Recreational

by Brohoofaddiction

Rating: mature
Tags: Tragedy, Dark, Sad
Length: 7866

Trixie turns to prostitution to pay for her drug habits and finally wishes to end it all.

When Trixie is abandoned and left to fend for herself, she copes with depression in the only way that she knows how. Getting what she needs isn't a problem - but dealing with the aftermath and her conscience is…

Covert art is by Willis96. You can see their DeviantArt at http://willis96.deviantart.com/~

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-04-04 21:27:48 UTC

Chapter One - Getting Your Fix

Long streaks of black ran down her pale blue face, sweat and tears sending the carefully applied make-up south as the mare wiped her hoof across her eyes, trying to calm her shaky sobs as she wriggled the key in its lock, whining in frustration as the sticky device refused to open, not even budging. She gave a half-hearted buck at the door, which surprisingly gave way, creaking into a dingy and dirty flat.

Her violet eyes widened slightly, biting back another sob at the disgusting scene of sin before her, wishing for nothing more than to be free of the impurities that lay around – dirtied corsets, discarded stockings, even a whip thrown haphazardly over a cracked mirror. Bitterly, the mare chuckled at the shards of glass, remarking that this was her 7 years bad luck. Her head hanging in shame, she tried to block out the leathery black items on the floor and draped over furniture, shuffling straps and bonds away to reach her thin mattress, devoid of even a simple wooden frame to support it, not even adorned with a pillow or blanket. The threatened tears finally spilled over her cheeks as her eyes traced over a framed newspaper clipping, the bold letters spelling out ‘The Great and Powerful Trixie Wows All in Fillydelphia’.

Trixie looked away in defeat, her matted silvery mane falling over her glassy, tear-filled eyes, obscuring her vision. Sniffling and looking at the table nearby, she pushed at the dreaded envelopes that lay unopened, bright red stamps taunting her, hurrying her to part with her bits. But Trixie knew she couldn’t, because everything she earned had to go towards one thing, and one thing only.

Drugs.

The mare had first been drawn to the numerous substances, aware of the risks and addiction but so wrapped up in the grim humiliation she’d been subjected to that she needed anything to numb the pain, and the ache in her heart when everyone turned away from her, and the black market had been more than welcoming to the depressed pony trudging through the shady streets. Trixie remembered her first drug experience bitterly, tears streaming down her face as she rubbed at her forearm with a rag soaked in antiseptic, preparing her injection site.

Trixie stared at the syringe filled with milky fluid, biting her lip. She questioned her morals, knowing full well that this would be her demise at some point or another, but she put that thought to one side. She had bits, didn’t she? Was she not allowed any fun? Of course she was. Trixie nodded resolutely, persuading herself that she was only trying it out and had plenty of bits to spend. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, she willed herself to remember how to prepare the syringe and her forearm. A vision of the roughened face that had sold her the syringe appeared, bright and vivid in her mind’s eye. He whispered in her ear, reminding her each step.

“First, you disinfect the injection site. Your arm, newbie.”

Trixie obeyed diligently, scrubbing at her forearm with vigour. She looked up toward the apparition again.

“Now clean the needle. Be careful here, hon, this is where it gets nasty if you don’t do it right.”

Trixie nodded slightly, making sure nopony could see her with a quick turn of her head as she drew out the needle, already uncomfortable in her squatting position in the dank, foul smelling alley. She scrubbed at the needle, carefully avoiding its sharp prick as she wiped away.

“Final step. In, push, out. Simple as that. Now clear off!” the shaky figure chided, his hooves brushing her away as the image faded.

Trixie pushed in the needle, gasping at the sharp point breaking through her tough skin. She pushed down the plunger with her hoof, the milky fluid flowing into her, coursing through her veins and pumping around her body.

She felt no different. At first.

As she stood up, Trixie began to feel more productive. She felt her horn shimmering, only slightly at first, but she couldn’t feel any of the scary symptoms her teacher had described when she was younger. Shrugging and continuing back to her flat, Trixie sighed and wondered if it had been a waste of bits after all.

Trixie shook out of her daze, looking straight at the sterile syringe in its sealed packet. She ripped it from the packet numbly, taking no joy in the act anymore, she very rarely felt the buzz – it was just a dependency, a chore. She plunged the needle in, not even flinching at the sharp point. The routine had become so mundane that it was like eating to her. Her stomach grumbled at this point, reminding her that she had only consumed grimy tap water and whatever her more generous clients had scrounged her as of recently. She couldn’t afford to eat, she couldn’t afford to keep a roof over head. Trixie had nothing. Not even love. She found tears pouring from her eyes again, dripping onto the ripped stockings pulled over her legs, smearing her make-up even further. She looked in the reflection of her mirror and saw a dirty, sinful mare, a needle in her arm and tears over her face. She couldn’t bring herself to think of why she kept doing this to herself, but her mind wandered to the happier place she had been in, regardless of her feelings.

