There are no heroes, there are no villains, only ponies with different points of view. That being said, as the Queen of the Changelings, I do have a reputation to uphold and it has always seemed beneficial to maintain a certain level of menace. It does a great deal to cow any who would rise against my glorious hive, but also, I must admit, I enjoy it. It is a trifling amusement, and beneath my regal station to play the bogeymare, and yet, a filly must take some sort of enjoyment from their life.

In truth, I feel that I do not fit the role of evil tyrant quite so admirably as has been hinted at, but then I also feel a need to consume ponies' vital energies and leave them as mere servile husks, eager to bow and scrape before their new sovereign, yours truly. The two things are irreconcilably at odds, but then that's what defines a fully realized being; Eternal conflict with one's self. Ah, but I do wax philosophical.

Generally it is not something I allow myself, philosophy is for ponies in need of justification for what they've already decided to do and to be, where my choices are nil. I am, and there is little enough dickering about it. Justification or not, there are drones to feed, grubs to raise, ponies to ensnare. To deny this would be to deny my nature, to doom the hive and murder my children as if by my own hoof.

I should also like to convey that, although we most certainly cannot feel 'love' in any capacity save to absorb and digest it, there is an exultant joy that often comes with being an evil queen (As well as being her invincible army, I've been told by the drones.)

Now royalty, odiously benevolent or deliciously evil, all share a trait, I've noticed. We simply delight in talking about ourselves, ad infinitum. In this vein I do intend to answer some of your questions, the ones I find interesting to answer and the one important one as well, and I will even entrust you with my journal, for a time.

Why? At length, we shall come to that.

To answer but a few of your questions:

"Can changelings feed on anything other than love?"

Probably, yes, but can your kind survive by ingesting the carcasses of...pigs, let's say? It should appease my scientific curiosity to no end to know this. What, no takers for my little experiment? Why then, should I wish to imbibe anything other than that purest of foodstuff, to subsist on fodder, flesh, or fear?

It should also be admitted that there's some manner of symbolism involved here. Our natural accoutrements are something of form over function. Fangs, though the carnage we crave is metaphysical and requires little enough mastication. Sleek carapaces of deepest black, pierced through with holes, emblematic of decay and corruption. Eyes of merciless guile.

We are not just consumers of love, for in that consumption we destroy and so are supposed in form and action to be an enemy of that most foreign and desired emotion, that much is clear. How we came to inhabit this niche and for what purpose, I do not know, but I'm certain it's not simple chance that we occupy the fearsome shadows as we do.

"Why not simply get to know ponies and let them love you for your charms rather than stealing it?"

As lovely as that sounds, harvesting love in the manner that we do is toil no less than if we were mining it. In short, the drones work in shifts, which their prospective 'lovers', with their prudish views, would likely find to be distasteful. More than that, this question assumes that being loved does more than fill our belly, which it does not. It does not fulfill us in any significant way, and were we to eschew the hive for a life among ponies, we would certainly languish for the fraternity of the hive, though we were bathed in more love than we can digest. Moreover, we shall not prostitute ourselves for sustenance, nor would that be any kind of a fit meal for us.

In the society of mundane creatures we would necessarily be playacting still, for, could they love us if they knew that we were constitutionally incapable of reciprocating it? I think not. The few that would number in miniscule percentages that would not long keep a hive satiated.

"Can changelings transform into non-equine creatures, and if so what are their limits?"

Non-equine, you say? Is this in regards to some twisted fetish? For shame, dear Locus. What would your Goddess Princess have to say should she hear of such transgressions?

I, however, am not so judgmental, but in truth, I do not recall. I'm certain that, in my younger days I tested the limits of this form, though the results are hazy. It's the case that a dragon's love, or a diamond dog's for that matter, is no more potent than a pony's, but is far more dangerous to obtain than from you meek herbivores.

We may be different than you (superior to, I mean to convey), but we are, fundamentally, equines, and we have little appetite to consort with baser creatures. Should your sort meet with extinction one of these eons, then I would be forced to research the answer to your question further.

"Given the sudden appearance of the species, just after the dawn of recorded history, where did the changelings come from?"

You may come to know that, after a time, and if you do, I should like to know as well. Where did ponies come from? There must necessarily be an answer to that too, but does being a pony give you any more insight towards it?

The Tanisians credit their feline goddess, Catrina, for their genesis and continued fortunes. Their monuments and temples attest to their gratitude for her having birthed them into the world, but as a subject of Celestia you must know that to be untrue. That is unless your Princess is simply the most successful charlatan this world has ever seen, a view which I do not entirely discount.

"Why do none of the satellite hives thrive? Why do you keep trying?"

My daughters may indeed be queens, but they are incomplete in that they age much as a normal drone or pony is wont to do. Their powers may grow to rival my own, were they given a sufficient span in which to let them blossom, so I cannot speak to that. When a queen's health fails, the hive lacks the organization and direction required to thrive, not to mention a source of progeny.

I try because I still hold out hope, same as anypony.

"What does a pony experience in the changeling cocoons, does it kill them? Why are changelings also cocooned?"

Ponies experience an idyllic dream, shared amongst their cohabitants. It does no more to kill them than living in the real world does, though nearly all of those who enter live out their lives in blissful harmony within. The same cannot be said of those resigned to the cruel world outside.

