The Ties That Bind

by TwistedPretzel

Rating: mature
Tags: Adventure, Sex, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Trixie, Fetish
Length: 126082

A chance discovery gives Twilight Sparkle the opportunity to share a very special secret with Trixie Lulamoon, and hopefully prove that it isn't just blood or marriage that are powerful ties that bind.

Whether you're the Great and Powerful Trixie, or the overstressed former student of Equestria's premier Princess (and now a Princess yourself!), sometimes a pony just needs a little "me" time. Quite by accident, Twilight Sparkle discovers there is another pony (and one she knows quite well, too) that shares her own particular method of "stress relief".

So, just how does a usually shy (and often socially-inept) pony Princess introduce herself to a former rival as a potential friend, and confidant, regarding their shared love of being bound and gagged?

Having survived a somewhat rocky start, the two gradually come to know each other better, and, as their relationship develops, Twilight learns that there is much more to the magician than anypony thought. But knowledge can be a two-edged sword, and as Twilight learns more about her friend, unknown --and deadly-- forces begin to stir . . .

. . . forces that will change Equestria forever . . . if it doesn't destroy it first.

Published 2015-01-29 05:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-03-04 02:39:18 UTC

The Best Laid Plans of Ponies and Princesses

The Best Laid Plans of Ponies and Princesses

Twilight Sparkle stood there in the dark, skin twitching as she shivered. That's funny, she sardonically thought. It didn't feel all that cold just a few minutes ago!

She licked lips that suddenly felt dry as sand. I don't ever remember my belly feeling this queasy, either! Not even when Princess Celestia gave me the “test” of saving the Crystal Empire!

This wasn't the first time Twilight had found herself standing just outside Trixie's wagon for the purpose of which she'd arrived this night. Just like those previous occasions, she was simultaneously shivering and sweating as if she had the ague.

C'mon Twilight, she encouraged herself. You can do this!

Actually, the “doing” wasn't what was fretting her so. It was the potential results —both good and bad— that had her in such a swivet.

She'd plotted and planned; flow-charted and outlined; hypothesized and schematized. The problem was that none of those efforts truly helped, because the root of all that was dependent upon somepony else's reactions.

And poor Twilight was still not very experienced in interponyal skills to feel comfortable about tonight's outcome.

Assuming, of course, she actually did anything this time!

Licking her lips one final time —and offering up a silent prayer for success— Twilight very carefully, using the tiniest manageable trickle of magic possible, opened the drawstring of the pouch around her neck, lifting out the ring held inside. Her tummy knotted up even worse as she held the ring just in front of her.

Because it wasn't just any ring.

It was an enchanted steel dispersion ring.

Due to their nature —and function— rings such as these weren't easy to come by. And actually using one was an entirely different bucket of oats! Especially . . .

Twilight swallowed.

. . . especially when somepony used one without legal authority or permission.

Which, as it happened, she had neither.

Not even being a Princess of Equestria would save her from the consequences of misusing a dispersion ring. But the prospect of being hauled before Princess Celestia, accused of such a shocking act, wasn't affecting her anywhere nearly as potently as was picturing the reason why that would be happening to begin with.

Because for that to occur, it would mean everything leading up to that point had gone horribly wrong, and Twilight simply didn't want to imagine that happening.

She sharply shook her head, realizing she was dithering yet again. Very carefully, one painstaking step at a time, she stealthily approached the rear of the wagon. Once there she very delicately extended her magic aura, this time inside the wagon . . . to one of the almost-microscopic crystals she'd previously emplaced there —Let's just add breaking and entering to all the other charges— several months ago while the owner had been away.

Her knees almost buckled as the image snapped into focus and she got a very clear image of Trixie. She'd most definitely finished her preparations, Twilight noted . . . without any of her usual detached aplomb exhibited under normal circumstances. Then again, there was no way ever she'd mistake this as “normal”, and, indeed, most uncharacteristically, she grew even more flustered rather than less.

Sweet Celestia, please, oh please! she begged, Don't let me mess this up!

Although she'd practiced back at her Palace blindly maneuvering the ring using remote sensing crystals as her “eyes”, now that she was facing the actual moment of truth it seemed much harder than it had during those rehearsals. Then again, she hadn't practiced with a living, breathing target; this horntip jiggled, shifted and swayed from Trixie's breathing and gentle squirms.

Twilight almost panicked at her first miss; the moment the ring tapped Trixie's horn instead of sliding down the jig was up. The second miss was even worse, for the flustered alicorn both sensed and “saw” Trixie's own magic flare up. But before Trixie could begin freeing herself . . .

Breath gusted out from her nostrils as the ring slid down the horn and settled in place, instantly extinguishing the burgeoning magic that had been welling from the now completely helpless unicorn. Her legs felt as rubbery as if she'd just galloped the entire Running of the Leaves, and she badly wished for just a moment or two to catch her breath and regain her composure, but she didn't dare wait. There was simply no way, ever, she'd leave Trixie alone a moment longer than necessary to get inside. That would be cruel!

Opening the lock and latch was foal's play . . . especially considering she'd already done so several times before, both to emplace her crystals and to practice for, well . . . just this moment.

Seconds later, and Twilight was inside, closing the door behind her before taking a few steps and closing the distance, stopping when just a hoofstep away from the snugly-restrained unicorn on the floor. For an instant she paused, feeling as if Big Mac had just kicked her right in the barrel, her eyes rounding like saucers as she stared down at the helpless figure at her hooves.

She might have stood frozen like that until morning, just staring, if Trixie hadn't whimpered, but the sound of that frightened whine snapped Twilight out of her trance like nothing else would have done.

“Shhhhh . . . shhhhhh! Don't be scared Trixie. It's OK. I promise.”

That . . . didn't seem to help. At all. In fact —she felt shocked and numb— it appeared to have the completely opposite effect, in that it didn't seem to calm her down in the least.

For an instant Trixie froze . . . then her body heaved against the restraints as she swelled with righteous indignation and mortified fury.

“Go away!” she screamed . . . or, well, tried to. The multiple wraps around her muzzle, while not truly an effective gag, did much to muffle the volume. “Just . . . go away! I hate you!”

She'd already lost so much that meant something to her, and now Twilight Sparkle, the only pony that had ever seemed willing to outright forgive-and-forget, had just crushed the very last thing of importance to her. As furious as she was, Trixie just wanted to curl up and die, mortified and ashamed beyond words. Already she could hear the laughter, see the pointed hooves, the smirks. She'd be the laughingstock of Equestria; there'd be nowhere she could go that ponies wouldn't be snickering at her.

Twilight rocked back from the virulent hatred radiating from the helpless unicorn before her. Out of all the possible reactions to events that she'd pictured and pre-prepped for, that had not been one of them. She'd only thought her barrel had felt as if kicked . . . now it truly felt that way; Twilight grunted, feeling her breath forcefully expelled.

Oh sweet Celestia! What do I do?

Violently shaking her head back and forth Trixie futilely tried shaking the dispersion ring off her horn. Her bound position was not conducive for that sort of freedom but, even if she'd been completely free it wouldn't have mattered. Everypony else could remove that from her horn excepting only Trixie herself.

“No! Wait! Stop! You'll hurt yourself!” the anguished alicorn blurted. “Trixie, please . . . oh please! Just give me a minute to explain! Please?”

Trixie wasn't at all willing to give this betrayer of trust even another second, but she'd actually whacked her head during her struggles and between the stars spangling her vision and the sobs about to erupt from deep in her chest she paused a moment, trembling as anger and fury was about to shift into mortification and humiliation.

“You . . . you have every right to be angry with me. Oh damn!” she cursed, and that literally shocked Trixie into silence. Twilight never swore!

“I . . . I'm messing this all up!” she continued, and Trixie could hear . . . tears? Why was Twilight sounding as if she was crying?

And then she sharply inhaled, as Twilight started stroking her with a hoof. It was an awkward, fumbling caress, and somehow Trixie sensed it was that clumsy not because she didn't want to do it as much as she didn't know how to do it.

“Listen, please? Just . . . just give me a minute to explain,” she pleaded as her hoof lightly stroked down Trixie's mane.

Suddenly Trixie's fury drained, leaving her feeling cold and empty. She started sobbing, and loathing herself when she couldn't stop, hating showing such weakness in front of a pony that she'd always hoped she might, one day, impress.

Before she knew what was happening she felt herself being surrounded in a cradling web of magic; felt herself lifted upright until sitting on her rump, bandage-bound rear legs stretched out before her . . .

. . . and being held in Twilight's forelegs, cradled against her chest, as her hooves began anew stroking down her mane.

“Shhhh,” she hushed. “It's OK Trixie. I promise. You're safe. I won't ever let anything or anypony hurt you.” Awkwardly at first she began rocking while stroking. “Nopony is going to make fun of you either. I promise.” Even through her choking sobs she clearly heard the flat, absolute conviction in Twilight's voice.

“This . . . this isn't going like I'd hoped,” she said, her voice softer. “I knew I'd screw this up,” she admitted, sounding mortally wounded. “I . . . I've thought about what to do, what to say to you, for months! I never did figure out what to say,” she sadly confessed. “I was afraid I might scare you. Even make you mad. I—,” her voice broke; there was a sniffle, then a whispered, “I never thought I'd make you hate me.”

Almost against her will Trixie felt her sobs begin to ease . . . almost against her will, for there was a deeply buried part of her that responded to those soothing sounds, those gentle caresses.

She was still very angry, still very mortified, and kept whipsawing back and forth between those two extremes. But slowly the anger was easing, while the humiliation eased much faster, for nothing —so far, anyway— that Twilight Sparkle had said or done could possibly be construed that way.

Embarrassing? Well, yes. Being caught in this compromising condition was certainly embarrassing, but nothing at all as crushing as it would be if she was being mocked and laughed at.

Suddenly Trixie stiffened, making an indignant grunt. Twilight had continued making soothing little sounds as she softly spoke, had continued gently stroking —with increased confidence, she noted— down her mane. But the last thing that Twilight had just said sparked another wave of outrage.

I know how important this is to you. I know how it makes you feel.

How dare that infuriating mare condescend to Trixie! How dare she insinuate she knew what this meant to her, what it did for her!

She started to pull and twist away, but Twilight gently, but oddly firmly, cupped Trixie's cheeks between her hooves. She sensed the upswelling aura of the alicorn's magic, and then felt the wrapping unwinding enough from her head to expose the sleep mask, which was then slipped up and off her eyes.

She found herself staring right into Twilight's shimmering violet eyes, her cheeks tracked with tears, their muzzles almost touching. “I know how this makes you feel,” she repeated, and Trixie's jaw would have dropped if it hadn't still been bandage-wrapped at what followed.

“Because I like tying myself up, too.”

The sleep mask was back over her eyes, and the bandage rewound. Trixie hadn't wanted that; she really wanted to see, especially Twilight's eyes and expressions. So she was quite startled —and shockingly, felt a shivery tingle— when Twilight just softly hushed her and told her to hold still.

“There. Better?”

Trixie was just about to complain that, no, it was not better when Twilight did two things that made her shiver even more. One was the softly whispered Not that you can do anything about it. Can you? The other was . . .

Ooooo . . . Twilight did it again. Trixie felt another gentle tingle ripple through her as her captor gently nibbled the very base of her neck a second time.

The base of the neck was a quite complex spot for ponies. Parents nibbled foals there to soothe them. Acquaintances nibbled there as a sign of greeting, while closer friends did so as a sign of affection and fondness.

And lovers did so as a sign of intimacy.

“You have every right to be mad at me,” her alicorn captor softly murmured. “I wouldn't blame you if you are. And if,” Trixie heard Twilight swallow, “you're truly mad enough to bring charges against me for this,” and she felt the ring on her horn tapped by the tip of Twilight's, “or anything else, I won't fight them.”

She gave another little nibble-nuzzle before shifting a bit; Trixie felt herself being gently drawn back against Twilight's chest, sensing from the position that she must be sitting down now, too, and was snuggling? Trixie against her.

“I really am sorry if I scared you, or made you mad at me. I'm sorry,” she paused a moment, “But I don't regret doing this.”

That made Trixie snort in confusion. She blindly sought to turn to head towards Twilight, who softly shushed her and started stroking her mane again.

“You like being tied up, don't you.” Although it was phrased as a question there was no doubt in the befuddled unicorn's mind that it was a statement of fact. She hesitated a moment, embarrassed to admit such a thing, then almost giggled a moment. Considering how Twilight had found her, admitting such a thing shouldn't come as a shock to either of them!

Nevertheless it was still quite embarrassing to admit, and she felt her face grow quite warm as she gave a tiny nod.

“It feels good being helpless, doesn't it.”

Again that tiny nod.

“It feels good to me, too. I like how it feels, and I like how it makes me feel. I've never really had anypony I could talk to about this; I was really hoping you might be that special somepony,” she wistfully said. “I suppose I could have gone about this differently. I'm not sure how, mind you,” she murmured, both hooves gently stroking down down down her mane and along the side of her neck. “I mean, try as I might, I couldn't think of a good way of just knocking on your door and going, 'Hi Trixie! I figured out you like being tied up. So do I. Let's chat!'”

Trixie couldn't stop the little snorted giggle picturing that. But Twilight's next words absolutely stunned her.

“But the more I thought about things, the more I realized I wanted to do things exactly the way I did tonight. Although,” her voice dropped to such a soft whisper that Trixie barely heard her, “I never wanted you to hate me for it.”

“I . . . I don't hate you,” she worked out past the muffling bandages, and was surprised to realize she meant it. Honestly, at the moment she couldn't have said what, exactly, she was feeling. But she knew at least that much.

She heard what sounded like a catched sob; Twilight's stroking faltered for a moment before continuing. “I'm glad,” she whispered. She didn't say anything for quite a few seconds, just kept gently cuddle-stroking.

“There is a reason I wanted to do things exactly as I did tonight,” she repeated. “Because I not only know what it's like being tied up and helpless . . . but I also know what it's like to be found and caught . . . and made totally helpless,” she emphasized with the touch of her horntip to the ring about Trixie's horn.

“Mmm Hmm!” she nodded, hearing Trixie's swift, startled inhale, feeling her suddenly tense in shock. “I'll tell you all about that next time. If . . . if you'd like?” she asked, her heart on her sleeve in the sound of her voice, and the stunned unicorn understood that Twilight meant she'd tell her about that the next time they were together . . . assuming Trixie wanted to see Twilight ever again, and also wanted to hear about what had happened.

“That's where this came from,” she explained, again tapping the dispersion ring. “It's, umm, well . . .,” and Trixie could hear the blush in her de facto captor's voice, “Well, it's mine. It's the one that was used on me.”

Behind the sleep mask dark violet-grey eyes opened wide.

“It's hard to feel really helpless when you can simply magic everything right off, isn't it.”

She almost squeaked at the soft, warm whisper right against her ear, then shivered as the words penetrated.

“You'll never feel this helpless ever again, you know,” came that whisper again, somehow her breath feeling even warmer. “Even if, one day, you find a special somepony you can trust, somepony you entrust a ring like this to them so they can remove that last little bit of control from you . . .,”

Trixie shivered even harder, Twilight's tone somehow like dancing little electric tingles along her skin.

“You will always have permitted them that control. But . . . not tonight.”

She swallowed, hard, at the tone of those last two words. Something about Twilight had changed over these last few minutes. She couldn't put her hoof on it, but she couldn't mistake how it was making her feel.

“You can't get free, can you.”

Trixie gave a tiny little headshake, and almost whimpered when Twilight actually purred.

“It feels good, doesn't it.”

Her face felt as if on fire. She didn't nod, not this time, but she blushed even worse as she realized she hadn't had to: the way her nostrils had abruptly flared, the way she'd sharply inhaled, had been answer enough.

“Squirm for me.”

Trixie softly moaned, then almost died on the spot realizing she had. This time she felt the heat of her blush work its way down her throat.

“Mmmm . . . yess . . . like that.”

Wha!? Trixie's nostrils flared even wider as she realized that, quite inadvertently —Honest! It was inadvertent!— she had, indeed, squirmed a little.

Her breath softly whuffled as Twilight gently nibbled behind an ear before murmuring in an oddly thick, velvety voice, “More. Squirm for me some more. I want to see just how helpless you really are.”

The very last thing Trixie wanted to do was squirm like some helpless, foalnapped mare in the clutches of her wicked, evil captor . . . what the heck am I thinking!?

It might have been the very last thing she wanted to do, but to her immense surprise she found herself doing just that. It wasn't anything extreme, just gentle fidgeting squirms, forelegs straining against the confining straitjacket, hindlegs wriggling in the elastic embrace of the bandages. But even those moderate efforts were having a disproportionate effect on Trixie. Her heart was pounding, her breathing faster, shallower. The tingles deep in her belly were quickly turning into not-so-gentle, gradually growing urgent throbbings.

“Twilight? Please let me go now?”

She sharply gasped as, instead of answering, Twilight gently nibble-nuzzled the base of her neck once again, then gasped even harder as she finally replied.

“No.”

Once more magic surrounded Trixie, this time shifting her until she was again stretched out. This time, however, instead of being fully prone on the floor Twilight positioned her so that her head was resting on her lap, her body resting between Twilight's stretched-out hind legs and propped against their sides as she leaned back against the chair behind her.

“Twilight? Plea—”

“Shhhh. Shhhh. Just relax. Don't worry, just relax. I will keep you safe. Nothing on, above or below Equestria will bother you as long as I'm watching over you.” Twilight's voice was a dreamy murmur, so soothing. As was the gentle stroking of her hooves again along her mane. She sensed a touch of magic once more, then gently wriggled as the blanket was lowered over her, tucked in nice and snug around her.

There really wasn't anything she could do, Trixie admitted to herself. She most certainly couldn't get free on her own, and until Twilight decided to release her she was quite helpless to do anything about the situation. So she might as well just relax. It wasn't as if she was going to keep her restrained like this all night, after all. Surely that silly alicorn wasn't expecting her to sleep like this! How silly!

Twilight just sat there, feeling the edge of the chair seat uncomfortably digging into her back and wings. But not for all the arcane knowledge in the universe was she going to move, not as she heard Trixie's breathing gradually ease and slow, not as she watched her slowly drift off into sleep.

It was going to be a long, and decidedly uncomfortable —and quite possibly painful— night, but no one seeing the radiant smile on her face could have told that from her expression.

A Dawning Realization

A Dawning Realization

If there was one true constant in Twilight Sparkle's life it was being perpetually poised on the precipice of invariable, borderline incipient, panic. She'd actually lived with that for such a long time she'd somehow managed to conceal that from everypony. In fact, she concealed it so well virtually nopony was aware of that low-grade, nonstop jangling along her nerves, and she'd lived that way for so long even she wasn't truly aware of it.

But it was, nevertheless, there; always omnipresent.

For the vast majority of her life that anxiety had been focused on —what else?— her studies, tests, and, most importantly, her test results. She simply couldn't accept an A, not when she knew an A-plus had been possible. Which meant that if an A-plus was possible, well . . . she needed to achieve that, and actually aim for an A-plus-plus.

The fact that her social and interponyal skills were virtually nonexistent had never cropped up because, to be blunt, Twilight hadn't had any social interactions. Her teacher and mentor, Princess Celestia, had been aware of that lack, of course, and she'd finally taken steps to help break down that barrier of her student's.

She should have done so much earlier, and she knew it. But she was still stunned and sorrowed over what had happened with her prior personal student, Sunset Shimmer. No matter how Celestia had tried to get her to become more socially aware and interactive —no matter how subtle, or blunt, she'd been with Sunset Shimmer regarding friends, friendship and the need for socialization— nothing had changed. And, in fact, it had often seemed to have had the exact opposite effect.

And the end result had been tragic; Sunset Shimmer's self-imposed exile had wounded Princess Celestia very deeply.

So she'd possibly been a bit more cautious and reticent regarding her most faithful student than perhaps she should have been. Still, in the end everything had turned out for the best.

Or appeared that way, away.

Anypony close to Twilight understood her often —well, constant— manic need to be perfect in anything academic in nature. What few of them understood was that that need extended to every aspect of her life. Twilight simply couldn't leave anything to chance. Everything had to be analyzed; scrutinized; studied; outlined; flow-charted; hypothesized . . . you name it, she did it.

Honestly, if she hadn't ages ago unconsciously surrendered certain aspects of her life to Spike, she probably would have long ago starved to death while plotting out —in exquisite detail, accounting for every essential vitamin and mineral— every meal for the month (snacks included). . . if not for the entire year.

All her close friends often twitted Twilight about her (almost) pathological need for lists, and Twilight —thank Celestia!— took them for the gentle teasing friends did with each other. Spike certainly thanked Celestia for that, because he knew the truth: it wasn't almost a pathological need . . . it was one.

He could wallpaper the entire Royal Throne Room with the parchment Twilight went through for something as simple as selecting a birthday gift. The amount of chamomile tea she consumed during bouts like those were enough to float something the Cutie Mark Crusaders might have built in an attempt to earn cutie marks in galleon construction. The fact that Twilight normally despised chamomile tea but mindlessly drank it because Spike just slipped cup after cup in front of her spoke a great deal about her state of mind during those episodes.

All her friends simply passed all that off as just a simple foible. After all, which one of them didn't have a particular quirk of their own? But Spike knew it went much deeper than that.

And he was the only one to truly see how much worse it got when an event dealt with a social situation, or, worse, dealing with anypony else's feelings.

You simply couldn't flowchart out an interaction between “Pony A” and “Pony B”. Luna only knew Twilight had certainly tried doing just that! But there were so many variables, so much randomization, that within no more than two, or possibly three, “interaction-iterations”, the potential outcomes headed off into infinity.

Dealing with the unknown was not Twilight's forte; being unprepared was her vulnerability.

Being unprepared and facing a critical interponyal interaction of crucial importance, with absolutely no prior planning or rehearsal . . .

Several times during the night Trixie had stirred, shifting a bit and restlessly fidgeting. Each time Twilight had simply softly shushed, had very gently brushed a hoof down her mane.

And each time, after a slight little pause followed by a sleepy soft grunt of drowsy awareness of the situation, Trixie simply wriggled a bit, gotten more comfortable . . .

And drifted right back into sleep.

Twilight had no idea how late at night —well, frankly, all things considering, how early in the morning was likely more accurate— it actually was. What she was aware of —quite painfully, one could say, and with utter and complete accuracy, too— was the edge of the chair digging into her back. It was hurting bad enough to have brought tears to her eyes, but each time she'd shifted, seeking a bit of relief, Trixie had stirred. Her rump, on the other hoof . . .

While she wished she couldn't feel the agony of fire across her back, the suffering alicorn was somewhat desirous of feeling her bottom, as that seemed to have gone numb and fallen off hours ago, the hard wood floor of the wagon not being at all conducive to comfortable sitting.

One of the things any truly accomplished mage learned to do was how to concentrate and ignore physical discomforts. And Twilight most certainly was a truly consummate and experienced mage. So while she was certainly aware of those aches, pains and distress, she chose to ignore them for now, pushing them from acute to peripheral.

That was much easier to do since she had a lot to concentrate and think upon.

And to look down with awe and wonderment upon . . . listen to . . . gently touch and mane-stroke.