Magic slowly seeped into the unicorn, lifting her sullen features up until her face was dazzlingly bright, her horn pulsing with potential magic. She took a dusty tome from her bookshelf and read from it, energy coursing through her as she sat on the floor, jiggling her leg in excitement. She shut the dusty tome and bounded to all fours, muttering an incantation and watching with dilated pupils as the room filled with a shining light, fading to a plush and beautiful apartment, fitted with luxuries aplenty. Trixie smiled proudly – she knew it was only a glamour, a trick of the eye, and would last for an hour at the most, but the spell was difficult and surpassed most unicorns abilities. She sunk into the plush sofa, but found it to smell foul and be lumpy and uncomfortable, just like her real one. She frowned and stamped a little, annoyed that the glamour wasn’t real. But soon she felt as if she were floating, a Pegasus with a horn, just like the princesses. Everywhere she looked was bright, and the world felt like a blast of sunshine to the influenced mare, lifting her out of her gloom and desperation. Trixie practiced more spells, delighted and feeling free, out of her dingy past-life and into a world where she could be the Great and Powerful Trixie again, adored by crowds and spectators.

Trixie shook her head, still sobbing. She got up and shed the revolting attire she had donned – a tightly laced corset stained with bodily fluids and cigarette ash, and fishnet tights ripped to shreds. She threw the garments on the floor and curled up on the thin mattress, tears soaking the material as she sobbed herself into a feverish sleep, dreading the days that stretched before her.

Chapter Two - Whatever It Takes

Trixie shuddered feverishly, waking in a sweat despite the chilling temperature of the room. The company had shut off her heating in an attempt to get her to pay the quadruple-digit bill, but Trixie spent so much time out on the street on cold winter nights that she had grown accustomed to the frequent shivering and colds, where the heat in her home had been a luxury. But like most luxuries, she could live without it. Her dependency was only on the tiny fluid filled syringes, and as she sat up in her bed, she thought about how she would secure her next fix. Sombrely, she got up and stretched, her sleep-bleary eyes blocking out most of the grimy clothing and toys scattered throughout the cramped apartment. Trixie floated over a feather light bag, secured with a tight rope at its neck. Loosening it with her telekinesis, she peered inside and saw one glittering bit. The golden coin was the only thing that shined in the room, the one tiny ray of hope. Trixie blew a lock of silvery hair out of her eyes in frustration.

“One bit isn’t even enough for a measly apple.” She muttered to no one in particular, staring at the coin, willing it to multiply, but nothing happened. Trixie felt her stomach grumble at the mention of food, but she knew from experience that if she was this hungry, there would be no point in eating anything because she would then become ravenous, all the hard work of keeping her hunger at bay wasted. Trixie’s hoof lingered over the shiny bit, smoothing her hoof over the engraved grooves in the golden metal. Sighing, she lowered it back into the bag, pushing it into its safe hiding place. She silently remarked why she even bothered hiding the pathetic little savings – it wasn’t like there was anything to steal. Not that robbers ever approached her home. They were scared of her. But they were not intimidated of her magical power, or even her presence.

They were afraid of what she did.

Trixie knew that most ponies had gained knowledge of her, and how she worked at a house of ill-repute. But what could she do? When she needed bits and nopony would hire her, she turned to the illegal practice of prostitution to keep a feeble income. She knew if she was assertive and played the game right, she could get a fair amount of bits. But she hated herself for it. Trixie wasn’t a stupid pony, far from it, and she knew all her magical ability and knowledge were going to waste as she rutted her life away, tired and ill, yet still dependent on the vile concoction inside those syringes. She’d shed a tear too many a time to be able to cry at the thought, toughened to the emotions that broiled within her mind, but she still sobbed drily, shuddering at the numerous framed fan letters and drawings hanging on her wall. Her eyes settled on one beautifully innocent drawing, scribbled in bright, colourful crayons, depicting a blue mare with a shakily drawn purple hat and cape, with the filly who had illustrated it standing next to her, both with large, happy smiles. Trixie found herself next to the picture without fully realising, her hoof stroking the glass of the frame, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles out of the creamy white paper. She read the large, childish name scrawled in the corner, Dinky Hooves. She smiled and gradually stopped shaking, calming herself enough to locate her prized garments underneath all of the dirty, trashy material. She extracted the smooth purple hat, her eyes tracing over the stars of assorted shapes and sizes. She sat it on her matted mane, sighing in relief at the comfort of the material, closing her eyes in bliss as she tied the matching cape around her shoulders. It felt good to be home.