The drones are simply giving over their harvested energies to feed the hive. They walk through the consciousness of the hive from within their cocoons. It's a truly glorious feeling of connectedness to lose one's self within the collected minds that envelop one there. I would highly recommend it if there were any chance that you would survive the experience with your sanity intact. There is not.

"What is the nature of changeling reproduction, and what's the situation with their...you know?"

I have often ventured to let you explore this matter on your own. It's a little late now to be inquiring about it.

"How did the citizens of Tapadero get free?"

We set the abductees free, albeit with their memories of the past five years excised. Indeed that campaign was such a success that each drone was fed fit to burst and I had no more to replace them with. For a generation thereafter we lived of that bounty and I focused on expanding the hive with the intention of establishing a satellite. It was not until nearly two centuries later, however, that another queen was born to me, so it was at the very far ebb of that tide that my daughter was given her own hive. The very one that the Tanisian's burned, in fact.

I counted it akin to her funeral pyre, though her body had long since been recycled and become one with the hive.

It's destruction gave me closure and lent credibility to the Tanisian assault in equal measure.

"Are you an alicorn of the same sort as Luna and Celestia, are you immortal, is your power comparable, how did you come to power?"

Having never met my counterparts in the flesh, it's difficult to say much for certain. I do, however, recall that there was a time before that diarch ascended to the throne, and I lived in that time as well, which implies that I am ageless. I may be immortal as well. I've lived through ordeals which would fell a lesser pony, but a definitive test would not be voluntarily administered, so that will likely go unanswered.

Though my abilities are vast, I cannot raise the moon or the sun. Sometimes, when I've supped upon boundless love, sucked the very marrow of some hopeless sap dry until my belly bloats and aches, I feel like I could.

I do not recall coming to power. So far as I know I've always been the matriarch of the hive, but as all things must surely end, they must also have begun. Such things are lost to the dim haze of history, awaiting somepony to unearth them once more, which brings me to your last question.

"Why me?"

Allow me, perhaps, to corrupt that mewling question, asked as if one's slice of honeydew had fallen from a table onto the dusty floor on a day already fraught with tribulations, for that's how I took it. An exasperated rhetorical foalishly jotted, but there is a particular reason I chose you.

I require an archivist and a historian, plain and simple, and for the recompense I offer you access and freedom to do as you wish in that regard.

Until your recounting of our previous raid, some centuries back, it had completely slipped my mind that I'd even pulled such a stunt before, splitting the town in twain so as to more efficiently extract that glorious glowing nectar. I remember it quite clearly now, mind you, but it's most disturbing to have lost track of something that, in my long and as yet storied life, was relatively recent. The centuries do start to run together and it seems my mind is ossified in predictable patterns, so it is quite natural that I inadvertently repeat myself. It's disconcerting that it so completely eluded my recollection, this is a point I have long pondered, for it's not the first occurrence.

In my vast library lay tomes which your own Princess has commissioned or penned by her own hoof that recount the many parables of her life and nation's history. You asked if we were similar, her and I, and this is one thing which appears to contrast markedly. Her recollections seem complete and naturally interwoven in ways my own do not. One of two things is the case. Either her memory is as ageless as she is, or she has better records so as to bolster them.

Lacking the capacity to will myself into simply remembering, I've long considered posting a talented drone as a chronicler, but such a one has not been in evidence thus far. Indeed I thought to make due by simply appointing one and training them to the task, but my drones do love me so, that their prose proves rather obsequious, and their research tends to gloss over failures and unflattering events. The one you call Lucy was one of those, and though the literary pursuits taught her to interact more naturally with ponies, her writing leaves much to be desired.

It's rather fortuitous that you've come along. When I realized what you were about and allowed you free run of the hive I'd thought, at first, my luck was just too incredible to be true. After your unbiased reports home as well as your fearlessness in the aid of Squeaky, I vowed you would have an honored place in my hive. Your precipitous departure and the subsequent, wholly necessary, invasion of Tanis interceded, a bit, and the circumstances which saw you employed were...less ideal than I had envisioned.

I cannot help but notice with what enthusiasm you undertook your task, however, and the quality of your as yet incomplete historical manuscript despite the duress you were under. I believe your passion towards further closing the gaps in this knowledge will be sufficient inducement to return to me and take your rightful place.

As a show of good faith, I've let you retain the manuscript, which is rightfully my property, as well as that journal, whose pages you've been lusting after, in your hooves and hope you will find something useful therein.

Do not think me altogether too bold in assuming your continued fealty to me. By the time you read this my great charade will be ended and Tanis either restored, or well on it's way. It's simply a matter of logic. I, of course, know of your tragic circumstances, though I can do little in the way of intercession save to convey my own regrets, which I assure you are sincere. Your career and life in Tanis will be tainted with loss and distrust. Were you to return to Canterlot you would find that you'd have to start over and claw your way through the social mores. Handicapped so, a life of placid mediocrity in some mundane little job is the best you might aspire to amongst your kind. It hardly seems fair for a stallion of your talents.

I know, though, that you will return, and when you do, your thirst for knowledge will be sated to it's fullest extent. You may notice that I've not answered all the questions you've written on the obverse of this page? When you return I shall endeavor to illuminate those as well as any million or so thereafter.

Take your time, there's little enough reason to rush, I'll be here, waiting.

Most Sincerely,

HRH Queen Chrysalis