None of her plans, procedures or strategies had theoretically culminated in the actual outcome that had resulted tonight. And while Trixie's emotional back-and-forths might have been the more visible, Twilight's internalized ones had been every bit as intense.

And, unlike Trixie's, they hadn't stopped because of drifting off to sleep.

She wished she had parchment and quills; she was never going to remember all of this, and she needed to itemize everything so she could sort, organize and assimilate everything she'd felt —was still feeling, for that matter. Already, though, the extremely physically-uncomfortable alicorn realized one variable she'd left out on all of her previous planning: emotions.

She'd played out an unending series of scenarios about this evening; morning? None of them, of course, had resulted in a Trixie Lulamoon screaming her hatred of Twilight. Then again . . .

She softly smiled down at the recumbent, deeply asleep, unicorn between her hind legs, head pillowed on Twilight's lap.

Then again, none of those selfsame unending series of scenarios had ended this way, either.

There had been two reasons Twilight had finally chosen the approach that she had, the first being that success would result in a quite-literal captive audience. No matter what would happen (and she'd planned for every eventually . . . or had thought she had, anyway) she'd be guaranteed time to explain. Trixie wouldn't, for whatever reason, be able to simply turn away and shut Twilight down.

That was truly the reaction she expected would have happened if Trixie had been given the opportunity, mostly because when she played out the situations with the roles reversed, she would have done whatever was necessary to disengage and, well, hide.

*knock*knock*

Oh, hello Twilight. Ummm . . . I've figured out that you like tying yourself up. I'd love to—

*slam*

Ummm . . . hello?

Yeah . . . none of those imaginary scenes had played out well at all, and Twilight honestly hadn't been able to come up with any scenario that hadn't resulted in Trixie bolting in sheer, unadulterated embarrassment.

So . . . obviously it became necessary to prevent bolting; at least long enough for Twilight to get her explanations out.

She'd actually entertained notions of going to Princess Luna for help, asking her to bring a dreaming Twilight into a dream of Trixie's, or vice versa. However, doing so would not only require explaining to Luna why she wanted to do that, but by necessity would result in Luna being there with the both of them. That, in turn, would “out” Trixie to the Princess of The Night, and there was no way Twilight would do that to her.

The thought of, what was, for all practical purposes, ambushing and foalnapping Trixie, came to Twilight in a rather unusual direction for her. She'd skipped ahead past the “How Do I Do This?” to the “What Will I Do Once There?” and had, as one of the mental images of that situation, pictured them performing a sort of “Show-and-Tell” as they demonstrated to each other how they restrained themselves.

It went without saying that Twilight had included as part of that scenario that Trixie had been both receptive to the idea and comfortable with sharing such secrets with another pony.

No sooner had she scripted that particular scene than she realized it was actually pretty exciting imagining that. It would be a bit like one of Rarity's slumber parties, except instead of helping everypony with makeovers the two of them would be tying themselves up!

Which lead into the second reason she'd chosen this approach, although that rationalization was a bit like circular logic. If she was going to “introduce” herself to Trixie by ambuscade, then she wanted to make it an extremely exciting, extraordinarily memorable, one for her.

She hadn't been making anything up when she'd told Trixie that she knew exactly what it felt like to be found and caught, then be-ringed and rendered absolutely helpless. Even now that memory could send odd, shivery sensations rippling through her. But once she'd gotten over the acute embarrassment of being discovered, and had felt the reassurance of being safe and watched over, well . . .

Twilight brought a hoof up to her chest as she closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath she swept her hoof outwards to the side as she exhaled.

Then did it again.

Then a third time.

Twilight had been tying herself up for a long time now, a very long time indeed. And, which should come as no surprise to anypony, once she'd discovered —by sheerest accident, as it had turned out— that her desires weren't at all freakish, or unique to her, she'd bent her formidable will to learning all about that as she could.

Which is why she knew that the proper nomenclature for her play was “self-bondage”.

And was also why she understood that such play could vary from simple relaxation, to sensual enjoyment, to erotic stimulation, and all the way to sexual gratification.

In her more honest moments she admitted to herself her play probably crossed over, on infrequent occasions, into the realm of sensualism. But for the most part she simply luxuriated in the sensation that being restrained and helpless brought to her. It was as if once she was in that state she could simply relax in a fashion she could never achieve by any other means.

Without actually having spoken with Trixie about her own motivations for things Twilight had no idea which “camp” she belonged to. However, based on the (reasonable) simplicity of her arrangements she assumed that Trixie's interests and focus were similar, if not outright identical, to her own.

Her face grew hot as she recalled the many times she'd spied —she disliked the term, but she was honest enough with herself to accept the accuracy— on Trixie as part of her preparations for tonight's entrapment. She had a feeling that once Trixie learned about everything Twilight had seen —and if trot came to gallop she wouldn't deny a thing— there was likely to be Tartarus to pay.

Shying over that image she continued onward.

Although the slumbering unicorn had quite a few inventive ways of restraining herself, some quite restrictive, there had been nothing to suggest to Twilight that she sought anything more than she, herself, did.

Sucking in her lower lip she gently nibbled it as she returned to musing something that she'd been pondering about on and off all night . . . well, mostly on, to be accurate.

(There was something about herself that Twilight had discovered only after learning about friendship, and that was when it came to deeply investigating academia she was totally dispassionate, but when it came to dealing with somepony else, even in the abstract, she truly couldn't disassociate emotion from rationalization. Try as she might, those pesky feelings kept creeping in!

Tonight was proving no different.)

Although she'd imagined having “the conversation” with her while the unicorn had been tied up, while she'd rehearsed what she'd say once the opportunity was presented, Twilight had done so quite objectively. Actually being right there with her while she was helplessly restrained (well, once the immediate crisis of Trixie's quite understandable anger, fury and humiliated had ended) and later on cuddling her had evoked some very odd and unexpected sensations in Twilight.

Those feelings, however, couldn't hold a candle to the ones that had flared when she'd just continued blindfolding Trixie even when she'd begged not to be, or refused to let her go when she'd pleaded for release.

Nor the feelings that had burgeoned inside when Trixie had, once Twilight had positioned her and tucked her in, simply gave a contented sigh and drifted off to sleep.

She kept replaying those scenes over and over and over again, trying to parse and process just what, how and why they were eliciting the feelings they were evoking (and creating, at the same time, that urgent wish for parchment and quills in order to note everything down).

She was so focused on those curiously odd —yet strangely enticing— sensations that she totally overlooked one extremely important facet of this little escapade:

She'd never once considered, or planned for, how it ended.

It started, as sometimes things of magnitude often do, with a very tiny thing: in this case, a light wriggle and a muffled yawn.

Instantly Twilight was alert. As the hours had rolled by, no matter how active her mind was busy churning —calculating, assaying, formulating— she found herself now and then lightly dozing off. The discomfort of her position was one reason she only managed dozing, but the principle reason is that she refused to fall any deeper asleep because, should she allow herself to do so, she wouldn't be able to keep watch over Trixie.

She'd promised to watch over her, keep her safe and protected, and that particular vow carried more power than any Pinkie Promise in existence.

Gazing down at her Twilight gave a gentle, indulgent smile. She wasn't going to wake her, but, this time, it looked as if she was ready to rouse on her own. There were a few more fidgets, the last few a bit importunate and insistent, then nostrils flared wide as she sharply inhaled, coming fully wide awake.

“Shhhh,” Twilight murmured, once more gently stroking a hoof down her mane. “I'm still here.” Then she softly chuckled. “But it is probably time you woke up, sleepyhead.”

Her stroking hoof stopped in mid-caress as her entire body tensed, as her eyes rounded into saucers. Her heart started pounding, her breath started coming in short, rapid pants as she trembled.

She'd never —not once!— planned, plotted or imagined the conclusion!

What was she supposed to do? Or say?

The Proverbial Panicking Pony; or Out Of The Frying Pan And Into Hot Water

The Proverbial Panicking Pony; or Out Of The Frying Pan And Into Hot Water

Like a bubble of air glacially rising in a bottle of molasses, Trixie began slowly rousing from deep slumber. For what seemed like ages she hovered in that delicious edge between somnolence and wakefulness, feeling as if she were floating in swaddling warmth, comfort and safety.

For the first time in what felt like forever she felt fully rested and refreshed, but there was also no sense of urgency about fully waking, either. She gently wriggled, feeling a bit restive and restricted, then gave a little yawn, both of which felt quite odd.

As she grew closer to consciousness she gradually realized why she felt so odd, at first distantly aware of her position, and then of the confining garment she was wearing. Her lips quirked in a little unseen smile; this wasn't the first time she'd tried going to sleep restrained, but always before she'd awoken during the night and, feeling dissatisfied and wistfully unfulfilled, had freed herself before going back to sleep. Somehow, this time had been different, and she'd managed to go the entire night without being fidgety or discontented.

She knew she'd gone the entire night simply because of how, well . . . wonderfully rested she felt. And she'd had the oddest dreams, too.

Trixie wanted to just float for hours in that dreamy, twilight state, luxuriating in the glowy feelings. However, she wasn't at all used to being confined this long. Her forelegs were complaining a bit, and her hips and elbow were aching a tad from pressing against the floor.

Wait.

What?

Why wasn't she in bed? And if she wasn't in bed, what was her head pillowed on? What—

Suddenly she tensed, sharply inhaling, as she fully roused, now wide awake. Those dreams . . . they hadn't been just dreams!

“Shhhh. I'm still here.” Then came a soft chuckle, kindly, not mocking, as a hoof began soothingly stroking her mane. “But it is probably time you woke up, sleepyhead.”

A moment of incipient panic flared, then vanished, both the touches and the tone of the words extinguishing that flutter of fear.

But then that fear rekindled as Trixie felt Twilight's body tense, as that stroking hoof froze. When she felt her trembling, when she heard the rapid, panicky panting, that fright incandesced.

Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. And since Twilight had been perfectly fine until Trixie had woken up, it had to be something Trixie had done. She didn't know what that could be, but there was no other explanation. And suddenly something that had seemed so bright and glorious just moments ago started crashing down towards ruination.

Just like everything in Trixie's life that had ever meant anything had done.

The panicking alicorn felt Trixie tense up, then saw her body hunch in on itself as a soft anguished whimper pierced straight through to Twilight's heart. She began hyperventilating as her mind overloaded with scenarios and possibilities.

What do I do? Do I just get up, stroke some more, tell her I hope she liked it, then take off the ring and leave so she can have privacy to release herself? Do I release her? What do I say? What do I do? How do I do it? What does she want? What does she expect? How is this supposed to go? How do I make this perfect?

Oh sweet Sun and Moon! She had to do something, and fast!

“I . . . I don't know what to do!” she blurted, her voice distressed, and not at all realizing she'd spoken aloud.

Poised on the brink of bursting into tears Twilight's anguished tone held Trixie from crossing that precipice.

“I . . . I never rehearsed this! I mean, I . . . I never pictured actually getting to this point! What am I supposed to do?” Suddenly Trixie flashed over from near-tears to almost laughter, the hysterical sense of the absurd doing what nothing else could have done to salvage the situation. She could clearly picture what Twilight was looking like right this moment: both forelegs waving in random, erratic circles in the air, her mane starting to frizz and pop, maybe even that little tic under her eye.

Squirming forward a bit and jerking her head she butted Twilight in the belly.

“You could start by unwrapping Trixie's head you know.”

“Huh? Oh. Oh! Of course!”

Moments later Trixie felt herself cocooned in a web of magical energy. In one smooth, easy motion she was lifted up and positioned sitting on the floor, wrapped hind legs extended outwards in front of her. Still secure in that web of magic she felt another flare envelope her muzzle. Within moments the bandage encasing her head was being unwound, and as soon as the sleep mask was revealed yet another flicker of magic reached out, slipping that up and off.

The instant she could see Trixie whipped her eyes to Twilight, and felt a double flash of mixed emotions. It was obvious the anxious alicorn's attention was fully focused on Trixie, yet nopony could have told that based upon the precise control she was exercising manipulating multiple objects, including rerolling the bandage at the same time as she was unwrapping it from Trixie's head. The sense of the absurd bubbled up again; that bandage had probably not been that neatly rolled even coming from the store! She felt a stab of envy seeing that control, yet that was buried very far beneath the complex upwelling of emotions engendered by what she saw in Twilight's enormous, rounded eyes.

Trixie wasn't propped up against anything; the only thing keeping her from helplessly —and painfully— falling backwards was the web of magic holding her upright. Oddly enough, except for an initial flutter of panic she simply relaxed and accepted that support, trusting in it.

Her eyes followed the now re-rolled bandage and sleep mask as they floated over to the small counter and settled there. Swallowing, she worked her jaws a little and sucked her tongue, trying to work up a little moisture.

“Thirsty?”

Without thinking she nodded; it was a simple question with a simple answer; there was nothing to rouse any suspicions and so she simply answered it.

A cabinet opened; a glass floated out, surrounded in the corona of Twilight's aura, then was positioned under the spigot at the sink. The faucet handle turned, and water burbled from the small, freshwater cistern inside the wagon. Trixie watched as Twilight filled the glass, and it didn't escape her notice that her alicorn captor seemed quite familiar with the layout of her wagon.

“Here you go.”

Violet-grey eyes rounded in surprise as the glass hovered at her lips; a sudden, heated flush spread through her; her skin twitched and shivered. She darted a quick glance at Twilight and saw nothing there but concern.

It was a decidedly odd sensation sipping from a glass held to one's lips when one was also trussed up. She felt a touch embarrassed, more than a touch cared for . . . and quite a bit totally controlled. Her ears felt hot; they flicked back and forth, unable to decide where to settle, and her cheeks had to be visibly glowing.

They felt a lot hotter when Twilight suddenly softly smiled, because there was no mistaking the fact that she'd noticed Trixie blushing. It was a very odd smile; partly mischievous and partly naughty, but mostly tenderness and indulgence.

Carefully sipping Trixie slowly emptied the glass, eyes focused on Twilight's the entire time.

“More?”

Gently shaking her head she replied, “No, but thank you,” and watched as the glass floated over to the sink and was set inside before she returned her gaze back to Twilight. No sooner was the immediate problem of rehydration taken care of then the alicorn's eyes started to glaze again as she started panting her way back to hyperventilation.

“Twilight.”

“Twilight.”

“Twilight!”

“Huh? Wha?”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Is there a particular reason you're Twilight-twitching and Sparkle-spazzing?”

“Wha!?” she flustered. “I'm what? What . . . where . . . who . . . ,” she trailed off, flabbergasted into silence by the ridiculousness, then her face contorted as she struggled not to laugh. “I'm doing what?” she repeated, somewhat breathlessly.

“You know: this,” Trixie replied, then did an incredibly accurate imitation of Twilight at her worst, the effect less than one-hundred-percent accurate only due to the twin facts of her inability to wave forelegs around and about, or have her mane pop, curl and frizz.

Smothered giggles echoed in the confines of the wagon as Twilight, cheeks brightly blushing, covered her face with her hooves, losing the battle for composure, and Trixie joined in, pleased by the effect she'd caused.

Lightly pounding her chest Twilight finally caught her breath. “Hoooo!” she gustily exhaled.

Trixie, still grinning, tipped her head and gazed at her for a bit before growing serious. “You haven't answered Trixie, you know.”

Taking a deep breath the alicorn nodded. “I know.” She seemed to gaze off into the distance for a half a minute, and Trixie could see her visibly struggling to remain calm. “I messed up,” she finally whispered.

Trixie's belly tightened and clenched. She kept a smile plastered on her face.

Twilight lowered her gaze back down, and the heartsick unicorn was stunned to see unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.

“I spent all this time planning on setting up for something like last night,” she whispered. “But I never thought about what to do afterwards.”

Her heart stopped for a moment before restarting, as the lump of ice in her belly started thawing.

Twilight looked thoroughly miserable, mindlessly waving around a forehoof. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. Now now; you know? I don't know what's right to do or say, or what's expected. And I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“Why? So you'd get a perfect grade?” In a different tone that could have sounded sarcastic or nasty. Instead, it sounded merely curious.

It might sound merely curious, but Trixie's heart was fluttering quite oddly as she waited for the answer.

“What? No!” came an instant reply. “I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

How odd. She'd just had a full glass of water and yet here her mouth was dry again.

“Just for Trixie?” she softly asked, then felt her heart thump quite sharply as Twilight's face ignited.

“mumblemumblemumble.”

Trixie tipped her head. “Trixie didn't quite catch that.”

“It didn't have to be perfect for me,” she repeated, just the teeniest bit louder. “But I was a bit selfish,” she admitted, “because I did want last night for me, too,” Twilight very softly whispered.

Her skin felt warm and tingling; her insides jittery, little thrills racing along her nerves. She did have an answer for Twilight, but she wasn't sure she was brave enough to supply it, since giving that answer would also be revealing a great deal.

“Ah . . . Twilight?” she finally worked out, voice quivering a bit.

“Yes?” Twilight's ears swiveled forward, hearing the odd timbre in the unicorn's tone.

“Trixie,” she garbled, then softly coughed and gamely forged on, “Trixie doesn't think that was being selfish at all. And Trixie would also like to point out that, as the situation currently obtains, what Twilight plans on doing 'afterwards' is, ah,” she paused a breathless moment, her ears feeling as if they were bursting into flames, “entirely in her own hooves, as Trixie is in no position to gainsay her.”

Trixie can't believe she just said that!

From Twilight's expression, she couldn't believe that, either. Her eyes rounded, then pupils slowly expanded, growing enormous. Her nostrils flared, then flared again as her ears pivoted back and forth. The tip of her tongue peeked out past her lips, swiping them once before retreating. Trixie wasn't sure what her de facto captor was thinking or feeling. For that matter, she wasn't sure what she was thinking or feeling, either!

Especially when Twilight brought her eyes back up, fixing and focusing her gaze directly into Trixie's . . . eyes that were both smoky and fiery. Trixie abruptly swallowed . . . hard . . . as her belly did butterfly-flipflops.

The suddenly extremely intent alicorn started leaning towards Trixie, who quickly felt like a mouse gazing up at a steeply-stooping hawk . . .

“Ahhh!”

Twilight jerked back, a look on intense pain flashing across her face.

“What's wrong?” Trixie blurted, startled, shocked and concerned.

“Nothing. It's nothing,” she replied, hissing past gritted teeth.

Frowning, Trixie abruptly focused on Twilight, her brows furrowed in concentration, for the first time truly noticing the dark circles under her eyes. Only then did it really register that she was still in the same position as she had been last evening, a position that she must have remained in for hours and hours. “Twilight?” she asked. “Did you get any sleep at all? Have you been sitting there like that all night?”

Something had gone “pop” in her back, and it wasn't a good one, either. Her vision had actually spangled when that vertebra had shifted, and a band of muscle on either side was now spasming and knotting up. “Yesss,” she sibilated then, scrupulously honest, amended, “Well, no. Not really. Sleep that is. I might have dozed off a couple of times for a few minutes but I stayed awake all night. And yes, I've been like this all night. Why?”

Closing her eyes she altered her breathing into a more meditative pattern, focusing on overriding the waves of agony from her back, so she missed seeing Trixie's expression, which perfectly combined exasperation with wondrous awe.

“Actually, Trixie would like to know why.”

“I promised to keep you safe. To watch over and protect you. I couldn't do that if I was sleeping. And I would have woken you up if I had moved. And you were sleeping so peacefully I didn't want to wake you by moving.”

Twilight wasn't at all good at dissembling even on one of her good days; primarily focused on meditative breathing and pain control she was even blunter than usual. Which, as it turned out, was a good thing, for there was no way to mistake the absolute honesty of her replies.

A tight band about her heart that Trixie hadn't even been aware of loosened; that frozen lump in her core melted away. Her own vision swam, but hers was caused by tears rather than pain. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice rough and rasped. She stored up this moment as the priceless treasure it was . . . as the only such treasure she'd ever been given . . . then took a deep breath and composed herself.

“Trixie thinks Twilight could use a nice, long, hot soak in a tub followed by a good massage.” She stifled —barely!— a giggle at the pained princess' moan. “Trixie thinks Twilight thinks that sound like a good idea.”

Another moan, along with a nod.

“Ah . . . Twilight?”

“Yessss?”

A bit tartly: “Not that Trixie wants to tell you your business, but Trixie thinks it might be a good idea if you finished freeing her.”

This time she did giggle, because Twilight's expression was priceless. “Sorry,” she sheepishly apologized, then took a deep breath before focusing to the task at hoof. The aura about Trixie deepened a moment before she was lifted up several inches. Once hovering, Twilight began the task of unwrapping Trixie's hind legs. And just as she had done with the head/muzzle bandage she rerolled each one as she unwound it.

Once her hind legs were completely freed Twilight gently settled her back down until sitting on the floor, this time with Trixie's back to her. It was foal's play to unbuckle the straps and, once they were all unbuckled and the lacings loosened, she carefully lifted it up, over and off the unicorn's head.

Softly groaning the just-unbound unicorn stretched, reveling in the freedom and in the sensation. Stretching a second time she then carefully rolled to the side, up onto folded legs, then finally up on her hooves, Twilight by this time having extinguished the magics cocooning her secure. Once on her hooves she gave a mighty shake, sighing in such contentment that Twilight, still in pain as she was, giggled.

“Hold still a moment,” she said, then her horn momentarily glowed as she lifted the dispersion ring off Trixie's horn and deposited it back into the neck pouch.

Neither even considered the fact, nor thought to wonder, why removing the ring had wound up being the absolute last action performed.

There were countless questions circulating in Trixie's mind at the moment; some objective, some subjective; some of immediate importance, some that could wait until later; some that pertained to Trixie, some to Twilight and, well . . . some for the two of them, together. But they were all going to have to wait.

Drat it!

Her own legs felt stiff; she didn't even want to consider how Twilight's felt! Pausing a moment by one counter Trixie withdrew one of her neckpouches from inside the drawer there, then surreptitiously checked how many bits she had left. Her face drew into an unhappy frown; she was pretty sure she didn't have enough for a hot tub soak and massage. Oh well, it wasn't as if this would be the first time she bartered hard work in exchange for a service or item.

Draping the drawstring over and down her neck, then settling the neckpouch in place, she turned to Twilight, who remained sitting on the floor. “If Trixie helps you stand, do you think you can walk at all?” She chewed on the inside of a cheek. “Trixie knows it is a long walk to Ponyville, but she thinks an hour or two in the spa will work wonders for you. I understand Lotus Blossom and Aloe can do therapeutic massage.”

Actually, understand was all she could do, having no personal experience herself. She'd never really had the bits before to pay for such an extravagant luxury, and she certainly couldn't afford such a thing now!

If Twilight was unable to walk, Trixie would dig out the harness and pull the wagon to Ponyville, if that's what it took to get her there. That . . . wasn't exactly optimal, of course, since there'd be no way of discreetly doing so, and, ponies being ponies, there would likely be gossip about the reasons why this early in the morning their Princess of Friendship was finding herself lame in Trixie's wagon.

“I have no idea Trixie,” the alicorn replied. “And it's not just my back; I can't feel my rump.”

Trixie's face started wrinking and crinkling; little muffled snorts issued from her. She tried to control it, she truly did because, to be honest, she really was worried about Twilight. But she couldn't help it: between her expression and hearing that her butt had fallen asleep, well . . .