Only 3 hours ago, Trixie had been at peace with herself, clad in her magical attire and surrounded by an imaginary crowd of adoring fans, all begging her to entertain them with her magical abilities and again recount the story of defeating the Ursa Major. Now she was in her more shady and shabby attire, donned for the inky black night ahead. She’d spent a good while in the shower, trying to wash away her regrets and sorrows in the icy cold water, to no avail. She’d stepped out, dripping on the threadbare carpeting around the room, and begun meticulously preparing herself, a ritual which she had become shamefully accustomed to.  She had applied the dark eye make-up precisely, pulling the mascara wand through her already dewy lashes, leaving them coated in a sticky black residue, and swiped dark black eyeshadow over her lids. Looking in the mirror as she left, Trixie couldn’t help but feel disgustingly fake. She glanced at the crude leather jacket she wore, her hoof shakily reaching her mouth as she travelled down to her flanks, trying to ignore the prominent ribs through her cerulean blue fur. Her cutie mark lay concealed underneath a tiny leather skirt, her smooth flanks in a grotesque show to any vendors nearby. Trixie flicked off the light with her magic before she could begin sobbing again, and ran out into Luna’s night, galloping to her usual place – a dark corner near Ponyville’s only bar. She stood there shivering, trying to arrange herself in an enticing pose, and began waiting for the drunken stallions to stagger out of the bar and notice her.

Shivering, the powder blue mare looked into the green eyes before her, towering over her petite frame and laughing at her, the stench of stale hard cider wafting out of his mouth, causing Trixie to flinch.

“How much?” he hollered, slapping at Trixie’s flank and hooting again, the alcohol impairing his balance as he tripped a little, recovering just before he hit the floor.

“200 bits an hour.” Trixie firmly said, looking away from him nonchalantly. She knew how to play this game, only from practice, and kept her true emotions bottled up inside of her.

“Wha’?” he yelped, incredulous. He rubbed his head with his hoof, the onset of his hangover apparent as he began to sober up slightly. “Well, mah momma only gave me 100 bits to buy toys with t’night.” He said, winking. Trixie gave a little noise of disapproval at his immature bartering, and stalked away, making sure to wave her flanks temptingly as she retreated, throwing a sultry gaze over her shoulder.

“B-but… I’m sure she won’ mind if I spend a lil’ more… specially if it’s on an extra good toy...” he simpered, his eyes growing wide as he drank in the sight of her curved flanks. Trixie smirked and drew closer, her violet eyes never straying from him.

“I thought you’d say that.” She said, her eyes still locked on his. Regrettably, Trixie was good at what she did.

“E…Eeyup…” the stallion muttered, following the mare down the alley, into the darkness.

Chapter Three - For The Bits

Trixie led him through the dirty alley, carefully navigating soggy cardboard boxes and flicking her slick silvery tail, trying to keep the groggy stallion under her spell. She could tell she was slowly losing him on the long walk to their destination, and her heart flipped nervously. If she didn’t get her bits tonight, she would face the grim withdrawal as the drug drained out of her system, and she couldn’t bear it. Not again. She was already weakening and feared what would happen when she finally came down. Not that she had been on much of a high – Trixie had already become accustomed to her dosage, and nothing much different was happening to her, her life a blurry haze of uncertainty, unsure if under the influence of narcotics or not. She contemplated this and wondered if she could do anything to get her fix cheaper – she remembered seeing ponies with unprepared heroin in the alley where she bought hers, but she had no idea if it was cheaper. Starting from her thoughts, she had noticed that she’d just been taking the stallion wherever the alley led, unsure of where to go. She dropped back, letting him take the lead, shedding a private tear at her circumstances behind his large back.

In the warm and small room of one of Ponyville’s many motels, Trixie slammed the door in the bathroom, exhaling shakily and looking at herself in the mirror. She wiped at the faint streaks of black under her eyes and took a deep breath, using her magic to pull a sprig of herb out of her leather jacket. She grimaced and put it in her mouth, chewing hesitantly and swallowing the stem, sticking her tongue out in disgust. She silently opened the door and found the stallion lying on the bed, waiting for her arrival. He promptly stood up, his height towering over her intimidatingly, his ochre mane falling over his eyes. He took a step forward, pushing Trixie back into the corner, and pinned her there. Unintentionally, Trixie whimpered meekly, but before she could regain her confidence, his hoof connected with her jaw.

“I bought you. And tonight, you are my slave.” He spat, his normal country accent lost in the coldness of the words. Trixie nodded, trying to ignore the punch. She had come across stallions of his type before.

“Y-yes… master.” She whispered. She slipped off her leather jacket, baring her shoulders and looking up at him with seemingly innocent violet eyes. Her jaw stung, and she intended to comply with whatever he wished, for her safety more that his pleasure. He looked into the orbs and softened momentarily, before remembering himself and pushing her head down roughly to his manhood.

Trixie stroked it tentatively, biting her lip and still staring up at him.  His eyes fluttered closed, the organ growing stiffer at her every touch. Trixie stood up, abruptly breaking contact with him, all business.

