The following is the last recording of the Changeling King Metamorphosis. Copied from the surveillance system in the room he was imprisoned in, it was given to his steward, Private Onyx by one of his former captors eight months after his capture. When asked why he furnished the recording, the guard only commented that, “after listening to it more times than I can count, I knew that it was the only right thing to do”. The guard then turned himself in to Equestrian authorities, though he refused to reveal the whereabouts of his commanding officer or fellow rouge guardsmen.
Guard, if you are there, if you are watching through that unblinking lens, I make a request to you: please write this down for me. These are my last words. I would myself, but, as you know, I am unable.
I recount this, not as a king, but as an individual.
When you are a king, you are no longer allowed to act as a single person. Your every decision can have ramifications which impact all of your subjects in ways that no oracle dare attempt to reconcile: it is a spider’s waltz; chaotic and ill-fated.
To be king, especially when being so means your lineage climbed the evolutionary arc of your species to its apogee, means being the master of an ungodly- no, godly amount of power. Changes which are necessary can be swiftly done, crises averted in a moment, catastrophes rectified with a word.
And yet, here I sit, no longer a king. No longer powerful. No longer capable of ruling my subjects which I hold so dear. And, by this time, no doubt, all the world must believe me dead.
My arrogance was the cause of this, in truth. I forgot too many things. I forgot that I had enemies I had never met, forgot that I was not untouchable, that I was as much hated as loved, and that the universe may have become weary of my boastful antics. And so I underestimated those who would, and have acted against me. Who acted in secret, outside of their master’s wishes. And who stripped me of my power.
This rouge group of the Equestrian guard, who were tired of the unofficial policy of feigned ignorance their leaders had taken with regards to my changeling kingdom, took matters into their own hooves in a single skilled movement. They took advantage of my hubris and captured me, broke off my horn, and locked me away. And, with that, I am a living discrepancy: a king imprisoned and an immutable changeling.
It has been no less than two months since I was taken from my kingdom. Telling the time has not been difficult, nor do I have any trouble discerning my location, as my view of the stars from my sequestered room is not impinged: I am, without a doubt, in Equestria near the Foal Mountains. I knew this land, once; serene and imbued with a defining quietude, undisturbed by civilization.
This cell, so it seems, was constructed for me and me alone and I have accepted that it will be my tomb. It is not uncomfortable; far from it: it is so plush, so decadent, that it is entirely palatial. I am deprived of nothing. Food and drink are magically created on a whim by some sort of automatic process and I am even provided with books. The only sign of life here is a camera that watches me in unending vigil.
And there is its cruelty. A gilded cage is a cage still, and I am the bird within. And, despite the abundance of food available to me, I am slowly starving. With no love to feed on, I am growing empty. Surely, barring rescue, I will die within a fortnight, and I know rescue will not come.
So, I am faced with a choice that most do not have to make. I must decide how I wish to die: by the tick of the clock or by my own will. With a broken horn, I cannot focus my magic, but that lack of focus is how I will die. I may be weak, but my magic is still strong and unbounded energy has only one form.
It is my regret that the universe does not always permit it, but it is my wish that the world should act in the name of peace and goodwill to all. To my wife, please find the peace within yourself. Stay your hoof so that our people may have a future outside the shadows. To Celestia, you have been a friend to me over the centuries and to my father longer. Our relationship was never traditional, but I will remember the many teas we shared fondly.
And finally, to all of you who broke the boundaries of kingdoms and cultures and joined me in this grand experiment: Thank You.
And now I shuffle off this mortal coil. Oh, Chrysalis, my nymph; be all my sins remembered.