It took several minutes of slow, careful effort, but Twilight finally managed getting up onto her hooves, helped a great deal with Trixie's magic supporting her as she rose. But as marefully as she'd struggled for composure before, Trixie couldn't help but giggle once she had.

“Aye yai yai!” “Eeee!” “Yow!” “Pins-and-needles! Pins-and-needles!”

As the sensation slowly returned to her hindquarters Twilight danced in place, a quite comical expression on her face. Keeping one eye on her, continually supporting her in a faint azure aura, Trixie manually set up a small kettle and set it atop the stove, moving a bit clumsily, more used to doing so with magic than with hooves. While that was heating she took down a teacup, reserving her magical focus for keeping Twilight safely and securely supported, sitting it on a saucer before filling an infuser with leaves from a particular canister. Her time at the Pie family's rock farm had taught Trixie quite a lot about the medicinal properties of certain strains of tea, especially ones most useful for strained muscles and achingly sore bodies.

Twilight kept trying to reach around and behind to rub the circulation back faster and ease the intense tingling, but every time she tried her back would painfully spasm again. The muscles were so knotted by now that her wings couldn't remain closely folded to her sides and, instead, drooped a bit. “I'm not sure if I'll be able to walk the entire distance,” she admitted. “At least not any time soon. Maybe I'll just wink-skip along the path. It'll be faster that way, anyway, and wouldn't involve that much walking. Oh! Thank you!” she effused, as Trixie guided the steamy cup over to the counter near her.

Taking an appreciative sniff she immediately recognized the aroma, identifying the strain as a muscle relaxant and analgesic. She turned to fully face Trixie, smiling as she did, intending to thank her again for the thoughtfulness, but jerked to a halt, eyes widening at Trixie's expression.

“Is anything the matter?”

“No, no! Everything is fine!” she replied, her voice sounding suspiciously bright and chirpy.

Twilight's eyes narrowed. If everything was fine than she was a Sun-loving thestral. The pain was ignored now as her mind started whirring and analyzing. Trixie could see that intense focus spiral up and snap into place, and her belly felt like lead at that. Twilight was on the hunt, and she wasn't going to leave this alone until she got an answer she was satisfied with.

It wasn't an answer she wanted anyone, least of all Twilight, to know.

Dunking the infuser a few times she lifted it out of the cup and sat in on the edge of the saucer before “lifting” the cup up before her muzzle. Gently blowing across the surface a few times she took a testing sip, all the while intently gazing at Trixie as she did.

Oh please Twilight! Just, for once! leave something alone. Don't keep digging and prying!

“I guess we could just walk, though,” Twilight said. “If you'd rather?”

Trixie's head drooped and hung as a soft sigh gusted from her.

“It's nothing to be ashamed about you know,” Twilight softly murmured.

Easy for you to say! Trixie felt anger, fueled by humiliation, flare inside her. Little Miss Princess of Friendship! Celestia's prized protégé! You've always had it easy! You've always had everything given to you! You—

Her fury slithered to an abrupt halt as several memories suddenly surfaced. It hadn't been even a year since Trixie had experienced the fright of her life: the utter and complete loss of all her magic. Within several days that had returned to her, as instantly as it had vanished, but it hadn't been until she'd returned to Ponyville that she'd learned what had occurred, and why that had happened. It hadn't been terribly difficult to discover; everypony here was so incredibly proud of their Princess . . .

Nopony's ever been proud of Trixie, no matter what she's done.

. . . and of the role she'd played in saving all of Equestria from being conquered and enslaved by Lord Tirek.

“Not every unicorn is good at teleporting,” Twilight was continuing. “Or even like “winking”, for that matter. It's an innate talent, true, but that doesn't mean we all share the same ability with it.”

No, Twilight hasn't just been given everything. She's worked hard to be a success. The only difference between her and Trixie is that Trixie always fails, no matter how hard she tries.

For one of the very few times in her life Twilight hadn't dropped fully —yet, anyway— into “lecture mode”. Because of that she was a touch more sensitive to, and aware of, her surroundings. Her words trailed off as she looked a bit closer at Trixie, and suddenly understood the reality of the situation.

“It's OK to be afraid, too.”

Trixie jerked as if hit by a lightning bolt. She knew!

Tears filled her eyes. The one unicorn —well, alicorn, now— in all of Equestria that Trixie wanted to impress, that she wanted to like Trixie . . . knew she was afraid.

Afraid, of all things, of the perfectly natural, and normal, ability all unicorns possessed.

“What would you know about being afraid of anything?” she miserably choked out.

“You've met Rainbow Dash before, right?” Actually, Twilight was well-aware they'd met; that was intended more as a prefatory remark than anything else. “You know: All-around athlete? Flier extraordinaire? Wonderbolt Trainee? Utterly fearless and totally confident? Doesn't know the meaning of the words 'danger' or 'fear'?”

Taking a sip of tea, feeling the warmth spreading throughout her, Twilight continued. “I'd only been a Princess for a couple of days before the Coronation.” Trixie looked up, a bit confused at the apparent non sequitur. “I really hadn't had time for a lot of what had happened, what had changed, to really register or sink in. Particularly these,” she added, giving her wings a twitch, then wincing at the pain that flared across her back as she did.

“The Coronation, well . . . I don't remember much of it. It was pretty emotionally intense. If I'd have been a changeling I would have gained a ton off of all the emotional energy there. One thing I do remember, though, was at the end. I was standing on the balcony, waving to everypony, and I was so thrumming with emotion that I just launched into the air and flew about Canterlot Castle.”

Twilight took another, deeper sip. “The next day, after breakfast, I went out for a walk. I paused at one point at one of the balconies. That particular one overlooked the cliff, and way off and down, in the distance, below some clouds, I could actually see Ponyville. I walked up to the curtain wall and propped my forehooves up over the edge and just looked out and thought, 'I could just leap up and out and glide down there!'”

She paused a moment, gazing at Trixie as she sipped.

“And then I looked down again. Way down. Way, way down. Past the clouds and everything. All of a sudden my legs started trembling. I realized how high up I really was, and how far down the ground really was, and I panicked.”

Twilight gazed right into Trixie's eyes. “If I hadn't gone to the bathroom before going on that walk I would have wet myself in terror.”

The astonished unicorn's eyes widened in shock.

“If Spike hadn't figured it out it would have been really bad, but he climbed up on my back, covered my eyes and slowly talked me back from the edge. Figuratively and literally. And once I couldn't see down again, and once I could move my legs again, I bolted to the nearest shrub and threw up all over the place.”

“But . . . but Trixie has seen you fly!”

“Mm Hmm!” Twilight nodded. “I can, and do, fly. Now. And it took doing one of the hardest things I'd ever done in my life to do, too.”

When Twilight paused in obvious expectation of some sort of reply Trixie guessed, “Making yourself go back up in the air?”

“No,” she lopsidedly smiled. “That part was actually easier.”

“Then . . . what was it?”

Tipping the cup back she took a deeper swallow before once more looking directly at Trixie. “Telling Rainbow Dash, who had volunteered to be my flight instructor, who wasn't afraid of anything, that I was petrified of flying.”

Twin plumes of steamy vapour rhythmically jetted from flaring nostrils as they walked along the path, dry leaves crunching under their hooves. The air was crisp and quite chilly, and Celestia's sun hadn't as yet risen high enough to clear the top of the trees, so they walked along in the gloam, bereft of that blazing orb's heat.

Once they'd settled into a slow, almost mincing, steady walk Twilight took the thread of her story back up.

“She didn't believe me, of course. She started grinning, flutter-hopping around me, lightly punching my shoulder and saying things like 'Good one Twilight!' and 'Almost had me there for a moment'!” A rather crooked smile flashed across her face in memory. “And the more she good naturedly teased the smaller and smaller I felt. I just wanted a big ol' hole to open up and swallow me.”

Trixie nodded, having felt like that herself more times than she ever wanted to remember.

“The look on her face when she realized I was being totally honest and sincere was rather priceless though,” she continued. “Rainbow gets very flustered when she gets embarrassed, and she started blushing, backpedaling and stammering all over the place the moment she realized I really was petrified.”

That wasn't anything Trixie could picture the brash Rainbow Dash ever doing; getting embarrassed, that is. With the —thankfully— limited experience she had with that mare, Trixie simply couldn't imagine anything that could, or would, embarrass or fluster her.

“So . . . what happened?” she asked, when the alicorn had paused there.

Twilight gently shook her head —then winced as the sharp jolt of pain that elicited— and brought herself back to the present. “Well, once she truly realized I was serious, she talked with me for a bit, trying to help me figure things out. Which was hard to do, since I wasn't exactly sure why. I know, now, why I was having problems: I had locked myself into logic-objective mode —I do that sometimes, in case you hadn't noticed,” and waited long enough to see Trixie's reaction to that before grinning at her in self-deprecating humor, “and was missing the fact that, well, there was a lot of emotions driving those fears.”

Twilight suddenly came to a stop. “Are you all right?” Trixie asked in concern, then her brows lifted seeing the alicorn's expression: she was holding back a laugh!

“Ye-esss,” she replied. “I'm sorry. It's . . . it's just it always makes me laugh, remembering what Rainbow Dash did next.” Then she looked more seriously at Trixie. “Promise never to tease her about this?”

“As long as she does not need to stick a cupcake in her eye, then, yes, Trixie promises.”

“She fidgeted and squirmed, looking like she'd swallowed a toad and it had decided to head back up and out to freedom. I'd never seen her blush like that before. Then she took a couple of deep breaths, closed her eyes, opened her mouth . . .

“ . . . and started to sing.”

Trixie's jaw dropped. But before she could get her mind wrapped around that image she realized that Twilight was looking much the same way as she'd described Rainbow Dash as having looked.

Of course, once Twilight had taken a deep breath of her own, and had opened her mouth and started singing, Trixie understood why.

When I was a little filly and the sun was going down,

The darkness and the shadows, they would always make me frown . . .

It was probably the silliest song that she'd ever heard. And as much as Twilight excelled at everything else, singing wasn't one of those accomplishments. If anypony would know who was, and was not, a good singer, Trixie would.

Once finished Twilight seemed to smile at something only she could see, then after a few moments once again injudiciously shook her head to return from her woolgathering.

Wincing as she took the first step she started gingerly walking again. “The first time I'd ever heard that song,” she started explaining, “Was almost five years ago. It was the very day that Nightmare Moon had returned, in fact,” and Trixie's eyes widened a bit at that. “And the six of us were walking through the Everfree Forest on the way to the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters.” Twilight told about how, while trekking through a thick part of the Forest, they'd entered a grove of trees that had been enchanted by Nightmare Moon. All the trees there had had such awfully scary faces that all of them, Rainbow Dash included, had been terribly frightened.

Only Pinkie Pie had managed to control her fear, and had helped the others do so as well . . . by singing to them the exact song Twilight had just finished singing.

Trixie thought about that for a few moments, and was about to say something when Twilight beat her to it.

“I know: being afraid of flying, or of teleporting, isn't exactly the same as being afraid of a changeling in your bedroom closet or a windigo under the bed,” she said. “But there is something I hope you can take from that, the same way I was able to . . . once Rainbow Dash, of all ponies, pointed it out to me!” she grinned.

“What,” she swallowed, “What was that?”

This time, instead of singing, Twilight simply spoke the words. “'Pinkie, you gotta stand up tall; Learn to face your fears; You'll see that they can't hurt you; Just laugh to make them disappear.'” Turning her head a bit to look more fully at her companion she explained, “Rainbow Dash pointed out that I couldn't start laughing at my fears until I knew what, exactly, those fears were.”

Slowly ambling along she continued, “It took me a while, and with Rainbow's help, to figure those fears out. And it horribly embarrassed her, too, once I had . . . since, as it turned out, she was the root of a lot of them.”

“Really?” she blurted, startled, since as much as she disliked the brash, egotistical pegasus Trixie couldn't ever imagine her intentionally being the source of Twilight's fear, of all things, of flying.

“Yes, really. To start with, I eventually figured out that it's not heights I'm afraid of; I'm not inherently acrophobic. And it's not actually the fear of falling, although that was part of it.” Again she gave Trixie a lopsided grin. “It's that I was petrified of what happens at the sudden stop at the end of falling.”

Before she could do more than blink Twilight continued. “When I was a very young filly —still a foal, actually, I guess— I fell from a tree and broke my foreleg.”

“What were you doing in a tree?” Trixie blurted out, then blushed at her interrupting outburst.

Twilight then fiercely blushed. “I wanted to see the newly-hatched birds up in their nest. So I tried climbing up to see them.”

Her attempt at smothering a grin failed no sooner did she catch look at the alicorn's sheepish look. “You . . . you climbed a tree?” she breathlessly asked.

Still blushing she nodded. “Not very well, as it turned out,” she admitted, and suddenly Trixie's desire to smile was instantly swept away as she recalled what else had been said: “I fell from a tree and broke my foreleg.” She couldn't help but reflexively glance down at the alicorn's forelegs, and Twilight gave a little nod, as if she understood perfectly well and wasn't at all bothered by that inquisitive look.

“I've lost count of the times Rainbow's been in the infirmary or, for that matter, the hospital, because of her flight crashes. Some of them have been pretty serious, too. She always just dismissed those as “the cost of being the greatest flier ever”, but what I was also hearing was that those accidents, those injuries, were also the cost of simply flying.

“It also didn't help that, for years, Rainbow would regale us with the tales little foals, and young filly and colt, pegasus, told each other about the dangers of flying.”

Trixie's mouth suddenly went dry, her heart started hammering, as memories of her own unwantedly surfaced . . .

Outside the window a group of very young colts and fillies scampered, heading towards the playpark. She looked to her mother and wistfully pleaded, “Mother? May I, please, finish early and go out and play with the others?”

“Now Beatrix,” her mother scolded, “I've spoken with you before about this. Practice must come first! Now, since we've already warmed up with breathing exercises, let's continue with scales.” Holding up a pitch pipe she blew a note. “Breathe in through the nose; expand your belly, then your lungs. Now . . . La la la LA la la la,” she intoned, in pitch-perfect resonance.

“Yes Mother,” she softly replied, her vision swimming as her eyes filled. Breathing as she'd been trained she opened her mouth and began her scale singing exercises . . .

“Next semester we'll be taking teleportation classes!” a young filly enthusiastically exclaimed to the group. They all 'oohed' and 'aahed' in excitement, then a couple of them deeply shivered. “I hope none of us have an accident!” a colt nervously said.

“Acc—accident?” another one asked, although by the gulped swallow it was obvious he had some clue.

The small group clustered close together, paying no obvious attention to the small, brillant-blue unicorn with the dual-toned cornflower mane and tail that was hovering on their outskirts.

“You know,” another colt conspiratorially whispered, “Like the colt that thought he knew it all and just decided to wink without paying attention . . . and wound up in the middle of a tree!” he pitched his voice into a spooky tone, and was rewarded by the shivers and wide eyes of the group.

He played out three more chilling, dreadful scenarios, all the while she stood there, just outside the group, listening with increasing horror and terror.

“And then there was the filly that nopony liked, and when she teleported . . . she just disappeared, and was never seen again!” At that the colt turned around and stared right at Beatrix. “Bet you can't wait until teleportation classes, huh?”

And as she bolted off, sobbing, the entire group dissolved into braying, mocking laughter.

“Trixie? Trixie? You OK?”

Sharply shaking her head and forcibly banishing those memories once again she looked to one side, not meeting Twilight's eyes, refusing to let the alicorn see the tears swimming in her own. “I'm fine.”

No, you're not. And I wish I knew why. I don't right now . . . but one day I will! she vowed.

They paced along in silence for a while, Twilight more than willing to give Trixie however much time she needed to regain her composure.

That wound up being a great deal of time, in fact. Twilight was silently swearing to herself by the time they reached Ponyville's outskirts and started heading their way towards the perimeter of Town Square and to the Day Spa. Something had shut Trixie down, and she was sure and certain it was emotionally-based, something Twilight knew she was very inadequate at understanding, let alone dealing with. There was an odd, haunted look to her eyes that made Twilight's heart ache, and she wondered if anypony had seen that expression before . . . or had it been that nopony had cared to notice?

They were a bit early for the Day Spa to have opened, but Trixie knocked at the entrance anyway. A few moments later and the upper half of the Dutch door opened. “I am sorry, but we're not—,” Aloe started to explain, in that accent of hers that Trixie envied. Her eyes widened as she started in surprise. “Oh! Princess Twilight!”

“I know we're a bit early Aloe,” Trixie started saying, but was interrupted by a wave of an expertly-hooficured pink hoof.

Opening the lower half she motioned them inside. “For Princess Twilight?” she smiled; a true smile, and not a sycophantic one. “It is no problem at all.” Once they both had entered she closed the doors and walked over to stand behind the counter, as Lotus Blossom, quite curious, paced over to join her. It was rather unlike their Princess to just show up like this, as both of them were well-aware. In fact, usually she needed to be towed along behind Rarity for the infrequent times she had visited.

Both their heads pivoted as Trixie spoke up. “A hot soak and a massage, please? Tw— Princess Twilight has badly pulled a muscle in her back,” she started explaining, but got no further before Lotus Blossom's head jerked back towards the aching alicorn.

“A pulled muscle?” she repeated. At Twilight's nod she firmly pointed towards the sauna. “Let us get started right away. For now, we will start with a nice sauna bath. I will be right with you, Your Highness.”

The earth pony couldn't understand why Trixie had winced at that. At least, not until . . .

The sound of bits clinking was heard as Trixie emptied her neck pouch onto the counter. “Trixie doesn't think she has enough for both a hot soak and a massage . . . and she knows she doesn't have enough for a sauna bath, too,” she admitted, flushed with embarrassment. “Would . . . Could Trixie sweep and mop the next few nights in exchange for that?”

Trixie often did small jobs at the spa when she was short on bits, in exchange for a once-a-week hot bath, since her wagon didn't have a tub. Aloe was a bit confused, though, since Trixie did have just enough for a bath and basic massage. Lotus Blossom was just about to walk over to the sauna and add some water to the heated rocks there when she froze in place at what she was hearing, remaining utterly motionless save for one ear that surreptitiously swiveled to face behind her.

“But Trixie . . . you do have enough here for a bath and massage,” Aloe pointed out, sounding perplexed.

“Oh! No. No, the bath and massage isn't for Trixie, it's for Princess Twilight. She . . . she just doesn't have enough for a sauna bath, too,” she miserably admitted, pushing a few bits around with her hoof. “So could Trixie, please, work a couple of nights? However many it takes, in exchange for whatever is needed to take care of Twilight? And, maybe . . .” her voice lowered to a whisper, “Maybe Trixie could get a small, ten-minute hot soak, too?”

Successful spa ponies, much like bartenders, share one common trait: both are amateur psychologists. And the more talented and popular they are, the more skilled they are at reading the state of minds of their patrons and clients.

Both Aloe and Lotus Blossom were very popular with their clientele.

“Princess Twilight,” Lotus Blossom abruptly exclaimed, sounding quite pleased, “So you're finally redeeming your coupon!”

“Huh?” the baffled alicorn replied, having just hung her neck pouch on the cloak rack and was now paused in mid-step on her way to the sauna.

Drawing the appointment book out from beneath the counter she quickly scanned the page, assuring herself that her memory wasn't playing her false and that the morning hadn't been booked. As for the afternoon . . .

Chalk in mouth Lotus Blossom neatly scrawled on a blank slate the message “Royal Reservation Today” and would hang that on the front door in a few minutes. There were going to be a few disappointments this afternoon as scheduled patrons found their reservations had been unexpectedly canceled. However, finding out that it was for Princess Twilight's benefit would definitely smooth any potentially ruffled manes or feathers.

“Coupon? What coupon?” she asked, still sounding befuddled. Behind her she could almost hear Aloe going 'What coupon?'

“You ask us that every time we remind you of it, Your Highness,” Lotus Blossom smoothly replied. “It's the coupon redeemable for a full spa day, for you, and a guest.” She felt the heat of twin stares at her back but just blithely ignored them. Come on Aloe! she intently thought, as if she could, somehow, mindspeak her partner. You're usually not this dense!

Behind her she heard the clink of bits as they were swept back into a pouch, then heard Trixie's sharp inhale as it was returned to her. “Just hang it over there next to Princess Twilight's pouch,” Aloe instructed, “then join her in the sauna. Assuming she ever makes it there,” she teased, since Twilight was still frozen like a statue and utterly stupefied and confused.

Between the two of them tag-teaming them they didn't stand much of a chance. Trixie sounded like a motorboat, going 'But-but-but-but,' as Aloe gently but irresistibly nudge-pushed her over to the sauna. Twilight's eyes looked glazed for a moment as she parroted once again, “Coupon?” as she, too, found herself being impelled to the sauna.

Aloe added a few more hot rocks; Lotus Blossom ladled a dipper full of water onto them. With a fierce hiss steam roiled upwards, enveloping the two.

Once they were alone Trixie hissed, sotto voce, sounding much like the water had sounded. “Coupon?”

Draped over a bench Twilight shrugged, then she, too, hissed, hers resulting from the bright shaft of pain that injudicious motion had caused. “I . . . I don't remember a coupon,” she honestly admitted, sounding quite hesitant.

The skin around the unicorn's eyes tightened, and Twilight knew why. Being awarded an accolade was one thing; being given charity was quite another. There was pride, and there was pride, and in that Twilight would never fault Trixie for her refusal to accept outright charity.

“But if there was, or is, a coupon I don't remember having,” she said, peeping up at Trixie. “I would have used it today . . . with you.”

Better Late Than Never

Better Late Than Never

“Mail's here!”

Balancing a double clawful of mail in a stack almost as tall as he was, Spike only had a moment to look up as he entered the small, informal dining room where Princess Twilight Sparkle had been sitting down to a late breakfast before . . .

“Aaaaah!!”

foomp!

Envelopes, scrolls, brochures, broadsheets . . . they all went flying, blossoming in a huge cloud as Twilight catapulted into the little dragon in her eagerness, the impact tossing him in the air in a smooth, shrieking arc.

“Mail? Mail? Lemmesee lemmeesee!”

“No. No. Nope. No. No . . .”

Each aforementioned envelope, scroll, brochure, and broadsheet was hastily levitated up, scrutinized for an instant then discarded, tossed to the side, reducing the clutter surrounding her as she constructed a (reasonably) neat pile of rejects. And as each one was looked at then summarily dismissed with a 'no' her excited voice grew more and more dejected until, with a truly discouraged and despondent sigh, the last one was reviewed, then cast aside to crown the paper pinnacle. Turning about she trudged back to her thrown back and tipped over chair, head drooping, horn pointed at the floor.

It had been four days now since she'd last seen Trixie Lulamoon, and Twilight had been in a swivet ever since.

Setting the chair back up in place she sat back down, dejectedly sighing as she levitated the untidy —and unstable—pile of mail back over, pushing her half-eaten breakfast back out of the way before depositing the postal deliveries in a cluttered heap in front of her.

“Jeez Twilight,” Spike grumbled as he rooted around on all fours after a couple of escapees under the sideboard, “What's gotten into you lately? It's just mail. The same old nonsense you've been getting for ages now.”