“The bits.” She said, knowing not to be polite about the subject. “Payment first, service second.”

“E-eyup…” he said, still lost in bliss. He scrambled to a bag full of the golden bits, letting Trixie sift through them, checking that they were all there. But Trixie knew to extend common courtesy and bent over whilst she counted, her smooth flanks defined under the taut leather enveloping them. She flicked her tail playfully, and as she finished counting, turned around to look at him, painting her expression to be meek and scared. The scared part didn’t take much pretending, for she had felt the force of his blow, and knew that a lot of pressure was on her to do everything right for the hefty amount of bits secured in the small bag.

She took a deep breath and ran her hooves through her mane seductively, batting her heavily made-up eyelashes and moaning sensually.

“I’m yours, master.”

That was all the strapping stallion needed, and he was soon on top of her, his lips sucking greedily on hers. The kiss was aggressive, and Trixie squirmed underneath, bucking in all directions. A few kicks hit him, and whenever they did, he moaned, pressing deeper into the kiss, pinning Trixie down with his powerful hooves, leaving her no room to move.  The stallions tongue battled against hers violently, pushing it back and biting on her lips, washing saliva through her mouth. Trixie tried to retaliate, but his powerful tongue always pushed her back, and only when Trixie felt the tip of his shaft brush her stomach did she break from the kiss, a line of saliva stretching in the gap  between them. She tried to avert from his stare as she slid onto him, muffling her moan as best as she could. He roughly bucked into her, and she let a yelp escape from her mouth, his slick penis withdrawing from her only to buck in again. Trixie whimpered and gripped at the criss –crossed material on her legs, ripping a fresh hole in one stocking, her eyes shut. Her silvery mane fell over her eyes as he increased in pace, his loud grunts punctuated with sharp slaps to her flank.

“Faster…” she gasped, groaning. “I’m your little dirty slave!”

Her cries drove the stallion faster, his member throbbing inside as she tightened and relaxed around him, clenching tufts of his mane as she leant back against the wall, Trixie’s thrusts synchronising with his as she gasped for air, trying to make herself as loud as possible to spur him on. Groans and panting filled the room and Trixie bucked at his legs as she came to her orgasm, wailing and thrashing around, exaggerating her orgasm, acting as though no other could make her feel that way. As she floated down from the peak, her eyes watered slightly as she dreamt of real love, not a one night stand where names were never exchanged and nothing was ever passionate, her motive a heavy bag of bits, not love. She only focused again when the stallion released his sticky juices inside of her, roaring at punching Trixie harder than before, continuing beating her whilst his manhood continued spurting small bursts of the sticky white liquid over her, pushing her face back and allowing it to drip onto her, running into her mouth. Trixie remained silent, taking the beatings even though he had no right to lay a hoof on her. He tugged her silvery mane hard, spitting in her face as the last spurt of cum trickled out.

“My filthy slave. I treat you good, don’t I? Your daddy treats you good. Tell me how I treat you, you little whore!” he yelled, stamping on the floor.

“You treat me good.” Trixie said, panting and clutching her jaw. “You… You treat me good, alright.”

He smirked and pushed her on the bed, ramming his tongue into her nether regions, delving deeper and furiously stroking himself, giving himself more pleasure than Trixie. When he finally withdrew his head, he slapped at her flank again, but this time he looked at the curved blue moon with the purple wand resting on it.

“What in tarnation?” he said, still staring at Trixie’s cutie mark. She quickly flipped over, her flank high up in the air as she bent over and starting licking the base of his cock, teasing her way up it and tentatively licking the head, hoping he would forget what he had seen in the heat of the moment. Her prayers were answered as he shut his mouth, forcing her head down onto his shaft with a considerable force. Trixie breathed hard on him, licking and teasing whilst he continued to beat her. It became clear to her that violence was the stallions choice of fetish, and she bit down hard on his cock, a whinny and snort ringing through the room from his mouth.

“Again.” He panted, his words failing him. Trixie ignored his request for a while, teasing him before finally obliging and biting down, even harder than before.  His second load came hurtling down her throat, and Trixie swallowed against her will, with no other choice. His lips clamped against hers as they swirled a mixture of their saliva and his cum around in their mouths, Trixie silently weeping. She felt disgusting, dirty, foul. She wished nothing more than to be back in Ponyville, in her magnificent cart in all its splendour, still a virgin and clean of drugs, adored by everypony for her magic.

