection.
Commentary from Donny’s Boy
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step … and here, beautifully depicted, is that first step of one changeling. I really liked the changeling’s ruminations on perfection and how Pinkie represents perfection. I also really enjoyed the open-endedness regarding just what the changeling plans to do and plans to become, and my favorite line was “It smiled, smiled in a way indistinguishable from the ones the pink one would often adorn, and perhaps just as real.”
Also, I totally didn’t get the implication that the changeling perhaps intends to murder Pinkie—Kyro had to clue me in on that—but now that I see it … whoa. Whoa.