Morosely she nodded, cheerlessly shifting the various pieces about with her hoof. “Same old nonsense” pretty much bucked the tree on its trunk she thought. It was truly amazing the vast increase in correspondence that had occurred simultaneous with her elevation to the rarefied social strata of “Princess”. And it was just as stunning how vapid most of that increase had become, too.

The vast majority were easily sorted into a single heap consisting of invitations: to balls, banquets, soirees, high teas, brunches, receptions, fund raisers, grand openings . . . ad nauseum. Twilight cringed, knowing for a fact that Princess Celestia dealt with the same, but on a scale a hundred, if not a thousand, times worse than she was dealing with.

She paused a moment before dragging one of them back. As mopey as she was feeling she couldn't help but smile at the crayon printed pasteboard inviting “Princes Twilite Sparkel” to a cute-ceañera. She smiled even warmer as she read further, since it wasn't the inviter's party but was, instead, her older sister's celebration. That one, she thought as she carefully set it to the side, was one she might very well accept.

She couldn't turn them all down, after all; as a Princess she did have social obligations she simply couldn't ignore, yet she had to be very careful about which ones she did accept. One of the (many) things that her former teacher —and mentor still, a fact that continually deeply touched her— had taught her was that it was a delicate balance to be walked regarding social events. If a pony wasn't careful, accepting invitations carte blanche was very much like the proverbial crack in a dam: the leak would start with a trickle but, faster than you could believe, that tiny trickle could change to a raging torrent, virtually impossible to stop without causing injured feelings.

Especially where it came to the aristocracy and nobility. There was an additional danger there, because they were quick to take offense and feel a snub, whether intentional or not. Having a Princess attend an event could very well be the social plum prize of the year and, for some, of their entire life. A courtier's position could be made by an acceptance . . . or broken by a refusal.

Heaving a deep sigh Twilight rested her chin on her hooves. Her expertly hooficured hooves. Even she couldn't mess them up in only four days! Her chest felt tight, remembering why they looked so good.

Four very long days.

Had she made a mistake? Was she the one that was supposed to have extended the invitation? Was Trixie anxiously waiting for Twilight to initiate things? Her mouth dried like sand, and she quickly pulled the pitcher of orange juice over and refilled her glass. She'd thought she'd been perfectly clear about things, that she was leaving it up to Trixie whether or not she wanted to ever speak with, or see, Twilight again. But what if she was hesitant about that? Or, worse, thought that it would be importunate to ask a Princess to come and pay her a visit?

Why can't life be more like differential calculus or advanced multidimensional translocation? she gloomily thought. Easy and predictable!

Twilight was feeling more than simply glum and despondent, she was feeling quite sick to her stomach as well, a sensation that had grown the stronger as the days had passed without any communication at all.

Did I mess up . . . again? she worried. Did she change her mind about meeting? Did she really ever want to see me again? Did I say something wrong or misleading? Is she expecting me to have invited her, instead? Did she— Twilight swallowed, —did she file charges, after all?

The thought of standing before Celestia as a list of charges was read off wasn't the most comfortable imaginary scenario she'd ever pictured, but what truly turned her belly to lead at that thought was the understanding that, if things had actually gone that far south, she'd completely ruined any chance of a friendship with Trixie.

This whole fiasco had started with her initiating an overture of friendship.

She replayed —again!— everything that had transpired, from the moment she'd entered Trixie's wagon until they'd stepped outside, together, that afternoon from the Day Spa. Yes, there'd been moments of awkwardness, but nothing that had stood out as bad.

Not, at least, that she could recognize as such. But what did she know?

She snorted in altogether sincere self-deprecation. Princess of Friendship! she mentally cringed. What a farce! That's like anointing Fluttershy as “Princess of Assertiveness”, or Pinkie Pie as “Princess of Moderation and Reserve”!

Crossing her forelegs on the table she lowered her head down and pillowed her face atop them. There's a certain kind of travesty having a pony as socially awkward and inept as I am responsible over friendship. The one time I really want somepony as a friend, and it's me pushing for that, and I totally mess it up. I'm such a loser!

“Uuh. Ungh. Oof . . . Finally!” Grunting with effort Spike wriggled out from being halfway burrowed under the massive, ornate sideboard, several envelopes securely clutched in his foreclaws. Standing up he began riffling through them. “Nothing special,” he commented. “Just looks like some more invitations. Hmmm . . . must have missed this one before,” he muttered. “It's postmarked two days ago.” He glanced up just in time to see a purple, feathered meteor descending upon him.

“Aaaaah!!”

There were, Trixie was discovering, only so many ways one could check preparations before ridiculously repeating oneself.

She'd passed that point at least an hour ago.

There was a singing void in her guts, a hollowness that bordered on nausea. Although she'd frequently been nervous before a performance, she'd never felt like this. Those pre-performance jitters had normally been a result of excited anticipation more than they had been of nervousness. What she was feeling now was an anxiety that bordered on triggering actual sickness.

She'd never allowed herself to picture failure prior to a performance. A sardonic laugh of self-mockery choked out from a tight throat. Maybe she should have; she might have done better, perhaps have actually succeeded, had she done so. From the moment she'd announced her dream of becoming a performer of magic feats and tricks everypony had mocked, scorned and belittled her ambition and aspirations. And the more they'd derided her the more determined she'd grown.

She'd never forgotten all they'd said, and oftentimes, especially as she'd been entering a new town or setting up for a performance, those dire criticisms and woeful predictions had haunted her. But, while those had frequently caused an anxious moment or two, they'd vanished the moment The Great and Powerful Trixie! had stepped onto stage.

She was mortally glad she hadn't eaten much at all for breakfast, for if she had she might very well be turning her guts inside out.

Checking the preparations —again!— she tried, and failed, to stem the tide of utter futility that was drowning her.

The table, located in the middle of the wagon, was covered in a fine, white linen cloth, the edges bordered in delicate Gros Point de Veneighse lace. Two chairs, their seats and backs upholstered in rich fabric, were positioned on opposite sides of the table, in the aisle. At one side of the table a tea service was set: a creamer (empty at the moment; Trixie would fill it with cream from a small bottle from her ice box immediately prior to serving the tea, in order to keep it cold and fresh), a bowl containing sugar cubes, a tray of thick lemon wedges covered in fine gauze (to prevent spurting when squeezed), and several lead crystal jars containing various blends of tea.

On the counter sat an exquisitely ornate, polished platinum samovar, already filled with the crystal clear water of the burbling brook just outside the clearing. Instead of being heated with the usual charcoal briquettes or coal (as her stove and ceramic furnace used) she'd coaxed a salamander into providing the energy into keeping the water at a low roiling boil.

Positioned before each chair were the place settings. At the center was a luncheon plate, with an intricately folded serviette of the same linen as the tablecloth, set to its left. To the right was a small spoon for stirring the tea, while on the left was a small fork. The latter was most likely superfluous; Trixie wasn't serving anything particularly messy or sticky and, even if she were, as unicorns —well, as a unicorn and an alicorn— they could simply, and quite neatly, levitate such dainties. Still, it was elegant, sophisticated —and proper— to provide one, so she had. A butter knife was set to the right side of the plate as well. A teacup and saucer sat just above and to the right of their respective stirring spoons. Finally, a small waste bowl was positioned to the left of each place setting, just above the fork, and an exquisitely engraved cut lead crystal water glass sat just above the teacup and saucer.

At the moment the side opposite the tea service was empty. That was where the food would shortly be placed, light little fare such as scones, hoof sandwiches, small single-bite pastries and biscuits, along with small containers of butter, jams and marmalades, as well as a container of clotted cream, most of the latter keeping the cream company until ready to be set out.

A floral centerpiece would have been nice, but the table was simply too small for such because the wagon was small. Well, not small for a wagon, but small compared to a formal dining room.

Everything was perfect.

And none of it mattered.

Because Princess Twilight wasn't going to come.

Her guts knotted up even worse. What had she been thinking?

The envelope was of stiff, thick, expensive paper, a light cornflower blue that matched Trixie's mane and tail coloration, and was sealed with a round blob of brilliant azure wax that matched her coat.

Princess Twilight Sparkle

Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle

Ponyville, Friendship Rainbow Kingdom

Equestria

Twilight quickly scanned the envelope, feeling an unusual nervous flutter in her chest as she did. The calligraphy was immaculate, ornate without being overdone. Breaking the seal, the design that of Trixie's cutie mark, she then removed the folded invitation from inside.

Miss Trixie Lulamoon

requests the presence of your company

for an informal brunch . . .

Spike painfully winced at the panicked screech. “Today? It's for today?”

The volume increased as she frantically darted her eyes to the wall clock. “In two hours!?”

Except for Twilight having caught Trixie in the middle of her extremely embarrassing “unwind-time” four nights past, the last time Trixie had cried had been years ago. In fact, she'd still been a student at Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. That had been the day she'd been called to the Dean's office and served the papers of Official Disownment that her parents had filed; shortly thereafter she'd dropped out of the school and, seemingly, off the face of Equestria itself, vanishing for several years before reappearing as The Great And Powerful Trixie.

She was near tears today.

There was still plenty of time remaining. It wasn't as if Princess Twilight was already late. But Trixie knew, just knew, she wasn't going to show up.

She hadn't any idea what she'd said, or done —or hadn't said or hadn't done— but she just knew it was her fault.

It always was, after all.

She kept replaying everything in her mind with the stark, harsh and bitter honesty she'd lately, this last year, come to use when self-reflecting. She could dismiss anything that had occurred during that night, since she really hadn't had anything to do with what had transpired. Being a helpless participant had, at least, absolved her of any fault; indeed, that was no small part of the allure being restrained had for her: total absence of guilt, or the need for decision-making or responsibility.

And while they hadn't started the morning off on the best of hooves it had, she thought, changed into something quite marvelous, and with a hint of possibility of something even more wonderful.

But then Trixie had realized how much pain Twilight had been in, and so that particular facet of things had, by necessity, needed to be tabled. But, even so, it had seemed as if Twilight had been much more relaxed and comfortable in Trixie's presence, and with Trixie herself, than she could ever before recall having happened. And Trixie herself had felt her guard relaxing, something she wasn't at all used to doing these last few years.

Of course, she had to let her stupid fear —or perhaps foalish phobia was a better description— ruin that, too.

Twilight wouldn't be the first pony to have tried talking to Trixie about that. Her instructors and teachers certainly had besieged her with “help”! Oddly enough, though, especially considering Twilight's reputation as a formidable —albeit, at times, irritating and pedantic as well— lecturer, she'd been the only pony to ever have, well, not objectively droned on and on! Instead, she'd talked to Trixie as . . .

Sniffling, she swiped a hoof across her eyes. Instead, she'd talked to Trixie as if she were Trixie's friend.

So what did Trixie do? She froze up —as usual when that topic, or similar ones, infrequently cropped up— and just shut down.

So Twilight probably assumed that Trixie was shutting her down.

They'd hardly even exchanged three words at the Day Spa. Trixie couldn't figure out what to talk about; although Mother had severely trained her in the art of small, inconsequential talk and exchanging pleasantries, she was years out of practice. Worse, Twilight seemed content to ignore Trixie and remain in silence.

It wasn't until Aloe had softly murmured something to Trixie that she'd finally been able to relax and keep her wistful, longing hopes alive. Aloe had leaned down as she'd been massaging her and had softly said next to an ear, “This is the most content and relaxed I've ever seen Princess Twilight.” Trixie had darted an astonished look back at the spa pony, who had simply nodded in confirmation. “Even when she is here with her other friends,” and Trixie had blinked at that soft, yet unmistakable, emphasis on 'other', “I've never seen her this relaxed. She is truly enjoying herself.”

“But . . . but she's not talking, or anything!” she'd murmured back in reply. Granted, Trixie had had little direct experience with personally receiving spa or salon treatments, but she'd attended Mother many, many times during her appointments, and it had always seemed de rigueur that patrons chattered like magpies, in low, semi-conspiratorial tones, during them! Oh, nothing crude like gossip, of course! Catching up with news wasn't, after all, the same thing as peasantry gossip!

A soft little smile had spread across Aloe's face. “Not everypony is like her friend Miss Rarity, who enjoys talking while indulging. Just . . . watch her, Miss Trixie. Well,” she chuckled, smiling as Trixie softly 'ooo-ed' as Aloe worked a stiff muscle group, “Watch, and relax, too, while Lotus Blossom and I work our wiles on you.”

And so she had done just that, and had felt an odd little glowy warmth inside as she had, for Aloe hadn't been deceiving Trixie. There had been no mistaking the look of dreamy bliss on Twilight's face. In fact . . .

Trixie had gently squirmed; in fact, Twilight looked very much as Trixie suspected she must have looked all during the previous night: supremely relaxed, and basking in a gentle hedonistic warmth.

And those times that Twilight's lids had slit just enough to peep out past them, and she'd noticed Trixie looking at her, she'd smiled in a fashion that had had Trixie's heart powerfully thump.

By the time late afternoon had arrived, and that heavenly experience had finally drawn to a close, Trixie had decided that, although her jury might still be considering other particulars regarding last night, at least concerning the matter regarding seeing Princess Twilight again had a resolution. But before she'd managed to actually work up the nerve to ask if she would “Drop by for a visit, if you please?” (and just how did a commoner pony extend an invitation to a Princess?) they'd already stepped outside the Day Spa.

Stepped outside. Together. Literally side-by-side. Freshly hooficured, manes and tails expertly coiffured by none other than Alberto himself, who had come from his salon to personally style the two of them.

And the moment they had exited, it had seemed as if every pair of eyes from every pony around had instantly swiveled their way, like iron filings to a magnet.

Trixie wasn't used to that sort of focused attention —well, outside of a performance, that is— and, to be honest, these last few years that sort of intense scrutiny was usually the precursor to being mocked, ridiculed and chased out of town. And it didn't seem as if Twilight was all that comfortable, either.

And so they'd departed, each their own way, without anything having been positively confirmed, one way or the other.

“Spike!” came the shrill yowl from the outside corridor, as the thunder of hooves echoed from her rapid departure as Twilight galloped off. “Spi-iiike! To the Library! Stat! I need books on etiquette!”

A paw weakly lifted up into the air from the supine form of the little dragon, visibly quivering towards the ceiling. “Be . . . be right there Twilight,” he got out in between several deep groans. “Just as soon as I stop seeing teeny Derpys flying around my head.”

The clattering of hooves slowed, then ceased, then picked up again, growing louder. Seconds later there was the screeching squeal of hooves as the flustered alicorn went sliding past the doorway, legs flailing. There came a low thud, followed by a muttered exclamation —thankfully too low to clearly discern— then the rapid clip-clop as she turned the corner and trotted over to her assistant. “Spike!” she shrilled, “Stop clowning around! I need you!” she exclaimed to the still-horizontal baby dragon.

“Book. Etiquette. Stat,” he grumbled on his way to vertical. “Gotcha.” His final word was addressed to her rump as she skittered off, a startled whinny as she went skidding again as she hit the corridor.

“And tell them to stop waxing the hallways!” she yelled.

Gently rubbing his head between his paws —as much to verify his head was still connected as it was to ease the dull throb there—Spike muttered something unintelligible. What in the name of malachite milkshakes had set her off like that? Padding over to the table he lifted up on tiptalons and peered about.

“Ah-ha!”

Picking up the envelope and invitation he quickly scanned them before groaning in disgust, his eyes rolling. “You have got to be kidding!” he grumped, barely keeping a flicker of flame from lancing out and incinerating both of them.

“Twilight!” he called out then, more urgently —and in dismay— “Twilight! Aw . . . c'mon!”

Entering the Library he paused, fisted paws on hips, eyeing the manic princess inside, who was prance-dancing in place, all four hooves beating an impatient, staccato tattoo.

“Spike!” she shrilled, seeing him just standing there. “Hurry! Please?”

He'd just opened his mouth to give Twilight an obviously much-needed piece of his mind when he stopped. His eyes narrowed a bit as he truly looked at her. “OK Twilight,” he said. “Just give me a minute.”

Without another word he quickly padded off, already knowing what book was needed and where to find it. What he didn't know, and certainly didn't understand, was why she was getting all this worked up over an invitation from —of all ponies— The Great Blowhard and Sanctimonious Windbag Trixie.

What he did know, however, was, for whatever reason, this was deeply important to her. There was an expression of heartache and longing (along with the more familiarly-seen panic) in her eyes that he'd seldom, if ever, seen before.

Dragging down a thick volume he gathered it against his chest, carrying it two-pawed over to a desktop bookstand and propping it there. “Here you go Twilight: By the great Baltimare authoress Emily Posting Trot: Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics, and at Home.” He ducked out of the way just in time. Pages whirred at blinding speed as Twilight hyperscrolled them. “Ah . . . are you looking for something in particular?”

“Am I supposed to do anything when attending a brunch?” she replied, her voice still with that catch of panic. “What are my obligations? Do I just show up? Am I supposed to bring something? If I am what do I bring? It didn't say R.S.V.P.; was I supposed to R.S.V.P anyway? I'm a Princess now; does that change things? Does this book even address the etiquette requirements of a Princess?” she stuttered, starting to hyperventilate . . . as usual.

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it, biting off the two instant answers that had almost blurted out. The first one would have been that Trixie wasn't worth disintegrating the way that Twilight was busily doing. The second was that Rarity would be able to quite hoofily answer any questions she might have regarding informal, and formal, party obligations. Granted, Pinkie Pie was usually thought of as being the “party pony” . . . because she was. But Pinkie Pie's strengths à la parties were the actual festivities themselves, and not so much the formalities of invitations and social obligations; whereas those were Rarity's forté. However . . .

If what Spike still felt about Trixie could be called a grudge, what Rarity felt was antipathy and enmity. In a way Spike didn't blame her; after all, he still wanted to —quite literally— light a fire under Trixie for having turned his crush's mane into a horrid slime-green mess with sticks and rat tails poking out of it. Seeing Rarity run off, crying and humiliated, had infuriated Spike then, and, even now, just replaying that memory had a trickle of smoke rumble from his nostrils. So asking Rarity for help would border on being criminal . . . because she actually would help, for Twilight's sake, even as that old wound was ripped anew wide open.

Spike simply didn't see why Twilight bothered with Trixie. As far as Spike was concerned, the only help he'd give her if she was floundering in quicksand was to toss her a cement life-ring! Yet . . .

Heaving a deep sigh he walked over to her. “Hey Twilight?” he emphasized with a light poke of a claw to her flank. When she yelped and stared down at him he gently but firmly told her, “Listen: go take a quick bath and get ready. I'll find out what's right and, if you need anything, have it ready for you. OK?”

His heart melted at the tearful, relieved look of gratitude she gave him. “Thank you Spike!” she breathed, hugging him tight. “Thank you!”

“Awwww,” he responded, lightly blushing. “It's nothing.”

“No Spike,” she replied, suddenly completely calm and radiating sincerity. “It's not “nothing” . . . it's everything.” She focused those violet eyes of hers fully on him, and he felt a lump in his throat at the warmth and love he saw there. “You've always been my Number One Assistant,” she said, her voice low and vibrant. “But you've always been my best friend, too. I just . . . I just don't know what I'd ever do without you . . . and I never, ever want to find out, either,” she finished in a softer voice that brought tears to his eyes as she lowered her head and gently rubbed her cheek against his.

No; no, he simply didn't understand why this “brunch” with Trixie was so important to Twilight. But, right now, that really didn't matter. What did matter was simply accepting that, for whatever reason, it was important to her . . .

. . . and because it was, he wouldn't fail her.

“Better get going,” he gruffly scolded, his voice thick. “Unless you want to show up with a soggy wet mane and tail.”

Giggling —a sound that made his heart light and his spirit soar . . . knowing he was the one that brought that joy and delight to her— she nodded before turning about and, much more sedately than her arrival, trotted off to her bathing chambers.

Once she'd left, though, his heart grew heavier. I'm sure she'll understand, he thought as he turned and started trudging off. After all, it doesn't matter who's hosting the party; what's important is that it's for Twilight.

He kept repeating that to himself the entire way, almost as a mantra.

In between that, though, was threaded another thought, and one he really didn't want intruding.

She's going to kill me!

“You're joking.”

Spike was backed up against the front door of Carousel Boutique, wishing he had had the foresight to have not closed it behind him. Rarity was standing several paces away, and the expression she was directing his way was cold and stony, her normally warm and lovely eyes flat and hard, and her head was tipped —unconsciously, he hoped!— just the slightest amount required to aim her horn at him like a leveled spear.

Audibly swallowing he gulped. “Ah . . . no. Actually, I'm not.”

Those steely eyes dangerously narrowed. “You actually have the audacity to ask me to help? When it involves . . . that one?” she almost spit.

Things had been going surprisingly quite well up to this point, 'this point' being just whom was hosting the brunch. Spike had —alas, unsuccessfully— attempted tiptaloning about that, but Rarity could be just as stubborn as Twilight, and she simply wouldn't let it go.

The image of Twilight, heart longing in her eyes, suddenly flashed in his mind and, as it did, his temper flashed as well.

“Yeah Rarity,” he said, his normally placid —when not playful, or even mischievous, for that matter— emerald eyes abruptly flaming. “I am asking you for help.” He took a step forward, and in the back of his mind was shocked when that made Rarity take a step back in sudden alarm, her eyes widening as her ears flicked way back.

Just not shocked enough to stop.

“Because it also involves Twilight. You remember her, don't you? Your friend? The pony who was willing to sacrifice, even as scared as she was, everything she had —everything she was— to free you from Tirek? The pony that, as awkward and out of her element as it might be for her, helps introduce you into the social circles in Canterlot, Manehatten and elsewhere? That Twilight. Remember her?”

He kept mentioning additional specific events, punctuating them with emphatic steps forward, until finally she was backed against the far wall.

“And I know you know how I feel about you,” he rumbled, pausing a moment as he felt his cheek heat up before forging on. “Do you really think so little of me, and my feelings toward you, to think I just decided to ask you this on a whim? Without thinking? Without considering what this might do to you? How this might make you feel?”

Rarity stared at him, eyes wide and shocked, a trembling forehoof held to her lips.

Forepaws fisted on hips he glared up at her for a moment longer then, quite visibly, seemed to deflate. “I promised to help her,” he softly murmured, “and you're the only pony I know that could help,” he ended in a whisper. His eyes quenched, the fire in them extinguished. “I . . . I didn't want to ask you, because I knew what that would likely do to you,” he continued in a whisper, staring at his hind paws, “but there wasn't anypony else.”

A hoof gently cupped his chin and lifted, until his eyes could, once again, meet hers. “You're right,” she softly admitted, “and I was wrong, and I'm so terribly, terribly sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

His heart painfully thudded, the same way it always did when he looked at her, the most beautiful mare in all of Equestria. He knew it was silly, his crushing on her. It wasn't silly because they were different species, it was silly because she was so cultured, so sophisticated, so . . . so . . . so far above him he never stood a chance.

It hurt so bad, sometimes. Yet all it took was gazing into those gorgeous, soft blue eyes of hers and he simply melted.

He would die for her.

“There really wasn't anypony else I could think to ask,” he softly murmured. “At least, not anypony I was positive would be able to help Twilight in the time we had.”

Rarity nodded, warmly smiling at last. “And that's what really counts, isn't it? Helping our good friend Twilight. Isn't that right my Spikey-wikey?”