Trixie opened her eyes slowly, taking in the unfamiliar sight of the motel room, her eyes tracing over the plainly furnished room before she fully could remember why she was there – her memory jogged when the red stallion let out a snore, still tired from the night before. Trixie had no doubt that a massive hangover was festering for him, and he deserved every last bit of it, she thought, inspecting the bruises on her body and tenderly touching her still aching jaw.  Her eyes grew wide in shock and she jumped out of the bed, running to the leather jacket that was slung over a rickety looking chair, and frantically searching the pockets, finding them to be empty. She sighed with relief and sat back down on the bed, sure that she had taken the birth-control herb the night before.  She looked at her powder blue fur, covered in sticky stains, and touched her matted mane, again unruly after taking her time to tame it. She peeped in the bathroom again to see that it had a shower with working hot water, and she privately indulged in it, warm tears mingling with the stream of water as she tried to rub off the best of the stains without the assistance of soap, something that had not been provided. She turned off the water and stepped out, towelling her mane with the threadbare towels near the bed, and took the bag of bits, leaving the motel and returning home to think about her next fix.

Chapter Four - Crashing Down

Trixie slumped on the dirty and half-sunken couch in her apartment, too tired and low to even peel off the tight and uncomfortable skirt and ripped stockings, the leather jacket hanging around her shoulders limply. She levitated over the small savings bag and poured all the golden glittering bits inside, her heart heavy as tears came streaking down her face, disgusted at herself. Rain pattered incessantly at the window, a heavy downpour that splashed and leaked, water seeping through the badly fitted window frames and running down the already mouldy walls, a steady dripping noise ringing through the silent home. Trixie stared at the droplets running down the peeling beige wall, flinching every time a droplet hit the floor with a tiny noise. Her withdrawal caused her to be irritated by the trifle of a sound, and she stamped and shouted until she was in tears again, tired and lonely, dishevelled and dirty despite her shower. Her conscience was in shreds, and she knew wherever she went that her memories and addiction would come with her, never leaving, always present. She shuddered and finally ripped off the disgusting outfit, cantering into her shower and pouring the cold water on herself, trying to sober up the depression that lay in the bottom of her stomach like cold, heavy gruel, but to no avail. She sobbed openly, screaming and shivering in a passionate whirlwind of emotion, her conscience being cruelly shredded to pieces as she re-lived the last few months – her first prostitution experience, her first withdrawal, the abuse, the laughing, jeering faces of citizens, the heated whispering, the dark and cold loneliness, each and every dosage of heroin that had entered her body – it all flooded into her mind as she stood in the shower, the cold water drenching her silver mane and leaving it lying limp in straggly ringlets. Her hooves were stained with black eyeshadow and mascara, all mingled with salty tears and the regrets of her life. She curled in a foetal position under the constant stream of water, whimpering with her raw throat as one childhood memory played on repeat, the cold water numbing her body until she felt as though she was a tiny husk, a small light glowing inside, fading as the memory continued to present itself to her.

A young Trixie stood proud and tall, the soft material of her hat hanging a little over eye level and her cape brushing along the floor. She couldn’t care less, however, for her immense pride of the objects over empowered everything.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look what I got today!” she said, bouncing up and down in front of her father. Her father sat down tiredly, bags under his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“What now?” he groaned, reaching over for a cold glass bottle of hard cider.

“Look Daddy! I’m going to be a very special unicorn! I’m going to know all the magic there is!” the filly chorused, smiling widely at her father.

He simply laughed at her, shaking his head.

“Listen Trixie,” he said, beckoning her to come closer. “You’ll never learn anything. You are a stupid little runt – I’ll be surprised if you’ll even learn how to levitate this bottle.” He waved the bottle in front of her face mockingly, before taking a long swig from it. “I don’t even know why we had you. You are a waste of space, girl, and you’ll never be worthwhile. Ever.” He savagely pushed her away, moving in to the next room to watch the television.

Tears started to form in the corner of Trixie’s eyes as she looked at the door frame her father had passed through.

“I’ll show you Daddy. I’ll be the Great and Powerful Trixie… one day… I’ll show you…” she whispered, backing away slowly, tears falling over her tiny blue cheeks.

Trixie bawled at the memory of her alcoholic father, a memory that she had packed away for years in a neat little box in her mind, stored away to never have the lid prised off. But her crashing low had ripped the lids off, letting images of her being molested and beaten roam wild through her mind’s eye, bitter sobs ringing through the apartment as she rocked back and forth, her head pounding and throat aching. She finally calmed down enough to stand up without shivering, and wiped her tears away, intent on getting a higher fix to take her mind away from it all. She sniffed bravely and set out in the pouring rain without so much as an umbrella, treading through the streets of Ponyville, set on automatic pilot to the shady network of alleys, all connecting and intertwining, nearly impossible to navigate to somepony who had never been there before. But Trixie knew her way, simply through habit.

Trixie shuffled into one of the many alleys, nodding at the familiar faces with their wares laying on the grimy floor, eyeing the cardboard with the prices scribbled on. Starting at around 200 bits were the fake heroin pouches – the real heroin lost in flour that made it look like a full pouch for an amazing deal.  Trixie knew of their cunning tricks and had never vended from them, knowing by word of mouth that it wasn’t a good deal – it was a scam. As she continued down the alley, prices climbed higher and higher, surpassing where she usually stopped and moving into the 1000 bit section. She knew she would regret it but at that point she needed something to wake her up and take her to a happier place, not just a state of depression from her tolerance level. She dropped the sack of bits in front of a lavender mare who looked up and launched her advertising spiel.

“100% magically cultivated pure – TRIXIE?!” she barked, her amethyst eyes staring at her own violet ones, incredulous. She clamped her hoof over her mouth and looked up and down the alley, hoping she hadn’t attracted anypony’s attention. Convinced, she turned back to Trixie, who had backed away in shock. What was Twilight Sparkle doing, selling drugs? As if she had read her mind, Twilight sighed and explained.

“Um… Well… It started at a friend of mines party. Things got out of hand and I tried some… some heroin. Don’t tell the Princess!” she said, wincing. “So I make my own now, and sell the leftovers.”

Trixie nodded, still staring at the unicorn that had been her downfall suspiciously. She picked up her bag of bits and carried on walking, not forgiving her enough to part with her well-earned bits.

“Trixie! Wait! I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Twilight yelped, standing up as Trixie continued down the alley silently, not even turning back. “I… I didn’t mean for it to all go wrong!”

Trixie shook her head and chuckled bitterly. Of course she didn’t, but what would apologies do for her now? It was too late for that. It was too late for anything. Trixie eyed several bags on the floor, each filled up to half way with the ivory powder that her body coveted and craved so much.

“1200 bits, lady. This is some good shit right here.” He said, his foreleg sweeping over the bags dramatically. Trixie shrunk back, considering her options. 1200 bits… That was everything she had earned. The whole painful night, the disgusting experience, all in one little plastic pouch of powder. The humiliation distress, memories… But if the vendor was right, it would be worth it. It would be worth it to escape reality, to live in a fantasy world of happiness and productivity, an elaborate figment of imagination, bright colours, shapes. Trixie nodded and dropped the heavy bag of bits on the sticky terrain with a loud thud, moving it towards the stallion. He sifted through it and counted each round coin, muttering numbers to himself. He finally passed Trixie one small sachet and they said their goodbyes silently.

Back in her apartment of squalor, Trixie pulled open a drawer desperately, fumbling around for a spoon as her withdrawal swept over her, worse than earlier, worse than ever before. She cursed and sobbed as she carefully scooped a small pile of the powder in it, using her magic to produce a flame under it, heating the powder into a bubbling liquid. She poured it into an empty syringe from her last dose and tapped it, trying to shake out the bubbles. When she was finally happy with it, she scrubbed at her forearm and let the sharp needle pierce through her skin, sighing with relief and closing her eyes. She walked over to the kitchen sink and poured a glass of ice cold water, finishing the whole glass in one go. No matter how many times she had taken it, Trixie had always suffered from the drug in terms of stomach pain, and she had found that cold water helped ease it. She draped herself over the couch and let herself float into a peaceful world, devoid of all her pains and memories, just full of love, brightness and happiness, the perfect life. She stood next to a lavender mare; smiling happily and pulling in to a kiss, watching their little filly play in the park. Trixie didn’t fully realise the identity of the mare until later on – Twilight Sparkle. Trixie frowned at herself through the hazy dreams, confused as to why she envisioned herself with the very mare who had caused all her unhappiness, who had stolen away the perfect life she led, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to depress herself with more thoughts of that variety, for she had to be happy, while she still could. Even if life cheated her with misery and depression, the one outlet Trixie could rely on to escape reality was drugs, and she smiled happily on the outside, but inside all she could do was curl up and cry.

Chapter Five - Free {Revised}

Author's Note: Well, I finally revised this. It took long enough, but the ending wasn't satisfactory for anyone, including me, so I went ahead and changed it. I hope you guys enjoy this more, and if you don't, please let me know. Thanks!

Trixie woke up and winced immediately, her neck snapping and creaking from the strange angle she’d positioned herself in during her hallucinations and tears. Her dry throat begged for water, but Trixie ignored her need in favour of a very unfamiliar sight on her dirty, mud-caked doormat – a freshly printed newspaper. She trotted over, curious despite herself, and let her eyes scan across the front page.

Trixie winced at the headline, printed in a bold and large font, screaming at her in distaste.

'THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE’S SECRETS REVEALED!’

Trembling, Trixie continued down, unsure of what she would find.

Before we get to the astonishing news, I, Gabby Gums, can confirm to everypony that this is all accurate information, received from a source close to me who had been involved in these affairs. For this reason, they have chosen to remain anonymous. This story has also been confirmed by somepony who was previously in contact with the subject of the article.