It was really odd, he thought, how his heart could both agonizingly ache at the same time as brightly blaze and soar with joy.

She'd already decided, even before noon of their spa day together, that she wanted to meet with Princess Twilight again. For one thing, there were still many unresolved questions that Trixie wanted answered and, for another, well . . . there were quite a few “curiosity itches” she wanted scratched. She might as well admit that something —well, several somethings, to be blunt—Twilight had said had stirred up a comparable feeling inside herself.

Considering that Trixie had always felt a bit freakish about the thrill she experienced when being restrained, that she'd always believed she was the only pony to feel that way —being unique as a predominant Mage was one thing, that was completely another; one was being paramount, the other was being a freak of nature— having Twilight candidly pronounce that, not only did she understand how it made Trixie feel, but understood it because she tied herself up, too . . . well . . .

So, yes, Trixie could certainly understand the yearning Twilight must have felt regarding having another kindred spirit to talk to about that!

But —and, in almost all ways, even more important— Trixie also had the oddest feeling that Princess Twilight would have been happy to have found any excuse, any common ground, to have met with Trixie.

And Trixie didn't know what to make of that; no, not at all!

On the slow, thoughtful trot back home Trixie had a lot to think about, and she'd considered many scenarios. By the time she'd reached home she'd concluded that, based on everything she could remember, Princess Twilight had left the matter regarding any future meetings entirely in Trixie's hooves. So . . .

What to do?

Back home she filled the kettle and set it to boil and, as she made herself a cup of tea, the answer came to her. And an ideal solution it was, too!

It seemed that those hated, hateful lessons would finally be of some use after all.

The only real conundrum she faced was the actual wording of the invitation itself, for none of those loathsome lessons had taught her how one invited royalty to a private brunch. Trixie finally had settled on a formal wording as being more traditional and proper, but omitted the conventional R.S.V.P requirement.

She'd posted it the very next morning, and ever since then her stomach had been singing with tension. Had she asked too soon? Had she set a date too early? Or too late? Trixie had decided that four days would be just about right: not so soon as to appear importunate, as if a Princess had nothing else to concern herself with and could easily just set aside time, nor too long, as if Trixie was asking Royalty to dance attendance on her.

She almost wished the preparations had actually required a great deal of effort, for at least she could have burned off this nervous anxiety with getting everything ready but, truthfully, she had virtually everything she needed, and all it really required was a bit of extra, judicious effort with her magic to make a few tweaks to her already-existent appurtenances.

She's not going to show up.

That . . . hurt.

It made an emptiness inside her powerfully ache. Trixie was used to snubs; to being rebuffed, and even ostracized. True greatness needed to armor themselves against the slings and arrows of those less fortunate, those less skilled and powerful, of course. That came with the territory. But this . . .

. . . this wouldn't be a matter of somepony less powerful choosing to avoid being overshadowed in the presence of greatness.

I . . . I don't want Twilight to want to be with me because I'm great. I . . . I just want her to like me.

She wished she could be as cool, calm and collected as Twilight surely was.

Is everypony staring at me?

From the moment she'd left her Castle it had seemed as if eyes were following her every step.

It's not like I don't go for walks about Ponyville for gosh sakes! Why is everypony looking so, well, stare-ey?

She'd been utterly shocked when, just as she'd about finished getting ready, Spike had knocked on her door and, when Twilight had said it was OK to enter, Rarity had followed him inside. She'd just been in the middle of putting her shoes on —she hadn't worn them once since the Coronation— and froze in sheer astonishment as the unicorn entered.

Her face felt hot as Rarity simply cocked a brow seeing the glittery, star-blazoned gold shoes on her hooves, then unaccountably felt as little as a foal as that cool gaze was transferred to her. Suddenly she'd felt as transparent as glass . . . and just as fragile.

That moment couldn't have lasted longer than a heartbeat, yet somehow felt as if an eternity had passed. But pass it had, and Rarity, after first exchanging an odd, semi-secretive smile with Spike, had warmly smiled at her friend.

And, as only a true, close friend could do, had gently chided her about wearing those shoes.

Actually, she'd done far more than just that. She'd approached Twilight and had gazed quite deeply into her eyes. Twilight had felt unaccountably nervous at that scrutiny.

“This is really important to you isn't it Twilight?” Rarity had asked, her tone unwontedly serious.

She'd nodded, her head hanging. “I . . . I want her to like me,” she'd murmured.

With her head lowered she hadn't seen the look Spike and Rarity had exchanged. In all the years they'd known her, that wistful, unsure longing was so unlike the usually self-assured Twilight they both knew and loved.

Rarity honestly couldn't understand why Twilight wanted that . . . boastful braggart of a trickster to like her, but it no longer mattered to her. She had no right to dictate to Twilight who she could, or could not, call a friend, and all the more so since Twilight was Princess Twilight, the Princess of Magic and Friendship. She'd be a poor friend, indeed, if she didn't support Twilight in her hour of need.

And so she had, gently and kindly guiding Twilight, calming her down, easing her stress as she suggested ditching the shoes, forgoing any clothing —which, for Rarity, was truly a miracle!— and applying the most minimal of cosmetics. She helped brush out her mane and tail, coiffuring it in a loose yet elegant style. And, finally, had passed over the gift she'd purchased for Twilight to bring as a hostess present.

At the moment said present was currently hovering above her croup as she trotted along, still feeling all those eyes staring at her even as she felt ever so much more at ease because of Rarity's support and encouragement.

As she began trotting along the path leading to Trixie's home the sensation of staring eyes faded, then vanished, being replaced, instead, by an ever growing sense of dread that even Rarity's pep talk couldn't vanquish. It seemed to take forever to reach the clearing where Trixie's wagon was yet, at the same time, it had seemed to have taken an eye blink to travel that distance.

Standing just outside the door Twilight paused, feeling her heart hammering like a blacksmith at his forge.

Raising her hoof to knock she prayed to her mentor, something she had never done before. Please, oh please Princess Celestia! Her plea slithered to a stop as she realized she really didn't know what she was praying for.

And then, suddenly, she knew.

Please Princess Celestia, don't let me mess this up! I really, really want to be friends with Trixie.

She would have invoked more but, as her hoof lowered to strike the door, instead it found empty air.

Usually her wagon felt quite comfortable but, at the moment, Trixie felt abnormally claustrophobic. I just need a breath of fresh air, she thought, stepping over to the door and opening it. She was just about to step out when a hoof narrowly missed her head.

Author's Note

Has any other writer experienced this? Having in mind Scene “A”, leading to Scene “B”, leading to Scene “C” . . . and discovering 15,000 words later that you're still trying to reach Scene “B”? And, not only haven't you, as yet, reached Scene “B” but you're even further away that you were to start with?

I write mostly for myself; it's a form of stress relief and of artistic release . . . using, mind you, “artistic” quite loosely here. There are times when I see what others create —whether music, or drawings, or movies, or stories— that I just want to weep, for they have reached the heights to which I aspire, and understand and accept I will never attain.

Especially when it comes to a genre and/or specialty I really like; MLP:FIM is certainly one of those. And when it is something that deeply touches me I find myself wanting —quite badly, actually— to be able to, in some way, to contribute to the creativity and imagination I see.

So, in those instances —and, again, MLP:FIM in this particular instance— I write not just for myself but for others as well, for I wish to contribute to them as others have done so for me.

What am I doing wrong? Based upon the number of views of both this story and my blog I don't seem to be attracting readers. Is it the story itself? Writing style? It seems it has to be something. It's a little discouraging when I see a foalcest clopfic between Twilight and Shining Armor rocket in popularity while mine languishes in the dark.

Or am I just being overly sensitive? Is my ego actually needing stroking and I don't realize it?

An Elementary Misunderstanding

An Elementary Misunderstanding

“Aaaah!

“Waugh!”

Jerking backwards from the lavender mace that went slicing past, right in front of her enormously-rounded eyes, Trixie Lulamoon got her hind legs tangled up with each other. With a second, more undignified squawk she tripped over herself and fell on her rump.

Princess Twilight Sparkle fared no better. Her initial direction was forward, as the expected resistance of the door had somehow inexplicably disappeared . . . the most likely —and logical— explanation being, of course, that said door was no longer in a position to intersect with descending hoof. However, having started forward she had then jerked backwards, and, in doing so, had grievously overcompensated.

The fact that her wings had instinctively flared at that unbalancing hadn't been quite as helpful as nature might have intended, since their initial spread-and-flap resulted in a backwards launch off of the porch step of the wagon. Since her position had already been semi-vertical, instead of lifting her upwards that had, instead, pushed her backwards . . . a direction her legs were already starting to drive her.

Alas, just like Trixie, her hind legs seemed to have lost coordination, resulting in a tangle quite the same. Unlike Trixie, however, after falling on her rump she teeter-tottered back and forth, wings still outspread, looking very much like an awkward sort of sitting rocking-pony toy.

Although the startled unicorn was also currently sitting, she was right at the doorway and thus had a clear view of her guest's floundering about. For a few seconds she just sat there, hoof to her chest, eyes wide in stunned surprise. However, as her pulse slowed from the initial shock two different emotions burgeoned within, both quite powerful and both as diametrically opposed as they could possibly be.

She struggled to keep a snort of laughter from erupting; as horrified as she was at what had happened she simply could not keep that bubble of humor from growing, for Twilight really was looking hysterically comical sitting there like that! But she really was also mortally aghast, for because of her actions a Princess was sitting on the messy ground!

Her eyes instantly darted to the distressed alicorn as Twilight cleared her throat. “Umm . . . Hi,” she weakly smiled. “I'm not late, am I?”

“Trixie thanks you for the gift,” Trixie said as she levitated the small wicker basket soap sampler over to the sink, resting it on the small window shelf just above. “It was very thoughtful of you. It wasn't necessary, though,” she courteously demurred.

“It wasn't?” she reflexively blurted, then felt her face flame at that outburst. Once again she found herself in a situation of which she had no familiarity, nor had she done any preparations or rehearsals beforehoof.

Before Twilight could suffer another core meltdown Trixie smiled over her shoulder as she focused on lifting up the food tray. “Princess Twilight—”

“Twilight,” she interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

Watching the laden tray as it smoothly drifted from counter to linen-covered table she repeated. “It's just plain ol' Twilight.”

It had been years since she had danced the steps of a formal tea service/brunch, and, although it was quickly returning to her, these odd wrench-in-the-spoke moments were throwing her off balance. Once the tray was positioned, Trixie took her own seat opposite Twilight. “If that is truly what you wish,” she replied, and was a bit taken by surprise at the deep gusty exhale.

“You have no idea,” she muttered, softly enough that Trixie wasn't sure that was meant to be spoken aloud at all.

Before she could formulate any sort of courtly reply Twilight abruptly looked up, her eyes suddenly very intense. “Thank you for inviting me,” she began, and although Trixie kept a smile on her face her guts started twisting again. “But there's something I want to say first. Well, and do, too.”

A light lavender gleam gently coruscated about her horn and, moments later, from about the wagon there appeared multiple pinprick sparkles. Within seconds eleven purple motes danced in the air about her, then abruptly flashed before disappearing.

Huh, Trixie thought. I wonder where the other two had been? Once she'd realized that Twilight must have had some way of seeing the inside of her wagon, and once Trixie had actively looked for such a thing, she'd found nine very tiny . . . well, things. She had no idea what, exactly, they were, although she knew what they did. They'd been equally —and, no surprise here, mathematically precisely—spaced, three each along both walls and the ceiling.

“Oh!” Twilight's hooves suddenly covered her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. “I . . . I shouldn't have done that!” she blurted, panic clear in her voice. “I mean, disintegrated them like that. They were evidence. I just destroyed evidence! That's against the law, too! I—”

“Twilight!”

The sharp tone cut through to the distressed alicorn.

“Stop Sparkle-spazzing. Please?”

Mouth silently opening and closing like a stranded trout she just stared at Trixie.

“It's only evidence if there's a trial,” she more calmly explained, retreating back into the familiarity of the routine, opening up a tea canister and filling a large tea ball with the fragrant leaves. “Trixie is not going to press charges,” she assured. “But,” she admitted, “she does have some questions, and she would like answers.”

“Of course!” Twilight replied, so quickly, so promptly, and so utterly sincerely that it took Trixie by surprise. “You can ask me anything you want,” she assured, “Once I've said what I need to say?” she finished, the rising inflection definitely making it a question.

Guiding the teapot over to the samovar Trixie turned the spigot and began filling it with boiling-hot water. Twilight's eyes followed the teapot, the back of her mind cataloging and watching as her forebrain was busy preparing her “speech” . . . again. However, everything came to a screeching stop the instant she noticed the tiny little creature merrily flickering beneath the ornate platinum urn.

A salamander? She conjured and bound a salamander!? Just to heat water for tea? Just to impress me?

In an instant every little iota of goodwill Twilight had fostered towards Trixie vanished, as fury bubbled up inside and overwhelmed that. She hasn't changed at all! she fumed. She's still the egotistical —no, egomaniacal— pretentious showoff she's always been! Doesn't she know how dangerous salamanders are? Does she even care?

Salamanders, as every student of magic knew, were one of the four Primary Elementals. They were the element of Fire; the other three were Undines (water), Slyphs (air) and Gnomes (earth). They were odd creatures, as much spirit as corporeal beings. Because of that, they were difficult to summon, and extremely difficult to control. They weren't anything you tampered with on a whim.

Especially salamanders!

Each of the Primary Elementals perfectly represented their element. Gnomes, for instance, were stolid and slow but, once they started a task, extremely difficult to stop, or even change direction. And salamanders?

Salamanders were the personification of fire. Capricious and unpredictable, like a wildfire in dry grass. And, again, exactly like fire, salamanders consumed.

Everything.

Nothing was safe from their voracious appetite save certain precious, noble metals and pure rock, and even those could be melted into a liquid as fluid as water. Virtually everything was food —and fuel— to them: trees, grass, soil, plants . . . iron, copper, brass and bronze . . . insects . . . ponies . . .

And like a fire, once a salamander started ravening, there was no easy way to stop it from growing in size . . . and in hunger.

And she thought it would impress Twilight to cavalierly bind one for such a trivial task??

She opened her mouth to tear long painful strips off her hide but fought down that terrible desire. Who knew what might happen if she stressed out that pathetic braggart? Might that be enough to cause her —undoubtedly puerile— control over the salamander to falter, lapse and collapse?

Celestia truly was looking out for them both, because Trixie never noticed the look of rage and choler that purpled Twilight's face before she fought her fury back down and locked it under control.

“Ah . . . Trixie?” she started, her voice catching a moment. Looking up from filling the teapot and then starting to guide it over to the table Trixie gazed at her. “Ah—” she said, her voice sounding funny even to herself, a bit higher pitched than usual. “Is . . . is that a salamander?”

Trixie's reaction was nothing at all what Twilight had envisioned. She'd fully expected to see the unicorn's chest puff out in that irritating, grating fashion she'd done in the past, then hear her voice take that boastful, swaggering tone as she self-aggrandized the magnificence of “The Great and Powerful Trixie” once again.

Instead, Trixie ducked her head in an oddly timid fashion, and her expression, rather than being haughty, was demure and shy, looking more like a filly who had done something nice for their teacher and was hoping they would like the surprise. “Yes, it is,” she nodded.

“Ah . . .” she ahh-ed. “You . . . you do know how dangerous they are to summon and bind, don't you?”

She felt the blood drain from her face as Trixie blankly looked at her. Oh sweet Celestia! Twilight mentally gibbered. That's right! She never graduated! And Elemental Magics were advanced classes! Does she even know??

That mental blathering kicked into a higher gear at her answer. “But Trixie didn't summon, or bind him, Twilight.”

Twilight hovered on the brink of full-blown panic, unlike anything most ponies had ever had the misfortune of seeing. But before she actually leapt that threshold Trixie absolutely stunned her into frozen shock.

Smiling she extended an upright hoof towards the salamander, who truly did resemble his amphibian analogue to an uncanny degree, save for his 'skin' being tiny, dancing flames, much as one might see flickering over the surface of a huge log in a fireplace. Before Twilight could shriek a warning . . .

The salamander daintily stepped onto the surface of her hoof.

“I would never bind him,” she softly murmured, her muzzle mere inches from the fiery creature, who was gazing right back at her. “That would just be . . . wrong,” she said, the conviction in her voice as adamant as bedrock. Then softly grinned as she flicked her gaze towards Twilight. “Assuming he is a 'he', that is.”

“Then . . . then how do you command him?” she managed to get out, eyes wide still in shock at what she was seeing.

“Oh, I don't command either,” Trixie matter-of-factly explained. “I just asked him if he would mind doing this for me. As a favor. That's all.” A gentle azure glow shimmered down her horn; behind her a cabinet drawer also gleamed as it slid open. From inside a small rock, looking like gravel, was lifted out. As she brought the rock forward the drawer smoothly closed.

Almost against her will Twilight found herself fascinated, watching enraptured. Trixie hovered the rock —a piece of seeming stone, about the size of the salamander's head, resembling translucent quartz— above her hoof and right in front of the salamander, who started bouncing up and down and excitedly clapping his webbed paws.

“Yes,” Trixie murmured. “Go ahead. It's for you.”

Eagerly the salamander clasped the stone, then immediately began licking it, each swipe of the tongue leaving a small groove behind.

“What is that?” Twilight asked, intrigued.

“It's a diamond.”

“A diamond!?”

“Mmm Hmm,” Trixie nodded. “I'd figured it might be like candy to them. After all, a diamond is one-hundred percent carbon. Pure fuel, no waste.” She softly smiled, watching the salamander consume his treat. “The first time I gave him one I knew I'd guessed right.”

Extending her hoof back over to the samovar the tiny Elemental daintily stepped from hoof to urn, seating himself back into the burner as he happily continued enjoying his delicacy.

She still hadn't shaken the shock of what had just happened from her mind when Trixie inquired, “May Trixie now hear what Twilight wanted to say to her?” as she picked up from where she'd left off with the tea preparations.

Deceiving Appearances

Deceiving Appearances

It . . . it doesn't look like any salamander I've ever seen before, she thought, feeling both puzzled and “itchy” . . . that same prickling she felt whenever confronted with something new and exciting.

Mere inches away was one of the more dangerous and deadly things one could encounter in all of Equestria: a Fire Elemental. She should be quaking in fear, shivering in atavistic dread and horror; all the more so because she knew she had no practical, actual experience with banishing an uncontrolled, unbound Elemental. In an eyeblink this thing could reduce Trixie's wagon, and everything inside —including both Twilight and Trixie— to less than ash.

She rocked back a bit as the salamander paused licking his gemstone treat long enough to . . . pout?

It was pouting at her?

It returned to licking its diamond, which was now visibly smaller than it had been at the start, watching her over the top of its dainty, and there was no mistaking that it was, indeed, watching her; coolly appraising her, it felt like, if that adjective didn't seem outrageous to use for a salamander!

Its eyes . . . they looked like carefully-banked hearth fires, nothing at all like the raging infernos she'd seen on those infrequent occasions before when facing a bound and confined Fire Elemental. Those times —she powerfully shivered; those memories still terrified her —those times those eyes . . . they'd looked like twin, tiny portals opened into the fire river that encircled Tartarus, and had figuratively emanated a hatred as intense as the heat they'd literally radiated.

What . . . what if it wasn't figurative? she deliberated. We're taught —all of us are taught— that the Primary Elementals are just constructs of their representative elements. That the Elemental Power we summon and bind just take on the appearance of living creatures; that we merely relate to them on a ponypomorphic level, by ponyificationing them. But . . . what if we're wrong?

The salamander had stopped licking its treat and was just looking at her. Looking. At her. There was intelligence in those eyes, something she'd never before seen in a Primary Elemental.

Or, much worse, something she'd never thought to look for.

And just how would I feel, she reflected, if somepony had the ability, and the power, to pull me from Equestria, my world . . . my home? To summon me from here to there; to impel and coerce me to appear before them? To force and compel me to obey them? And never —not once!— see me as a pony, but only see the power I have within me? Only see me as that power, and as a source for performing a task for them?

Those eyes, glowing and flickering, transfixed her.

I think I would be furious and enraged, too, she thought. She felt her jaw drop a bit as it lifted a brow at her, and a feeling of You think? powerfully swept over her at that gesture.

Her head rocked back a second time as a sudden realization stunned her. That's how Tirek looked at all of us! As nothing but sources of power for him to drain and use!

He returned to licking his delicacy, yet his eyes continued gazing at her. Her curiosity and knowledge-thirst was boiling inside, but one thought brightly burned before all of that: I will never, ever again summon, coerce or bind any Elemental, not for any reason!

At that he shocked her yet again: setting his treat down he stood tall, upright on his hind limbs, then crossed one forelimb across his chest while holding the other behind his back before bowing to her.

Unmistakably bowing.

There was a definite twinkle to those lambent balls of smoldering, flickering flames gazing her way as he straightened up and saw her reaction, yet there was also a great deal of respect there, too. Picking his treat back up he hunkered down and curled up, gently lapping and licking it as he did.

All of a sudden she heard a low cough behind her. Not a throat-clearing cough; not a “I've-got-something-stuck-in-my-throat” cough either. In fact . . .

My ears probably look like duplicates of him, she thought, feeling her face ignite as well. Twilight was, alas, quite familiar with that sound, since she'd heard it on a regular basis from her teachers. It was the distinct sound of “Please come back down to Equestria, Twilight, from wherever your mind has wandered and taken you.”

Oh sweet Sun and Moon! Trixie!

Twilight jerked around in her chair, eyes wide with mortification. Chagrin burned inside her, as well as a dreadful conflict, for she was truly torn, wanting to continue learning more about the salamander and exploring an entire new realm of possibilities, but also very much wanting to focus completely on Trixie, and all the possibilities she hoped might manifest there.

Trixie tipped her head a bit to one side as she finished filling her guest's teacup. Her brow next lifted, cocked in an obvious interrogative gesture. Twilight felt herself flushing even deeper, and might very well have melted in discomfiture on the spot if Trixie hadn't taken mercy on her.

“Trixie realizes it's a bit early to set a second date,” she said, a little smile teasingly playing on her lips, “but you're welcome to come back another day to sate your curiosity about him.”

“How?” Twilight blurted, unable to contain herself, and feeling her face grow even hotter.

“Trixie assumes you mean how, as in, how did he wind up here? How did Trixie call him? How has he wound up heating our water? Those types of 'how's?” she inquired, removing the small jug of cream from the ice box and then filling the tea service creamer.

Tearing her attention from the seductive presence of the salamander and focusing it towards her hostess she nodded. “You don't have to tell me,” she quickly said, for all of a sudden Trixie's countenance had fallen, her expression looking sad and subdued.

“No, it is alright,” she replied, sounded defeated as she shook her head. “Trixie does not mind answering. She doesn't expect you to think less of her,” because I don't think it is possible for anypony to think less of me as it is.

After filling the creamer pitcher the cream jug was returned to the ice box, after which the butter bell and the container of clotted cream was lifted out then positioned on the table. “Trixie couldn't help herself,” she whispered. “She tried, she really tried. But,” she sadly sighed, “one night, several months ago, she played as if giving a performance again.” Twilight winced, hearing the raw, deep anguish there in her voice. “She was doing some fireworks. Small ones, and illusionary only —the ground and trees were dry; Trixie did not want to start a fire— and, halfway through it, she noticed she had a visitor.”