Trixie’s grip on the paper tightened as she continued hurriedly reading. “Twilight. It HAD to be… And that piggish stallion…”

The previously loved travelling magician Trixie, known for her tall-tales about her vanquishing of the Ursa Major, has turned to a low down life the hard way, it has recently emerged.

Trixie has been spotted on numerous occasions selling herself to stallions at high prices, usually under the cover of nightfall. This illegal act carries a very high penalty and can even result in Princess Celestia herself holding a court case against anypony involved. Trixie has been charging around 200 bits per hour for often drunken stallions to partake in her illegal services, judgements that have been unfairly pushed onto a stallion who in his right mind would never allow such a scandalous and wrong act to occur.

Ponies who have had the misfortune to ever stumble across a dark alleyway in the more unapproachable side of Ponyville will know that it is home to many a dark trade – narcotics, prostitution, gambling. Our so-called ‘Great and Powerful Trixie’ has succumbed to two of these evils, her prostitution funding the purchase of numerous illegal substances. It’s been confirmed that Trixie uses heroin, but other substances are yet to be confirmed. Many ponies have suggested clinical rehabilitation for Trixie, but is it worth it when she is really just a washed up lost cause?

I’d love to hear what you think!

Gabby Gums, your Gossip Guru

Trixie’s lip quivered, her hooves mashing the printed paper wildly, her screams of anger ringing through her home at an alarming volume as she cursed Celestia, Twilight Sparkle, herself, everypony. Everypony was to blame, and countless jeering, laughing faces blurred together in Trixie’s mind, stripping her confidence away, the tiny shreds left greedily snatched up, a whirlwind of colours, manes and eyes with tears of mirth shed at her expense surrounding her comparatively small frame. Was it fair for her to suffer? Because of one mistake?

Trixie sat down on the floor, her heart still beating wildly at the image, scared that her mind could produce a hallucination so psychologically scarring and worryingly intense without the assistance of drugs. She quietly reflected on that one defining quality in her life, and how something so simple could tear her down.

One mistake, one slip in confidence. It was all it took. Other ponies had battled through worse, but it wasn’t the mistake that sealed the deal for Trixie’s future – it was the aftermath. With no friends to support her, no family, no love, she’d been forced to find a home without support or even a friendly smile, with each tenant seeing her face and looking down at the newspaper beside them, reading about her cockiness and lack of ability and turning her down straight away, laughing as she closed the door. She’d  finally found one place so dingy and of such ill-repute that no-one would be turned down, and even then she struggled to fund the tiny room, with all of her belongings and riches destroyed, along with her once lavish travellers caravan. The once spoilt mare, who had lived in the lap of luxury with hundreds of adoring ponies sending her gifts and bits, had now been forced by that one turn of events to a life of poverty and hatred, feeding on self-pity and misery.

“I’ve wallowed in my pity enough!” Trixie shouted, her expression pained and angry. “I have to solve this for myself!”

Trixie stumbled out of her dingy home, slamming the door and cantering against the chilly winds, blindly turning corners and ignoring the sniggering and dazed ponies that she bowled over as she ran, a blur of blue whizzing through Ponyville. She skidded on the sleekly polished cobblestones, her violet eyes focused on one thing only – the large, peaceful tree house before her. Trixie slammed her hooves on the door, banging at them desperately, trying not to let tears spill out. As she sniffed and waited for the door to open, Trixie finally realised what a state she was in – her once glossy, shiny blue mane now matted and almost hanging in dreadlocks, her delicate face smeared with streaks of black, dark bags under her eyes. The need to be presentable overwhelmed her, and with a shaking hoof she tried to comb through her knotty mane, and wiped away most of the black streaks from her face.

“Spiiiiike!” came a muffled voice from within. “Can you get that?”

Trixie felt her heartbeat increase. She coughed gently and looked at the door with fear in her eyes, suddenly worried that everything that could go wrong in her plan would.

Instead of a pony, as she had expected, Trixie was greeted by a plump purple dragon, who was muttering grumpily before he looked up, his pupils shrinking as his mumbles grew to shocked silence.

“…Trixie?” he whispered, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Trixie did not come here to speak to a lowly assistant!” she said haughtily, her previous personality reawakened by the sight of the familiar creature, associated with the lavender pony that had brought about her downfall. “I mean… Can I speak to Twilight Sparkle? Please?”

The dragon nodded slowly, his expression changing from confused to suspicious, his green eyes not leaving her until Twilight Sparkle reached the door. The purple pony looked up from the book she had levitated with her to the door, and promptly dropped it in her shock.

“… TRIXIE?!” she yelled, staggering backwards a few steps. “You haven’t told the Princess about the other day, have you? I know! You’re going to blackmail me, aren’t you? Please don’t… I couldn’t bear it if she found out!” she whimpered, shrinking down to the floor and covering her deep amethyst eyes with her hooves.