Trixie motioned towards the salamander with her horn.

“Trixie knew what he was, of course. But since Trixie hadn't summoned him she would not easily be able to banish him.” Twilight nodded as she listened; that was certainly true, and no small part of the reason she'd panicked when seeing it—him in the first place. Having assumed Trixie had irresponsibly summoned the Elemental, that would have made it ever so much harder for Twilight to have banished him . . . assuming she'd have had the power to do so in the first place!

A soft little smile played about Trixie's face, so heartrendingly sweet and sad at the same time it made Twilight's heart ache. “So she really wasn't sure what to do. But, as it turned out, nothing needed doing after all. He'd come because of the fireworks, you see. Trixie doesn't know how he'd known of them, but he'd come anyway just to watch. To watch . . . and enjoy them.”

Finished with the preparations she sat in her chair, facing Twilight across the small table.

“Trixie has done fireworks for him several times now,” she said. “She doesn't really “talk” with him; she does have a feeling he understands Trixie far better than Trixie understands him. But if she just relaxes, and unfocuses her mind, she . . . umm . . . she feels him. Well, his thoughts, anyway. Or, at least, thinks she does.”

By her deep flush, Twilight felt certain Trixie was positive that Twilight thought she was either making that up, or was cracked up . . . or both. She certainly wasn't expecting the reaction she actually got.

“I'm really impressed, Trixie!”

Twilight had to struggle to suppress a giggle at Trixie's expression, although after an instant that struggle was easily won, for she had a strong suspicion that any manifestation of humor would destroy Trixie.

“No, seriously,” she assured. “I really am.”

“B-b-but . . . why?”

“Because,” Twilight said, her tone utterly serious and sincere, “I don't know anypony else that wouldn't have panicked seeing an unbound, uncontrolled Fire Elemental on the loose . . . let alone make a friend of one. That's really amazing, and truly impressive.”

Trixie blinked, rocking back a bit.

“So, yes . . . I would very much like to visit with you again. And not just to learn more about your friend.”

She was about to levitate three sugar cubes into her teacup but paused before plopping them inside. Princess Celestia liked teasingly twitting her former student about how she took her tea, and over the fact that Twilight insisted on sweetening tea she hadn't even, as yet, tasted. So, this time, instead of adding her usual sugars beforehoof, she carefully lifted the brew up, holding it in place as she gently blew across the steamy surface. Before even tasting it she noticed two things; for one, the teacup itself looked incredibly fragile, literally eggshell thin, and, for another . . .

Her eyes rounded into saucers, her ears swiveled forwards, as the fragrance wreathed her head. She'd never smelled anything this divine in her entire life!

She took a careful sip, and . . .

Twilight's eyes widened even further as the incredibly rich, complex flavors bloomed on her tongue and in her mouth. It tasted of crisp fall air, of the cold, clean bitterness of high skies, of wild, swift flight yet, at the same time, conveyed a sense of earthiness unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

She took another sip, softly blinking as she did, feeling her skin twitching as her pinions gently rustled. “Sun and Moon!” she reverently breathed. “I've never tasted anything like this before!”

Trixie shyly smiled back, yet there was a touch of satisfaction to her expression that, as far as Twilight was concerned, certainly was deserved! “I was hoping you might like it,” she said with a pleased smile.

“Like it?” she replied, astonished. “I love it!” Trixie visibly wriggled in pleasure at that. “What blend of tea is this?” she asked as she took another, much more appreciative, sip. It was common knowledge amongst their subjects that their diarchs' preferential beverage of choice was as iconic as the Princesses themselves: Princess Luna enjoyed coffee —the stronger the better— whilst Princess Celestia was the archetypical tea drinker. Being Celestia's personal student and protégé meant that Twilight had been exposed to tea, tea services, and tea service traditions almost before most ponies learned hopscotch. But she'd never tasted tea like this before!

“It's Zhaneeling.”

For a moment it didn't register; Twilight actually had to dig through her formidable memory to pull up that reference but, once she had . . .

Her jaw dropped, and again her eyes widened in astonishment. “Zhaneeling?” Then something else caught her full attention; her eyes dropped to the tea service itself, gazing intently at the design, at the individual pieces, at the oddly geometric patterns they possessed. “Trix—” she lightly coughed, clearing a catch in her throat. “Trixie . . . is this what I think it is?”

Taking a delicate sip of her own tea Trixie gazed across the rim of her cup as it hovered before her. “It's from the Aubric Dynasty, yes.”

“H-how?” she stuttered. “W-w-why?” The Aubric dynasty was an ancient and revered Gryphonic line and, unless her memory was playing her false —something that never even crossed her mind might happen— Zhaneeling was an extremely rare Gryphonic tea that was normally reserved for their Royal line.

“I just wanted this to be something special for you.”

Having already tasted her own hoof mere minutes ago Twilight fought back the immediate, knee-jerk reaction: that Trixie was just grandstanding again, being ostentatious and putting on airs. And it was a good thing she had, too, since it took just an instant to realize that, once more, what she was seeing was shy reservation instead of gloating victory. That truly puzzled Twilight, but only for another heartbeat before the actuality suddenly hit her.

Socially awkward she might still remain at times, but she was also very much —in action as well as name— the Princess of Friendship now, and whether it was a result of her gradually-expanding experience, or truly was from that Magic, now and then Twilight was the recipient of blinding epiphanies.

This was one of those moments.

Sun and Moon! She . . . she just wants to be liked. She just wants me to like her!

She took another sip, rolling her eyes and moaning semi-orgiastically, a grin spreading across her face at Trixie's reaction to her enjoyment. “If everything else is only half as good as this, I'd say you've succeeded!” But then she grew serious, hating having to do so, but she still hadn't said what she'd meant to say at the very beginning.

Trixie noticed that change of expression, her own becoming almost blankly neutral and reserved. Twilight hated that, too, and quickly waved her hoof in a calming gesture. “I had something I wanted —well, needed, to be honest— to say when I first arrived.”

Taking a deep, calming breath she gazed directly into Trixie's eyes, her own frank, candid and sincere. “I want to apologize for disrespecting, and violating, your privacy. I had no right to do that.” This time she held her hoof up in a stilling gesture, stopping Trixie before she could reply as she so obviously was about to do.

“I broke into your home. Multiple times, not just that night. I set surveillance crystals inside without your knowledge or permission. I used a dispersion ring on you, and I foalnapped —well, falsely imprisoned you; not that the law would likely split that hair— you. And, possibly, worst of all . . .”

Twilight trailed off, taking another deep breath before gustily exhaling. “At the moment I'm neither sorry I did any of that, nor do I regret doing it.”

Trixie had started tensing up, especially at the “worst of all” portion, but was quite startled at what Twilight actually wound up saying.

Taking another bracing sip of tea Twilight finished, her eyes now gazing at the shimmering fluid under her muzzle, “I'm saying 'at the moment' because, if any of that has hurt you, has offended, wounded or upset you, in any way, then, yes, I'd be exceptionally sorry and extremely regretful.”

There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence for almost a minute, as they both just sat there sipping their tea, before Trixie finally replied. “Trixie must be honest: she is not happy about her privacy being violated.” Twilight winced at that but kept quiet. “Privacy is all Trixie has left to her name,” and again Twilight cringed. “But, as for the rest?” Her teacup gently settled atop its saucer. “She is not sure yet how to feel. And, again in all honestly, she won't know what to feel about that until she has answers.”

Twilight simply nodded. “Please. Ask,” she said in a soft, humble tone.

Gesturing to the tray of food she motioned for Twilight to select. It all looked quite delicious, so she started off with one of the small hoof sandwiches, that particular one alfalfa sprouts, with daisy blossom and young dandelion bud purée. Her eyes closed in dreamy bliss as she bit into it, the exquisite flavors sending a frisson rippling through her.

“How, and why?” Trixie asked, taking one of the scones and pulling it into two before adding a small spoonful of black raspberry jam atop each half, spreading it with a butter knife before topping that off with a dollop of clotted cream.

“I assume you mean 'How did I find out' and 'Why did I do what I did'?” When Trixie nodded Twilight nodded back before continuing . . . after first taking another bite of that divine sandwich.

“Well, as to how . . . remember back when you first moved here? That first week? When I dropped by with a book for you?” Based upon Trixie's sudden brilliant blush she certainly did remember!

Twilight struggled to keep from grinning as Trixie lifted both hooves up to her face, covering her eyes as she ducked her head. “Umm . . . I see you do remember.”

Trixie certainty did! She'd had a difficult time that morning, and had felt incredibly strained and miserable, and so had decided a little “stress relief” would go well for that afternoon. In fact, she'd been restrained virtually the exact same way as she had been several nights ago, and had just reached that dreamy, blissful “zone” when there had come a knock at her door and, much worse, the cheery upbeat voice of Twilight herself! She'd almost sprained herself getting everything off of her —setting a new speed record for doing so in the process— and had hastily jammed everything out of sight before answering the door.

“I'd first found The History of The Illusionati among some books donated to the new Castle Library,” she explained. “I'd thought it was just another fictional account, at least until I'd read the foreword,” she continued, taking another bite of her sandwich, polishing the tidbit off by popping it into her mouth before licking her lips. “That's when I realized it was a translation of a book that predated the Founding, back before the Three Tribes were united. I'd been wanting to give you that book as soon as I'd found it, but I didn't know where you were. Not, at least, until you returned to Ponyville.”

Trixie paused a moment before taking another bite of her scone. “You had started explaining about the book when you gave it to Trixie,” she said, peering up at Twilight through thick lashes. “But then you seemed to get, well, flustered.”

The watercress, timothy and pinenut sandwich hesitated in its path towards Twilight, who was currently looking rather sheepish. “Ah . . . well . . . yes,” she admitted. “I did get flustered. And distracted. You see,” she paused long enough to take a small bite of that one, and again couldn't keep from moaning in gastronomic delight. “I'd thought I saw something familiar, and it took me by so much surprise I lost my train of thought and just startled fumbling. Especially since I was trying not to stare and positively confirm what I'd thought I was seeing.”

“And that was?” Trixie asked, already having her suspicions.

“Ah,” she ahh-ed, then lopsidedly grinned. “Honestly? Your coat, especially around your muzzle and head, was, well, was matted in a way that I was sure I recognized. And you'd also seemed a little breathless and, erm . . . “distracted”.”

Trixie just covered her face with her hooves a second time, feeling her cheeks heat up again.

“Does it help any to know that I recognized that because I've seen the exact same thing when I look in a mirror after I'm done?”

Twilight's voice was soft; kind and understanding, with just the gentlest touch of commiserative teasing; enough so that Trixie surprisingly found herself softly giggling in response. Lowering her hooves she felt a grin on her face as she gazed across the table at her guest. Taking a sip of tea she was startled to hear herself say, “And if Trixie wished to see that for herself?”

Trixie felt herself freeze at that, shocked that she'd actually spoken that out loud; Twilight's reaction was similar, except she appeared to have locked eyes with a cockatrice. She was absolutely motionless, and Trixie wasn't sure she was even breathing. The only sign of life was the soft pink that dotted her cheeks, a coloration that, over the next few seconds, both deepened and spread.

Twilight was fervently grateful she hadn't been levitating that fragile teacup right at that moment, for she was positive her control would have faltered and wound up dropping it. Every muscle felt frozen in place . . . except for her heart, which was absolutely pounding like crazy. She doesn't mean it that way, a panicky voice was gibbering. She just meant that as equivalent retaliation; tit-for-tat; getting to do for herself what I've already done. Yeah. Yeah . . . that's it.

She felt stricken at that logical conclusion. It was understandable, but oh! how she wished it was for another reason!

“I wouldn't mind,” she finally whispered. “I wouldn't mind at all.”

Shattered Illusions

Shattered Illusions

It was very quiet, both mares' gazes flitting everywhere except at each other. An awkward sort of quiet, actually, and as it continued unbroken both grew increasingly fidgety and diffident.

Twilight took a sip of that marvelous tea, that slurp sounding shockingly loud; Trixie took a dainty nibble of a sugar biscuit, the crunch echoing like a calving glacier. Their ears kept flicking back and forth, unable to settle on any one position.

“Ah—” “Umm—”

Shy little grins spread across their faces as they simultaneously opened their mouths to speak. Twilight magnanimously gestured for Trixie to proceed, a wider smile indicating that that sacrifice was as much to keep from going first as well as for manners.

Her ears flicking back and forth, Trixie took a moment before speaking. “Promise . . . promise you won't laugh?”

Immediately Twilight became totally serious. “I can't promise that, Trixie. Not without having any idea what it is you might say. But,” she held up a hoof, her eyes soberly gleaming, “I will promise you that, if I do laugh, it won't be at you, but with you. Cross my heart, And hope to fly,” she gravely vowed, suiting words to actions as she drew a hoof in front of her chest, making a cross before fluttering her wings, “Stick a cupcake in my eye,” she finished, pantomiming just that very action.

Trixie blinked, darting her eyes to the side. She swore she'd just seen a flash of pink.

“Ah,” she finally started. “Trixie would like to point out that Twilight no longer has to hope to fly,” she weakly smiled, wanting her to know that was meant —mostly— as a joke. “Very well then. What Trixie was about to say,” she levitated up her teacup, as did Twilight, and took a sip. “Was that she was wondering if this was what “first date jitters” were supposed to feel like.”

Well . . . Twilight didn't laugh.

Trixie's eyes flew open as Twilight did a literal spit-take, caught right in the midst of sipping her tea. Frothy bubbles burbled up her muzzle and into her nose; she rocked back, snorting and sneezing . . .

And then she laughed, a bright, merry sound even as she levitated up the serviette and began blotting muzzle and chest.

Trixie never even had a chance to cringe at that laughter, for it was so sudden, so silly and joyous that she found herself, instead, smothering a grin behind her hooves.

“Hooo!” Twilight finally gusted, giggles still erupting now and then. Glancing down she blushed before hastily blotting the spotted tablecloth. “I made a mess,” she apologetically said. “I'm sorry.”

Trixie just waved that off, dismissing it with an idle hoof gesture. Her head tipped to one side as she said, “At the risk of setting you off again,” which had, of course, resulted in inducing another spate of giggles, “Trixie would like to know why that was so funny.”

Twilight's eyes were dancing as she finally looked at Trixie again. “Because what I was going to say was the very same thing!”

They took a couple of minutes to repair the unintentional “damage”, then topped off teacups before Trixie fetched a fresh, albeit unfolded, napkin for her guest.

Although knowing they were both feeling “jittery” while in one way was a relief, that understanding didn't exactly dispel those feelings. Especially for Twilight, who was still in the grip of the same impulsive urgency —if not obsession— driving her. Taking a testing sip of the newly-refilled cup she braced herself before gazing at Trixie once more.

She looked completely calm and at ease. Inside, however, she was feeling jerky, tense and trembly.

She felt like that quite often, actually, although not even her closest friends were truly aware of the dichotomy between what she outwardly presented to the world and how she inwardly felt. In fact, out of everypony, truly only Spike knew of that awful duality.

Well, Spike . . . and now Princess Luna, for ever since her return and redemption there was no way The Princess of The Night could remain unaware of the frequent night terrors Twilight experienced.

“I meant what I'd said,” she began. “I wouldn't mind at all. You wanting to see that, I mean.” She paused a moment before continuing, literally forcing words out that she badly wanted to just freely flow from her. “Or wanting to see me . . . like I saw you. Or, well . . .,” she trailed off, not out of reticence or insecurity, but simply because —typical of her— she hadn't really thought out ahead of time what to say.

I. Will. Not. Mess. This. Up!

Words started tumbling from Twilight and, this time, she simply allowed them to surge free without mentally censoring them . . . or cataloging, listing, optimizing, or anything else.

“I did have an ulterior motive for bringing you The History of The Illusionati,” Twilight confessed. “And that was it gave me an excuse to come visit you. Which is something I very badly have been wanting to do.”

Trixie just watched, her eyes calm. Unbeknownst to her, however, she was feeling exactly as Twilight was: displaying an outward calm while yet tense and anxious inside.

“I've been wanting a chance to sit down with you and just talk,” she said. “Ever since that first day.” A flicker of irritation danced across her features. “But you ran off before I could even say anything. And, well, the second time . . . Hey!” she blurted, seeing Trixie suddenly cringe, her head visibly drawing down to her shoulders as she wilted in humiliation and shame. “Stop that!”

Trixie reared back a little, startled at Twilight's outburst, and then feeling even more so at her glare.

“So you made a big mistake with the Alicorn Amulet. Big deal,” she said, which shocked Trixie even more.

“B-b-but Trixie exiled you! She . . . she made servants out of everypony! Because . . .,” she hung her head in shame and whispered, “Because Trixie was jealous of you . . . and she had no reason to be.”

“So?”

Twilight's simple response so shocked Trixie that her head jerked up as her jaw dropped.

“I was never upset at you the first time you were in Ponyville,” she said. “The blunt fact is, Trixie, that everything that happened your first visit here was somepony else's fault.”

Twilight's eyes pinned Trixie to her seat. “Let's go backwards, shall we? First off, you had nothing at all to do with an Ursa Minor running riot through town. That was completely Snips' and Snails' fault. So right there I would never have held you responsible. But here's something you've never known: I felt a great deal of respect and admiration for you because of what you did.”

“Because of . . . what Trixie did?” she repeated, her voice cracking.

“You knew you couldn't banish an Ursa Major, didn't you.”

Trixie jerkily nodded, the mere memory of that night making her feel nauseous.

“So . . . why did you even try?”

The question caught Trixie by surprise, her eyes darting towards Twilight's and, finding them, found herself transfixed by the intense gaze.

“I mean, why would anypony stand there and try banishing such a huge, dangerous beast if they knew they couldn't? I would think they ought to just run off, wouldn't you? And if they didn't run off right away, then at least run away after their first attempt failed. That sounds like the smart thing to do, don't you agree?”

Twilight wasn't looking for an answer and, to be honest, wasn't expecting one either.

“But . . . you didn't. Run away, that is. You didn't run off and leave Snips and Snails there all alone facing the Ursa. You didn't run off and leave the town defenseless right at that moment. You couldn't have known anypony had gone and fetched me; all you knew was that if you had run off there was nopony else between the town and that Ursa.”

Trixie just sat there, eyes wide, feeling an odd icy chill inside her, utterly stunned and speechless. How had Twilight known that? And why was she making it sound as if Trixie had been brave? She had most certainly not been brave! She could still remember how her legs had felt like rubber, how her bowels had turned to water, seeing the huge form of the Ursa looming over her. But what else could she have done? Just ran off and left those two little colts there? Just left the Ursa to run wild?

Not having other choices didn't make anypony brave, though.

“You know,” Twilight continued, her eyes mild but a strange throbbing anger had grown in her voice, “it's always truly angered me that nopony else has ever wondered about any of that; wondered why you stood there and braved the Ursa. Why you tried to banish it, even when knowing you couldn't. All they seem to want to fixate on is the Alicorn Amulet incident, and gossip about that first visit here of yours. And if my friends hadn't been acting like PHSing nags that first visit . . . what?”

Twilight paused, seeing Trixie's abrupt reaction, a mingled expression of shock and surprised scandalization.

“Ah,” she nodded, catching on. “What? You think I'm too much a goody-two-horseshoes to use language like that?”

“It . . . it was a bit, well, unexpected,” she diplomatically replied.

Twilight took another sip of tea, savoring the rich, complex flavors as she sought to control her temper, feeling the same, familiar rush of anger she always felt remembering those events.

“Yeah, well, they weren't expecting to hear that from me, either.”

Astonishment flowed through Trixie at that. “You . . . said that to them?” she breathlessly asked.

“Yup,” she bluntly replied. “I called them PHSing nags. I also told them that the next time they acted like hormonal harpy harridans around me they could go spend time with somepony else, because I wasn't having anything to do with them.”

Trixie's mouth was working but no sound was issuing, and now there was no mistaking the fuming anger that smoked from Twilight.

“For Faust's sake Trixie!” the agitated alicorn almost exploded. “You're a performer! You're supposed to act larger than life! It's part of the act! I've seen magical acts before, and I was really looking forward to seeing yours. I hadn't attended a performance like yours for several years, and I could sense you really were powerful and talented, so I was eager to see what sort of tricks and illusions you could do.

“I've always been impressed by performers. I can't imagine the courage it takes to stand in front of a crowd and put on a show! Well, actually I can,” she admitted, her coat twitching as she delicately shivered. “Princess Celestia asked my friends and I to perform The Hearth's Warming Eve Pageant in Canterlot a few years back.” She gazed right at Trixie. “I will tell you this right now: If it hadn't been that I was doing that with friends, and it was a bunch of us doing the play, and that it was a play that everypony was familiar with, I would never have managed to get a word out. I would have frozen on stage . . . assuming they could have gotten me out on stage in the first place! But, you?”

Taking another sip, her eyes never shifted from hers. “You were all by yourself. Performing in front of strangers. Performing your own, original acts. Anypony that can do that is amazing to me, and awfully impressive. But instead of just enjoying your act for what it was, my friends started heckling you.

“I can't say that you handled the heckling in the best possible, tactful way there was,” she honestly said, “but, even so, again you impressed me because you did deal with that. I would have folded up like a house of cards and probably ran off, humiliated and in tears. But you! You stood up to them! You let them challenge you, you accepted their challenge, and you responded in kind, besting them at their own game.

“That might not have been the best way of dealing with them,” she repeated. “And I'm not saying it was right to do what you did, either. But I am saying that how you were treated that day was definitely wrong.”

“You know, the town treated the Flim Flam brothers better than they did you,” she almost spit, “And those two are con artists! They almost scammed the Apple family out of Sweet Apple Acres! So what happened the next time they showed up?” she growled before shaking her head. “Don't even get me started!”

Trixie was pretty sure Twilight was already was past “getting started”. But that was a truly distant part of her thoughts, because everything else was tied up in knots over what else she had been saying.

really looking forward to seeing yours . . . sense you really were powerful and talented . . . eager to see what sort of tricks and illusions you could do

Twilight was still going on, but she had faded into the background, lost in the roaring, surging surf of those words which kept echoing on and on and on.

really looking forward to seeing yours . . . sense you really were powerful and talented . . . eager to see what sort of tricks and illusions you could do

Trixie could not . . .simply could not . . . be hearing what she thought she was hearing. There was a tightness to her chest that was making it hard to breath, and along with that was an odd pain. Twilight . . . Princess Twilight . . . the personal protégé, the private student of Princess Celestia herself . . . the unicorn —now alicorn— acknowledged throughout all Equestria as the premier Mage of her time . . . she had wanted to see Trixie's show? She thought Trixie was powerful and talented?

Suddenly she realized it was silent; her eyes focused to the here and now, and her face flushed seeing Twilight looking at her, head cocked a bit to one side. “You OK?”

Trixie gave a jerky nod. “Just . . . just a lot to think about,” she said, verbally dodging being specific, and not wanting to admit she'd missed hearing whatever Twilight had been recently saying.

Twilight nodded in return, certainly understanding, and in utter agreement. She took a few moments to finish off her watercress, timothy and pinenut hoof sandwich before selecting a raspberry tart this time.

Popping the tart inside she munched, swallowed then licked her lips with a yummy sigh. A sip of tea and she was ready to continue. “So, as I was saying, part of the reason I'd brought over The History of The Illusionati was, well . . . as an icebreaker. I wanted a reason to just stop by that hopefully wouldn't just have you shut me down. But the plain and simple fact is, is that since the moment I found that book my first thought was of you.”

“Me?” Trixie almost squeaked. Why me?

“Yes. You,” Twilight affirmed, nodding. “This copy of The History of The Illusionati isn't a fictional account.” Her voice started growing more and more excited as she continued. “It's the actual translation of a book written back before the Three Tribes were united. It predates the Founding.”

The Illusionati were (allegedly) a secretive cabal of unicorn illusionists that lurked in the shadows, pulling the strings and levers of power to forward their ambitions. As benefited a secret society there existed no clear proof —one way or the other— of their existence, or lack thereof. The most commonly accepted explanation ascribed to their disappearance in current times —again, assuming they had ever actually existed to begin with— was the unification of the Tribes followed by the ascension of Princesses Celestia and Luna to the throne of Equestria.

(The second most commonly accepted belief was that The Illusionati continued to live amongst ponykind and that, as the Masters of Illusion they were, how would anypony know?)

“There is a lot of references to illusion and illusionary spells,” Twilight continued. “So I immediately thought of you as soon as I started reading it.”

“You did?” she managed to say, her throat tight.

“Of course I did!” Twilight exclaimed, for all the world sounding as if someone had just declared the sky was blue or water was wet. “You're the best illusionist I know,” she stated, still in that same tone. “And quite possibly the strongest of our generation. Why wouldn't I think of you?”

There was a tight, singing tension centered in Trixie, and in the middle of that a hollow, yawning, all-devouring void. Seconds passed, and Twilight began looking puzzled and confused at her. Trixie felt herself standing on the precipice of that void, feeling the ice of that nothingness hungrily drafting around her.

A nothingness that was her.

She closed her eyes, a teardrop shimmering at the corners.

“Trixie?” Twilight started, alarm suddenly surging through her.

Instead of replying, a faint pink aura shimmered about Trixie's horn. There came the sound like that of a tuning fork being struck by a padded hammer. Instead of producing a single tone, however, this sound slowly rose in pitch, within seconds vibrating almost beyond hearing. It held there for a moment . . .

Virtually the entire inside of the wagon took on the same soft hue as Trixie's horn. No sooner had that happened, then that tone went vibrato before suddenly descending in timbre. It crashed through the bass register and, as it did . . .

The inside of the wagon silently flashed.

Twilight blinked out of reflex, for the light itself hadn't been painful, nor had it been all that bright. The accompanying wash of magic, however . . .

Trixie still just sat there, eyes closed, her cheeks showing a trail of silent tears.

It took Twilight only a moment to understand what had just happened. For one thing, she truly was skilled in magic, and recognizing a dismissal spell was foal's play to her. For another . . .

She slowly looked around the wagon, the interior of which was drastically changed from just mere moments ago. The rich, vibrant colors and decorations were gone, replaced instead by chipped and peeling paint, faded hues, and worn curtains. The elegant tea service was now an obvious second-hoof one, with several mismatched pieces, some with chips or scratches. The beautiful lead crystal tea containers and water glasses were simple glass.

In fact, the only things that hadn't changed were the food, the salamander . . . and a pointed hat and cloak that forlornly hung from inside a shadowed nook.

In a voice utterly devoid of all emotion Trixie finally spoke. “Trixie is nothing but a fake. A fraud and a phoney.”

Author's Note

Major edit adding additional info (reference comments)

Picking Up The Pieces

Picking Up The Pieces

Twilight Sparkle sat there, utterly stunned and astonished. Over the last few months she'd been inside Trixie's wagon several times, and at no point had she been aware of the amount of the spells, or the magnitude of their power, that, obvious to her now, had been woven into the very fabric there. And she'd looked for spells, too!

Well, of course she'd looked! When somepony was about to, for all intents and purposes, burgle somepony's residence, of course they'd check for magical spells!

But all Twilight had ever detected were simple spells that anypony might have in their homes; well, except for that cunningly-secured locker. Then again, since she'd seen —courtesy of her surveillance crystals— the very personal items that Trixie kept stored inside that, the amount of illusionary and abjuration spells cast upon it had certainly been understandable.

Granted, she'd also assumed the repairs, painting, and furnishings had been things that Trixie had performed or accumulated during the months since she'd originally moved here, for Twilight certainly remembered how the wagon had looked that first day. Given all that, she hadn't had any reason to suspect illusionary magics at work. But the fact was that, regardless of that understanding, she'd still probed for any sign or touch of spellcraft and hadn't detected anything at all, let alone anything suspicious.

Twilight certainly didn't think of herself as anypony special or remarkable, but neither did she suffer —any longer, anyway— from excessive self-deprecation where it came to her magical prowess. She knew what skills she possessed, and where her talents lay, and, all modesty notwithstanding, she knew she should have, at the very least, sensed something. But . . .

But, she hadn't.

That both mystified her as well as fired up her curiosity. In fact, so much so that it took almost half a minute for her forebrain to catch up with what her ears had heard.

Trixie is nothing but a fake. A fraud and a phoney.

Her head snapped around; her eyes locked unto Trixie like they were iron filings and she a lodestone. And, as she took in Trixie's expression, her insides knotted.

Twice now Twilight had faced Trixie after what virtually everypony were calling “duels”. Twilight didn't see them as that, even though, yes, their second encounter had started with, and ended with, a magical challenge between them. Regardless of what anypony had called them, Trixie had come out the loser in both yet, both times, although she might have been bested, she hadn't been defeated. She'd radiated an unquenchable spirit, a fire that, although dimmed, refused to be extinguished.

Defeated didn't come close to what Twilight was seeing. Trixie looked, and sounded, broken.

And that was just wrong.

She felt her twisted insides suddenly freeze as a horrible thought occurred to her. She knew the Alicorn Amulet had been a truly dangerous artifact. Truthfully, because of its corrupting nature when used it was also very much a cursed item. Twilight had been so relieved after having successfully tricking Trixie into removing it, and then being able to safely secure it, that, for one of the extremely rare times in her life, she hadn't conducted any further research. Instead, she'd been content with the knowledge gleaned from a book in her library, the same one which had depicted the artifact and had been the source of the information her friends, and then Twilight herself, had used to overcome Trixie.

The book had said that the Amulet both blessed its user with untold powers but also corrupted them as well, perverting their nature the more it was used. It had also warned that the Amulet could not be removed by anypony other than the user, which had, of course, necessitated the scheme to trick Trixie into removing it herself.

But that was all that book had said, and Twilight had never thought to do any additional research into the Alicorn Amulet.

Looking at Trixie, she felt sick to her stomach, wondering if that lapse of intellectual curiosity might not be having tragic results. Could having used that thing left some sort of lasting damage to Trixie?

Could it still be continuing to have dreadful effects on her?

Trixie just sat there, looking beaten and crushed, silvery tears wending trails down the bright blue of her cheeks, eyes still closed, head hanging.

Twilight felt the familiar tide of panic begin rising. What should she say? She'd already been sitting there in silence for quite some time now after Trixie had brokenly confessed, and the longer she waited to say something the worse things were going to become. But she hadn't any idea what to say!

Her throat tightened. Her mouth dried up. She felt sick to her stomach. She took a deep breath, holding her hoof to the center of her chest, about to do the calming exercise Cadence had taught her, when, instead . . .

Closing her eyes she imagined a calm, still center deep within herself, a core that had always existed there but had only truly prospered and flowered these last few years, until finally fully blossoming with the assumption of her Royal Duties. Opening her innermost self wide open she silently cried out: Help me.

Several agonizing seconds passed, and then, slowly at first, Twilight felt an incredible sense of peace and tranquility fill her, starting at that core and expanding outwards like a slow-motion explosion.

“Some ponies misunderstand the reason behind Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns,” she began, her voice calm and serene. “There's always those who feel that smacks of tribalism; that Her Highness only cares about unicorn ponies, that she thinks they're more special than earth ponies or pegasus ponies.

“That's not true, you know. Yes, it's true that it's the only school she officially sponsors, per se. But the Crown also sponsors many other schools, too, ranging from ones for disadvantaged families to ones for other gifted ponies. But there's a reason Princess Celestia created her School for Gifted Unicorns, and that has everything to do about what makes us different from the other two tribes.”

She took a moment to take a sip of tea. Her nose wrinkled at the taste; it wasn't that she disliked Earl Neigh, but . . .

Three cubes —her standard tea addition— plopped into the cup; lifting up the stirring spoon Twilight blended the dissolving sweetener into the beverage, then settled the spoon down as she contentedly took another sip.

Trixie was just looking at Twilight, her lashes stuck together with unshed, upwelling tears, her expression still crushed and beaten, but now with a touch of puzzled curiosity, unable to figure out what Twilight was talking about . . . or what the point was supposed to be.

“Unicorns differ from earth and pegasus ponies in one very important area: their magics are passive; ours are active. Her School for Gifted Unicorns isn't for unicorns who are brilliant, talented, or have potential in standard areas, like science, mathematicians, arts, or the like . . . although most of us who attend there are also that as well. It's for unicorns that display potential in magical power and skills.

“There's really not much training that will help earth or pegasus ponies with their particular magics. With a specific talent, yes. For instance, if an earth pony has a special talent for baking, going to culinary school would certainly help. But, as for their innate magic?”

Twilight shook her head. “Let me use two of my friends as examples. Let's start with Applejack. She's an earth pony. Her power derives from the earth, as do all earth ponies. She's strong; very strong, in fact, and with a stamina that matches. Over the years she's strengthened both of those by actively working out, but that's not something a specialized school could have helped her do. Now, learning enhanced farming methods? That's something an advanced education will help with.

“Next let's look at Rainbow Dash. She's a pegasus pony. Her powers are those of flight, air, and weather, the same as all pegasi. And, like Applejack, her ability at flying and at weather control, as well as her agility and stamina, have also increased over time because she trains so hard. And, again like Applejack, those aren't something a specialized school could have helped her with very much.

“Unicorns, now . . .,” Twilight paused, gazing at Trixie over the rim of her teacup as she took another sip. “We're not exactly like that. All of us, to a greater or lesser degree, can levitate and teleport,” and she mentally winced at that mention, and all the more so seeing the expression of humiliation and fear that flickered across Trixie's face. “And, to some degree, all of us can actively access magics. But the keywords there are “to some degree”. And that's the real reason behind her School for Gifted Unicorns.

“Every unicorn, just like every pony, has his or her special talent. Take Lyra, for instance. She is an exceptional musician. You should hear her play sometimes. But she attended the School for Gifted Unicorns, too. Only for a couple of years, true, but that was because her other talent —Enchantment— came late to her, and really is part of her special talent of playing music.

“But it's because of her talent for Enchantment that she attended. And that's what does separate unicorn ponies from earth and pegasus ponies: we're not just limited to our special talent. Almost all of us can access other powers, and that's not something we really can learn on our own. It's not like growing stronger because we keep pulling heavier wagons, or getting more acrobatic because we keep practicing flying. Our ability do to it might be there, but the knowledge to use it isn't.

“For the vast majority of unicorns that's not a difficulty. Either their parents, or most schools, can help teach young fillies and colts how to use those additional skills which, for the most part, aren't very powerful. For instance, a colt might have the special talent of carpentry, but also can “heal” a freshly-cracked board back whole again. Or a filly might have a special talent of pottery, but also can discharge stun bolts.

“But there are those unicorns with the aptitude and potential to do much, much more. Ones that aren't limited to just one or two talents, or even one Discipline. Unicorns like me . . .

“ . . . and you.”

For the first time Twilight received a response from Trixie, even if it was a somewhat slow blink.

“We do learn a lot at the School for Gifted Unicorns that we could learn at another advanced school. Mathematics, Science, Reading and Composition, History . . . I know that bores most everypony else but I lapped that all up like Opal with a bowl of cream.

“Oh, that's right; you haven't met Opalescence. She's Rarity's cat. Well, actually, I think Rarity is Opalescence's pony.

“Anyway, the thing is, although we learn a lot of similar subjects there —although at advanced levels— the real purpose behind the school is to teach talented unicorns . . . talented, not academically, but magically.

“I know you've learned what the Seven Disciplines are: Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, and Transmutation.” She didn't mention the forbidden one, Necromancy, for that was a black Art indeed, proscribed throughout Equestria, declared Anathema by Their Highnesses from the time of the very Founding itself.

“I'm also sure you've had classes, and training, in all of those Disciplines.” Actually she was absolutely positive Trixie had that exposure, having done a little bit of possibly-intrusive prying into her academic records. “Here's something you probably don't know, though.”

After partaking of Zhaneeling, the Earl Neigh was definitely ho-hum. Not bad, mind you, just . . . well, she had undeniably been spoiled within just one cup. Popping another tart —this one blueberry— into her mouth she thoughtfully chewed it, licking her lips after swallowing. The tea had certainly changed taste, but the light fare remained unchanged, every bit as delicious as before.

“All of us that attend school are taught the Seven Disciplines,” she continued. “We're also periodically tested for skills in them, too and, if we show capability then we're also trained in that particular Discipline. That's truly the real purpose behind the School for Gifted Unicorns: those periodic assessments and subsequent training; training we can't get anywhere else in Equestria.

“And here's the something else you probably didn't know: although every unicorn that attends the School for Gifted Unicorns is taught about the Seven Disciplines, and is schooled in the theories of each, only those unicorns that actually have the aptitude and ability for a particular Discipline are actually trained in that.

“Most unicorns are only ever trained in two, perhaps three, Disciplines, and it's a very uncommon and unusual student that is equally powerful in the ones they have. Usually they're quite powerful in one Discipline and weaker in the others.

“It's also very rare for a student to have the aptitude and ability for more than three. And it's extremely exceptional to have a student with the aptitude and ability for all seven. In fact, in our generation there's only been three: Myself. Sunset Shimmer . . .

“And you.”

Trixie blinked again at that. She still was sitting there like one of the undead, and except for those occasional eyeblinks she might very well have been one. But she was listening.

She had no idea why Princess Twilight was going on the way she was doing. Honestly, she was so numb inside that she no longer was caring about anything. Once Trixie had confessed what a charlatan she really was, she'd fully expected her to just excuse herself, claiming something unexpected had come up, and leave.

All Trixie had wanted was to do something nice for somepony else for once in her life, and for no other reason than just, well . . . just because. If this brunch had been something Mother —she mentally flinched and cringed, the same way she always did when thinking of . . . her— had hosted, there would have been one of two reasons for her doing so, and neither would have been anything nice.

Either she desired to stroke somepony's conceit, setting up opportunities to curry future favors, or to draw the subtle distinction that she was superior to her guest. M-mother had never, as far as Trixie had ever been able to discern, simply held any sort of party, gathering or get-together without those ulterior motives. Granted, also as far as Trixie had ever been able to ascertain, neither had anypony else in their elite social circle.

In point of fact, Trixie painfully admitted to herself, had she hosted this last year she, too, would have wanted to flaunt her superiority over Princess Twilight, entertaining as well as upstaging and scorning as only her M-mother could have taught somepony to do. But, she hadn't wanted anything out of today except to try to do something nice.

And she'd even failed at that.

She was drowning in bleak despair, fully surrendering to the darkness that was always at her core now. She'd really, really wanted Princess Twilight to like her. But how could anypony like a liar? A fake? A trickster?

But something that Princess Twilight had just said finally registered, and before that desolation had closed over her head and consumed her whole she found herself blinking, responding to the words. Did . . . did she just hear Princess Twilight really say what she thought she'd heard?

“There's a reason I'm explaining all this Trixie,” Twilight said, her voice low and soft, but no less penetrating for all that. “So, please . . . just bear with me for a little bit longer?”

Somehow Trixie found the energy to give a tiny nod in response.

“There's just the three of us right now,” and something inside of Trixie prickled a bit at hearing the slight but unmistakable emphasis on 'us', “and, while I can't speak for Sunset Shimmer, I can tell you that I can't do what you do. Did.” She gestured about the wagon interior with a wave of a hoof, clearly implying the spells that Trixie had so recently dispelled or dismissed.

“Wait.” Her voice sounded odd as she suddenly interrupted herself. “That's not what I meant. I mean, it is what I meant, just not meaning how that came out. Or sounds. Because it sounds very pompous don't you think? It's not like what I can and can't do are benchmarks or anything like that. Goodness! Saying it that way sounds very egotistical. I mean, really: 'What I can and can't do'. That makes me sound—”

She slithered to a halt as Trixie reached across the table and gently rested a hoof atop hers. “It's OK,” she said, her voice thick and cracking, the tightness in her throat distorting her speech. “I understood.”

Well, that was all that Trixie had understood so far. The rest? Yes, she was aware of everything that Princess Twilight's discourse had mentioned —well, except for disclosing that she belonged to such a select trio— but she had no idea where she was going with her speech. That there was a purpose to all of this, that there was a definitive destination? Of that she had no doubt. She might not have a clue, but she had no doubts at all.

Twilight took a couple of deep breaths, regaining her composure and her focus, nodding in response to Trixie's statement. “OK then, where was I? Oh! Yes.”

Her voice changed back into that pedantic tone. “I studied basic and intermediate illusions, same as you did. Unlike you, I also took advanced illusions.” Twilight tactfully didn't mention the reason why Trixie hadn't taken those courses. “And let me tell you something Trixie . . . illusions are hard.”

That startled Trixie, actually getting her to more fully focus on what Princess Twilight was saying. Illusions weren't hard! Everypony knew that! After all, hadn't her classmates, peers and others continually mocked her over that very fact? Illusions were nothing but smoke and mirrors, pure trickery and deceit. They weren't even strong enough to effect the real world, not like evocations or transmutations could . . . and did!

Princess Twilight's next words simply confirmed her thoughts.

Waving a forehoof in the air, making idle circles, she stated, “Yes, basic illusions are easy. And usually easy to see through. And when you compare a basic transmutation spell versus a basic illusionary one, well . . .”

Looking around for suitable test objects Twilight settled on the sugar cubes. Lifting two out she placed them in the middle of the table. “Watch,” she said. Her horn softly glowed; within seconds there now sat two lustrous, grayish blocks the same dimensions as the (former) sugar cubes.

“There. I've transmuted this one,” she motioned with a hoof, “into iron. The other,” and she gestured to that one, “I've cast a glamer on, to make it appear as if iron. Now we both know what everypony is going to think is the more impressive feat. It's the transmuted one,” she answered herself, tapping the cube in question. “After all, it's real. A magnet will stick to it. It'll rust if it sits out long enough in the damp. It can even be forged. And, unlike this one . . .”

Reaching out a hoof she sharply tapped the other “iron” cube . . . which promptly crumbled into crystals . . . which also broke the illusion. “It remains iron, unless and until it's transmuted again.”

Gazing into Trixie's eyes she softly murmured, “Pretty easy to see why everypony considers illusions to be weak and lame, huh? Especially compared to real spells.”

Trixie numbly nodded; she'd learned that hurtful lesson years ago.

“Here's the thing though Trixie. Let's look at this one here,” she tapped the remaining iron cube, “If I experiment with it, or you do or, for that matter, anypony does, we're all going to realize it's iron. Why? Because it is. That's what transmutation spells do. If I have the ability to cast a transmutation spell —which I obviously do— all I need to do to change something into iron is to know what iron is, all the way down to its very innermost, basic level, and then superimpose that gestalt on whatever I'm casting the spell on. And, when I do . . . voilà!”

Pointing at the cube Twilight theatrically gestured. “It's iron!”

Trixie nodded; again, none of this was news to her, as this was taught in basic orientation classes.

“If you had no idea what iron was, would this still be iron?”

Again Trixie nodded, sniffling back residual tears as she drew a hooftip across her eyes.

“This would be iron to everypony that encountered it. Right?”

“Twilight . . . Trixie does not understand what this is about.”

A knowing smile spread across Twilight muzzle. “Please Trixie; just a little longer, OK?”

Once Trixie had nodded she continued. “This,” she motioned to the remains of the second sugar cube, “was never iron, even though it looked like it. And the moment something happened that wasn't what iron should do —like crumble into pieces— the illusion of iron was broken.

“That's the biggest drawback of illusions, you know: disbelief breaks them. They're recognized as illusions if they're carefully studied, or interacted with it in some fashion.

“Yours don't.”

Twilight's voice had suddenly throbbed, an intensity that send a sharp jolt racing through Trixie. Her eyes rounded as her alicorn guest continued.

Again Twilight motioned to the interior of the wagon. “I looked for spells Trixie! Back when I, ah, erm, well . . .” she trailed off, a sudden blush sweeping her cheeks. “Back when I was setting my crystals,” she gamely admitted before forging on. “But I couldn't sense anything inside here except your, erm, lockeroverthere,” she finished, pointing towards the concealed trunk.

“So, number one,” licking her lips with a swipe of her tongue she continued. “You're casting illusion spells which I can't detect. Ummm . . . not that I'm the best at that, or anything like that.” Groaning she covered her face with her hooves. “It sounds like I'm bragging again,” came her muffled words.

“No, it doesn't.” Trixie assured. “Now, when you start calling yourself 'The Great and Powerful Twi—'”

Trixie squealed as Twilight's hooves came crashing down onto the table, sending the cups and cutlery bouncing in a cacophony of clinks and tinkles. “Don't!” she snapped, literally snarling, her usually calm eyes now fiery and blazing. Stabbing a hoof right at Trixie she growled, “Don't even finish saying that, Trixie! I mean it!”

Swallowing hard, completely shocked at that unexpected outburst, Trixie stared at that jabbing hoof as if it were a serpent about to bite her. Her heart was pounding as if she'd just been struck with a lightning spell. Wide, astonished —and a touch frightened, to be honest— eyes lifted, staring at Twilight, who sat furiously fuming just across from her.

“I don't want to hear you putting yourself down anymore,” she stated, her voice more controlled . . . tightly controlled, actually. And, as a matter of fact, sounding far more like an order than any mere statement had the right to sound. “Am I clear?”

Trixie's head jerkily nodded, so shocked she was unable to speak. And then she got a second, even more profound shock.

“I don't like hearing my friends put themselves down,” she softly murmured, her voice abruptly dropping in volume, her ears flagging back. “It hurts me inside hearing them when do that.”

“Your . . . friends?” Trixie asked, sounding mouse-like as she almost squeaked. Trixie wasn't sure she'd heard that right; actually, she was positive she'd heard it right, but was somehow misunderstanding. Because the way Twilight was phrasing that . . . that would mean . . .

“My friends,” Twilight nodded. “Like you.”

“Like me?” This time it really was an astonished squeak. “Your friend?”

Twilight gravely gazed into Trixie's wide, astounded eyes. “My friend, yes. If,” she suddenly sounded shy and unsure, “If you wouldn't mind, that is.”

“But . . . why?”