Trixie shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, stopped by the young dragon in her presence. She tapped Twilight gently, motioning at Spike. Twilight gulped and nodded.

“Spike… Would you mind re-organizing the Ancient History section of the library again? It’s gotten a bit messy. Thanks!” she said, pointing a single hoof towards the direction of what Trixie assumed was the Ancient History section. The dragon eagerly nodded and ran off the section, clumsily stacking and re-stacking dusty books, occupied for the moment.

“… If you didn’t come here to blackmail me, what are you here for?” Twilight Sparkle said, her head cocked. Navy strands of straight hair fell about her neck and over her eyes, accented with streaks of bright magenta and indigo. Trixie sighed and looked away, readying herself for the large request she had for the pony before her.

“As a scholar, Twilight, I expect you know all about the debates Princess Celestia and her royal court have had about a certain act. But they have come to an agreement on the subject, a large breakthrough for all the citizens of Equestria.” Trixie began cautiously.

“… What act?” Twilight said, further confused. Trixie shook her head again, still trying to fight back the tears that choked her voice.

“Twilight,” she said, tenderly, “I want you to help me end my life.”

Twilight Sparkle shook her head. “No. Trixie, you have your life ahead of you… You have still to meet the mare or stallion of your dreams… And settle down…”

“Except I don’t.” Trixie finished. “You know I don’t, Twilight, and that’s why I’m here. Nothing will help me now, I’m past it. Nothing will make me happy anymore – not the laugh of a newborn foal, not a flourishing romance, not a happy ending. Because I won’t get those things. I took away my privilege to live a simple life when I got into everything you’ve read about. I can’t go anywhere without being recognised, jeered at, hated. I deserve everything they give to me, but nopony can handle that much hatred with no love to counter it. I’m begging you Twilight… End it. End the misery. I want to be free.” She said, tears streaming down her face openly now.

“I can’t agree to that, Trixie. It’s unlawful, Princess Celestia herself said so. I don’t want to take your life from you. I don’t want to steal your one chance of happiness.” Twilight said, exasperated.

“And you’ll just go by the Princess’ word? Not the word of countless wise senates, as well as her sister?” Trixie replied, moving closer to Twilight, challenging her.

“Of course. I’m loyal to my mentor.” She said, her expression softening at the thoughts of the powerful alicorn who taught her in friendship and magic.

“Anyway, why is it me you’ve come to? I’m sure you could go to somepony else… Perhaps even a doctor?” Twilight said, puzzled.

“Twilight, you have to remember the term that Princess Celestia set on euthanasia. Think… Try to remember…”

The lavender focused on her memory, her eyes fluttering closed as she tried to bring forth the distant thought from the back of her mind. Suddenly, her eyes jerked open, her pupils shrinking.

“The spell has to be administered by a-“ she began, cut off by Trixie’s warm embrace.

“…Loved one.” She murmured softly, transfixed by the crying blue pony in front of her. Involuntarily, tears started to snake down her cheeks too, as she held the pony which she had once scorned and laughed at, easily defeating her and saving Ponyville. Pity flooded the lavender pony’s heart, and she held Trixie away from her.

“Spike, can you take a letter?” she called, wiping the tears away and lifting her chin high.

“Twilight, we just sent your last friendship report!” he said, rolling his eyes. “For somepony who makes so many lists, sometimes you really are forgetful.”

“No, Spike, this letter isn’t a friendship report. But I do need to help out a friend.” She corrected, smiling over at Trixie, who mouthed the words ‘thank you’ back.

A few hours passed, filled with quiet and idle conversation between the two mares, Trixie happy to listen to the intelligent pony’s adventures in return for no questions asked about her past. She watched the mannerisms of Twilight, her bright amethyst eyes glistening as she talked about her beloved friends, her hooves making motions as she magically pulled out books to illustrate her points. Trixie smiled and nodded, listening intently in an attempt to let all of her cares wash away in what she hoped would be the last few hours of her life.

A faint green glow came from the kitchen, accompanied by the smell of smoke. Spike crept out of the kitchen, holding a curled piece of parchment, sealed with red wax and stamped with the celestial design. Twilight broke the seal, holding her breath. She nodded at Trixie and levitated over two quills, signing and scrawling initials in all the marked places. She hugged her tightly and looked over at the paper, readying herself.

Trixie smiled peacefully and sat down, waiting patiently.

“Trixie… It won’t hurt, at all. It will be quick… I promise. Goodbye.” Twilight Sparkle whispered, nodding and trying to  blot away the tears pouring out of her eyes, so she could focus better.

“Three… Two… One…” she said, her eyes squinting shut in concentration as a pure bolt of magenta energy burst from her horn, funnelling towards Trixie’s heart.

The powder blue pony lay limply on the floor, the remnants of a smile still etched on her face. Finally free.