The room was blinded by a dazzling, mischievous smile. “Hell-lo?” she grinned, suddenly extended her wings and gently fanning them. “Princess of Friendship, remember? Kinda what I do now?” Her expression grew serious again as, with a practiced, fluttering flap, she folded them back against her sides. “But mostly because I want to get to know you better than I do. You're somepony I'd like to spend time with. And because, as I was saying earlier, you really impress me. ”

Twilight's horn began softly glowing. Trixie couldn't figure out what was going on at first. It wasn't until her hat, now also surrounded in that selfsame glow, started floating her way that she figured out what Twilight was focusing her attention upon. She just silently watched, slowly rounding eyes following its path as it drifted her way, closer . . . closer . . . closer . . .

It lowered atop her head, settling in place as lightly as the down of an infant gryphon. Trixie blinked, feeling a shiver ripple across her skin, her coat twitching as if shaking off a hundred flies.

Twilight took a sip of tea before selecting a scone. “Start wearing that again Trixie. It becomes you. And,” she added, her eyes softly gleaming, “it's also who you are.”

Author's Note

Honestly, at some point I'll get through this brunch . . . I hope. :twilightsheepish:

Unexpected Company To The Nth Power

Unexpected Company To The Nth Power

Savoring a post-breakfast cup of coffee outdoors wasn't something Trixie had enjoyed in a very long time and, although it might be considered extremely brisk even for late fall, the temperature didn't bother her in the least.

Of course, the fact that she'd cast a spherical warming spell centered on her table might have more than a little bit to do with her being so comfortable. Well, physically comfortable, at any rate.

It hadn't been the temperature, or anything at all to do with the environment, that had been keeping her sheltered within her wagon. Well, the latter hadn't been always correct; her first week living on Ponyville's outskirts had seen the most unusual weather. It had been rather . . . odd . . . just how many minor storm clouds had chosen to hover over her clearing.

Trixie had no idea who had said what to whom, but that peculiar weather had ceased the day she'd arrived in Ponyville one morning to help clean Town Hall in order to earn a few bits. Mayor Mare had been quite surprised to see a soaked and dripping unicorn showing up for work . . . especially since the weather was bright, clear and sunny, and had been scheduled that way for weeks.

At least the daily showers had been good for the flowers and trees.

Even though the weather had become more accommodating, Trixie simply hadn't felt any desire to just sit, relax and enjoy anything even as simple as a cup of good coffee. She ate because she was hungry; not because she had any appetite, but in order to stifle the pains and pangs of gnawing hunger. She drank for the same reason: to keep from dehydrating and having thirst nag her.

She ate, drank and slept to survive; to exist.

Not to live.

No, that had died the day she'd finally accepted what everypony had been telling her for years, one way or another: that she'd never be a success with her magic; that her opinion of her skills and talents were blown way out of proportion; that, if she continued stargazing instead of knuckling down and learning real skills and spells, she was looking at a lifetime of failure.

Realizing that she'd sunk so low as to willingly use an item she'd known was cursed for no other reason than due to simple jealousy was the final act.

Taking a sip of coffee she sightlessly gazed out towards the stand of pines that surrounded her clearing. A lot had occurred over these last five days, particularly when compared to the last few years, and Trixie wasn't sure, really, what to make of everything that had happened, and double-especially so having discovered that, out of everypony in existence, Princess Twilight Sparkle wanted to be friends with her.

Well, possibly more than just “friends”, based upon what they'd talked about during their last visit just yesterday. Oh, not that kind of friend —she felt her cheek heat up at that— but, well . . . definitely a bit more than merely somepony on good terms with another, or attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard. They still hadn't worked that aspect out, which was one reason they had another date —well, social appointment; “date” also had her blush for some reason— for tomorrow night, this time at Princess Twilight's castle, hopefully to more completely thrash out things, and —again, hopefully— reach some sort of decision, conclusion, or understanding between them. They also had an additional appointment for this afternoon, too; Twilight was really eager to learn more about Trixie's salamander acquaintance.

Tendrils of fragrant steam wreathed her muzzle, like phantasmal garlands of scent and warmth twining her within their embrace, as she took another sip and let her mind wander back to what had turned out to be a truly extraordinarily astounding and revelatory brunch . . .

* * * * *

Trixie just gawped at Twilight, shocked to her core. But before her words could truly sink deep inside . . . her hat slipped forwards, covering her eyes.

Before she could reflexively reach up and fix it the wagon echoed with peals of poorly-smothered giggles. Pushing it back up into place, Trixie found herself lifting a brow at the mirthful hyena changeling across from her. Alas, her expression —although quite old-schooled, resembling that of a nanny displeased with the obedience (or, more accurately, the lack thereof) of her rambunctious charge— had quite the opposite effect, sending Twilight into gales of full, deep, rich laughter.

In the past such laughter (and not in the all that distant past either), had come perilously close to destroying Trixie. But not this laughter. No, these rollicking guffaws were almost cleansing in their way; refreshing and invigorating. She recalled Twilight's earlier vow —'I will promise you that, if I do laugh, it won't be at you, but with you'— and, for the second time in her life —and both of them today!— she understood that that saying wasn't just polite fiction but could, under the proper circumstances, truly be accurate and honest.

She was shocked when, out of nowhere it seemed, she felt a smile —an honest-to-goodness real smile!— spread across her face.

She felt even more shocked when she waited until her guest had struggled to compose herself . . . and then intentionally lifted her brow once again, exaggerating that motion as well as embellishing the lifted-in-the-air muzzle and accompanying disdainful sniff, pantomiming a stuffed-up, gilded aristo to an amazingly accurate and uncanny degree.

Twilight promptly lost it again, giggling so hard tears sprang in her eyes. Holding her ribs she wheezed out her surrender, begging Trixie for mercy.

“This wasn't exactly how The Gre—”

Twilight's giggles quickly trailed off as Trixie turned white, her eyes suddenly taking on a pained look. “Go on,” she murmured then, when Trixie rapidly shook her head, looking almost frightened, she softly encouraged, “It's OK; go on. Go ahead and finish it.”

Trixie wasn't just apprehensive; terror was coursing through her. “Please . . . don't,” she begged in an anguished whisper.

Twilight cocked her head to the side and then, with a tender smile, she reached out and covered Trixie's hoof with hers. “It's OK,” she assured. “You don't have to if you really don't want to. I promise,” she soothed.

“Thank you,” came the whispered response.

Twilight reassuringly patted Trixie's hoof. “I would like you wearing your hat from now on, though.”

Trixie's ears flipped back and forth, clearly mirroring her uneasiness. “Trixie does not think that would be a very good idea,” she finally said. Seeing that Twilight's cup was almost empty she refilled it from the teapot and, since the teapot itself was mostly empty she guided it over to the sink, rinsing it out before refilling it with the samovar's steamy water. “Thank you again,” she politely said to the salamander curled up beneath.

“Why not?” Twilight asked, quietly watching the proceedings.

There was a bit of silence as Trixie emptied, rinsed out, then repacked the tea infuser before placing it inside the teapot. There were many reasons she didn't wish to be seen in her (formerly) trademark hat and cape, but she finally settled on one of them. “Trixie does not wish to be mocked anymore.” She felt both brows wanting to lift as she saw Twilight's shoulders slump.

“I guess I can't argue with that,” she softly admitted, a sigh escaping flared nostrils. She really wanted to argue, too. Twilight had this, well, feeling, deep inside herself, that there was something about Trixie going back to wearing her characteristic cape and hat that was important. She had a sensation of catharsis, of healing. But no matter how powerfully that sensation was resonating inside herself, she was not going to press the issue. Not right now, not this moment. It was too soon for that.

Trixie was steeling herself, tensing up for an argument. No, not an argument . . . for a demand. It wasn't because it was Twilight making the “request”, it was just years and years of being told what to do weighing heavily on her spirit, corroded into her very being like acid-etched metal, those 'persuasions' couched as “it's for your own good”. In fact, she was so prepared for that certain eventuality that several minutes passed in silence before she finally blurted, “That's it?”

Shocked was an extremely inadequate word to describe the feeling that coursed through her when all Twilight did was nod.

Selecting a scone this time Twilight lifted it over to her plate. Carefully pulling it apart she made a yummy sound. “These look really delicious! What kind are they?”

Trixie, still feeling dumbfounded, replied, “Toasted almond and cherry, with roasted timothy seeds.”

Spreading butter over one half, Twilight took a bite, repeating her earlier sound with even more enthusiasm. Munching her mouthful she swallowed then licked her lips. “What?” she asked. “Did I get butter all over my muzzle?”

Trixie just shook her head.

“Really?” Twilight asked. “Because you're looking at me like Rarity does when I get jam on me.”

Ducking her head, Trixie apologized.

“For what?” Twilight asked.

“I . . . ah . . . that is . . .” she stuttered, feeling foolish; even more so as she felt her face ignite. “I guess Trixie just expected you to try persuading her.”

There was something odd about how Trixie had spoken “persuading”, a peculiar tone that, although Twilight couldn't put her hoof on it, nevertheless spoke volumes. I'm glad I didn't push, she thought to herself.

“Nopony likes being made fun of, Trixie,” she said. “If you truly feel that wearing your hat out in public is going to have ponies mock you, whyever would I want to persuade you to do something you fear is going to wind up with you being ridiculed?”

She could see that Trixie was starting to mentally flounder, a circumstance that was distressing Twilight. This was nothing at all like the confident —well, overconfident . . . extremely very overconfident— unicorn Twilight was familiar with. I don't like this, she thought. I don't like this at all, vowing to herself to look into matters much more deeply than she'd already peeked. For now, though . . .

Gently pushing her saucer, empty teacup perched atop, towards Trixie in a silent refill request Twilight picked up on her earlier pedagoguery. “As I was saying,” she continued the earlier thread, “You're casting illusion spells which I can't detect. That's number one.

“Number two, you're casting self-sustaining illusion spells. Most illusion spells either require the caster to remain within a set distance, or have the illusion be fixed in place. And all of them have a finite time limit to them, unless they're also cast along with some sort of evocation or enchantment. And, number three . . .”

Twilight paused, watching as Trixie refilled her teacup. Lifting the new cup up to her muzzle she took a cautious sniff before mentally sighing. Still Earl Neigh. Owell.

Adding the obligatory —for her, anyway— three sugars she stirred the brew until the cubes fully dissolved, then carefully set the spoon down before taking a sip.

“Number three is the fact that you're casting glamers of incredible skill and power. Basic glamers effect the spell target's sensory qualities; they make the spell target look, feel, taste, smell, or sound like something else. In a lot of ways, that's harder to do than it is to just transmute it.”

She took a another bite of the scone, rolling her eyes in bliss at the exquisite taste. Seeing Trixie's expression she lifted a brow. “You look surprised to hear that.”

Well, Trixie was; surprised, that is. Nodding in response she just quizzically looked at Twilight.

“I'll try to explain,” Twilight assured. “When I transmuted this sugar cube to iron,” she began, tapping the cube under discussion with her hoof, “all I needed to know was what iron is. I didn't need to know how anypony would react to iron. OK so far?”

Trixie gave a little nod in response, although she wasn't entirely sure she did understand.

“Now, let's take a different example. Suppose I'd transformed that into a durian fruit?” Twilight had to fight another case of the giggles at Trixie's reaction: her face wrinkled as a look of disgust colored her face. “I see you've experienced durian fruit!” she grinned.

Durian fruit were . . . interesting. The ripe fruits ranged from round to oval, and were roughly two hooves long and perhaps half that in diameter. For most ponies they were an acquired taste, although thestrals devoured them like candy. And the reason they were an “acquired taste” was, well . . .

It was because most ponies couldn't get past the smell of them.

They possessed an unusual flavor and odor that seemed to defy rationality, resulting in ponies expressing descriptions which ranged from deep appreciation to intense disgust. The most common description of their aroma was usually characterized as “fermented gryphon manure, turpentine and onions, garnished with a gym sock”. Other comparisons had been made with sewage, stale vomit, skunk spray and used bandages. The most common effect of opening one of them in an unsuspecting crowd was causing a stampede towards the nearest exits.

Assuming somepony managed to get past that “piquant” smell, they then faced the second line of assault: that of taste. And it was here that explained why durians weren't being burned off the face of Equestria.

Assuming your sinuses (and stomach) survived opening the fruit to begin with, inside the fruit would be found five fleshy pods. These were the edible portion of the fruit, and usually contained around three spiny seeds. The consistency of the fruit was often described as “like rich custard”, while the taste . . .

Durians had no middle ground amongst those that tried them. You either loved them . . . or you chummed your guts out behind a shrub before using a blunt butter knife to scrape the taste off your tongue. Unfortunately, the only way to tell which camp you were in was to actually try one.

“Now, I could easily change this scone here,” Twilight motioned to one of the two remaining, “into a durian. Not that I will!” she giggled, seeing Trixie recoil. “But let's just say that I have, OK?” Once Trixie nodded Twilight asked, “Anypony that saw it, or smelled it, or tasted it . . . would they be able to tell it was a durian?” When Trixie nodded again Twilight added, “Because it was a durian, right?”

She took another sip of tea, watching Trixie as she nodded again. “OK, suppose I wanted to cast a glamer on it? Suppose I wanted to make it an illusionary durian? Would that be easy to do?”

It was obvious to Trixie that she was waiting for an answer from her. “Ye-es,” she hesitantly replied, part of her bracing, feeling as if she was being set up.

“Think about that for a moment Trixie,” Twilight said, her voice suddenly much more serious, her eyes gazing very intently into Trixie's. “A hundred different ponies will have a hundred different responses to how something as complex as a durian tastes to them . . . and smells to them, too. And if any one of them thinks something isn't quite right . . . the illusion breaks. Right? So, honestly, which one do you really think is an easier spell? One that simply changes a scone to a durian, and everypony reacts to that as a durian because it is one? Or one that changes the scent, taste, appearance, texture . . . everything . . . and everypony reacts to that because they all believe it is one?”

“You need to think about that Trixie,” Twilight said. “Because I promise you this: I certainly have been, and will be.”

She deeply gazed into an extremely stunned unicorn's eyes. “And I'll tell you something else: You might be a lot of things Trixie, but you're definitely not a fake, a fraud, or a phoney.”

* * * * *

They never did get back to the original topic that morning, which was understandable and, most likely, a good thing, too, because Trixie had felt as if her mind had been put through a wringer. She still couldn't wrap her head around the concept of Princess Twilight wanting to be her friend, let alone accept that she also firmly believed that Trixie was a powerful magician in her own right. Trying to discuss, in addition to all that, their shared (and potentially embarrassing to talk about) secret passion would have simply resulted in a huge, cosmic mental “tilt”.

Cupping the mug between two hooves (and, truthfully, mostly supporting it via levitation) she sipped the cooling brew. Poor Twilight. It was actually pretty endearing, Trixie thought, recalling how she'd struggled to keep from being distracted by the lure of new knowledge and research that had been juicily dangled in front of her muzzle and, instead, remain focused on the here-and-now . . . and on Trixie herself.

Considering all the standing jokes, witticisms, and stories that existed regarding Twilight and her, well, extreme love of learning (and organization, and lecturing) Trixie had felt oddly flattered and honored seeing that struggle. There was still a big part of her that was cautious about affairs, expecting the other shoe to drop with a dismal, betraying clang sometime in the near future.

Standing up she dismissed the warming spell but left the table and chair outside for now. Heading inside she started cleaning up after her small breakfast. She had plenty of time until Twilight was to show up; several hours, in fact. So, in the meantime, perhaps she might . . .

Her head swiveled around hearing the light rapping at her door. Now who could that be? she wondered. It was far too early for Twilight to be arriving, and Trixie was familiar enough with Derpy's knocking to rule out a mail delivery. Mentally and physically shrugging she stepped over to the door and opened it.

“Twilight?” she said, sounding surprised. “I wasn't expecting you until this afternoon.” Trixie felt a familiar lead sensation in her belly, because Twilight was wearing the oddest expression. So . . . was it time for that other shoe, already?

“Ah . . . I know,” she replied, sounding very peculiar indeed. “But, well . . . you see, they were very eager to meet him.”

“'They'?” Trixie repeated, quite confused.

Her confusion quickly vanished, replaced by a rapidly expanding sensation of consternation as Twilight stepped back down off the porch, giving her a now-clear view . . .

A very clear view, in fact, of two utterly unmistakable alicorns.

“Ah . . . Trixie Lulamoon? May I introduce you to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna?”

Author's Note

The idea of durian fruit (and thestrals love of them) is credited to Raugos and his delightful story Initiation. It's well worth the read!

Coffee, Tea, or Diplomacy?

Coffee, Tea, or Diplomacy?

“Gah.”

As a prefatory address, that left much to be desired. But for the life of her that was all that Trixie could manage at the moment. Her line-of-sight was passing right over Princess Twilight Sparkle's head, her wide, rounded eyes locking onto the other two princesses present.

Twilight's introductions were, of course, formally correct for the occasion, in addition to being polite and courteous.

Dear sweet Celest—her!!

For the purpose of identification, however, the introductions were entirely unnecessary.

Trixie Lulamoon had seen the Sun Princess numerous times as a student at her School For Gifted Unicorns, for Princess Celestia not only held formal, quarterly assemblies for her students, but visited the school on a daily basis. And she'd actually met Her Highness, too; several times, in fact —although something about those personal, private visits had her mentally shying away from accurately recalling them, especially those last few times; so much so that it was physically unsettling to even try making those memories become sharper or clearer— so it would have been impossible to have mistaken her for anypony else.

And as for her sister . . .

Trixie had never met Princess Luna before. In fact, at the time she'd dropped out of the School For Gifted Unicorns she, like virtually all of Equestria, hadn't even been aware of Her Highness' very existence! But, exactly as it had been for her elder sister, there was no possible way of mistaking that second alicorn for anypony else other than The Princess of The Moon!

For both of them it wasn't even the fact that they were alicorns (which quite hoofily, all on its own, had narrowed down the list of possibilities to being just those two). No, it was simply the sheer, blazing sense of presence that both of them radiated, a sensation so strong that, to Trixie, it was physically perceived. Add to that the fact that Princess Luna carried about her an aura of darkness —one that was of the night, and not of maleficence . . . although Trixie was quite aware, now, that that hadn't always been so— as she stood there, her mane and tail gently shifting in a nonexistent breeze, as stars twinkled in their shimmering depths.

Full-blown panic threatened to consume her on the spot as she was suddenly faced with the two most powerful, paramount figures in all of Equestria. She started mentally gibbering, her mind and thoughts unraveling, shredding like weather-worn canvas in a strong gale. Twilight's expression became alarmed, seeing her friend starting to disintegrate, when . . .

A sense of calm serenity descended over Trixie, as years of brutal, relentless training and inculcation came to the fore and enveloped her. Her expression eased, a small yet warm smile spread across her face as she daintily descended from the wagon porch to the ground, once there sinking into an elegant curtsy that would be the envy of even the stuffiest of the Canterlot courtier elite. “Good morrow, and warm welcome, Your Highnesses,” she greeted, her voice taking on a cadence and tone that was entirely unlike anything Twilight was familiar with. “Please, be welcome to my home, modest abode that it be. May Your humble servant be of service today? Perhaps some refreshment? A hot beverage perhaps, to warm you this chill morn?”

“And a warm welcome to you, as well,” Princess Celestia replied, her expression sincerely gracious. “Thank you, but—”

“Coffee,” Princess Luna interrupted her elder sister.

Trixie's gaze shifted towards the Moon Princess.

“Pray thee good mare,” Luna continued, struggling to contain a yawn. “Of your kindness, a cup of coffee would not go remiss. We would gladly give up cake for a month for a cup of coffee.”

Celestia cocked a regal brow and sternly stared at her younger sibling. “That had better be the Royal “We” you're using there, Luna.”

“Now, now 'Tia,” Luna gravely replied, “Surely seeing to the comfort and well being of your sister is worth the sacrifice of a few cakes?” She then dropped her eyes, patently staring at Celestia's flanks. “It is not as if you could not do with a few less of them, after all.”

Celestia imperiously sniffed, refusing to rise to the jibe. “A cup of tea would be nice,” she admitted. “If that isn't too much trouble?”

“Not at all!” she smoothly fibbed. “It would be Trixie's honor and pleasure,” which was more truthful. She was trying to resolve the dichotomy between the regal majesty that she'd always pictured Their Royal Highnesses projecting, versus the gentle, familial teasing they were bantering back and forth between them . . . and permitting Trixie to, simply by being there, share with them.

“Twilight?” Once she had her attention Trixie asked, “Would you mind giving Trixie a hoof, please?”

“Not at all! If you'll excuse me?” she asked the diarchs, whom simply nodded in acquiescence.

“Twilight? Would you, please, close the door behind you?” Trixie asked as she followed her inside the wagon. No sooner had she closed it behind her, then . . .

Trixie whirled about, her eyes snapping and blazing with a fury so intense Twilight recoiled. “How could you do this to Trixie?” she hissed.

She had intended to say more —a lot more— but she jerked to a halt at Twilight's expression, for she looked absolutely miserable, contrite and apologetic. That was enough to give Trixie pause; it certainly wasn't enough to stop her, and Trixie still meant to give her a very large, acerbic piece of her mind, but before she could open her mouth Twilight had opened hers.

“Trixie, I'm sorry! It's all my fault! I panicked when they showed up! I wasn't thinking!”

Trixie snorted, glaring at Twilight, whose ears were pathetically flagged and whose posture was utterly remorseful. She wasn't at all mollified, oh no, not by any means! But she had to whip up coffee and tea for Their Highnesses, and it wasn't as if she had anything special to serve them! Trixie couldn't afford special. So that meant . . .

Drawers and cabinets opened and closed with startling rapidity. “Put those coffee beans in that grinder,” she ordered Twilight and, yes, it was an order. At the moment it didn't matter to Trixie that Twilight was also a Princess. All that mattered was that she was the pony responsible for this embarrassing mess! “Grind it until you get a fine powder. Mind you, no more than a cup of whole beans!” she warned.

While Twilight started grinding the beans, Trixie started working on the tea. Placing at least two teapots-full of leaves —just in case a refill was required— inside a selected canister Trixie intently concentrated, first on the leaves and then the container itself. A few moments later and a light pink glow surrounded the jar, as well as danced and coruscated along her horn.

Twilight's senses prickled at that, for there was something unusual she was perceiving. She couldn't put her hoof on it, and now wasn't the time to go off on any exploratory tangents.

Thankfully Trixie had just performed these very spells not two days ago, so repeating them was easier with that prior “rehearsal” . . . although easier wasn't at all the same as easy. But within a minute she had the tea leaves she wanted inside a canister that again resembled exquisite lead cut crystal.

“I went home yesterday after our brunch,” Twilight continued, once she knew she wouldn't be interrupting Trixie's casting concentration. “And, well . . .,” Trixie didn't need to be looking at her, she could hear the blush in Twilight's voice. “I spent most of the afternoon, and evening . . . and early night,” and again she sensed that blush, “researching Primary Elementals. I wrote down all my notes, and added what we'd talked about yesterday,” she explained, carefully grinding the last of the beans. “I also mentioned I felt it was important that we look into this. And I sealed the scroll and marked it as urgent, so that Princess Celestia would make sure to read it in the morning and not later. I didn't mark it emergency, or anything high priority. Just urgent.

“But I forgot, and goofed.”

“'Goofed'?” Trixie repeated, focusing now on the teapot, and the two teacups with their matching saucers. Again her horn and the pieces glowed, and this time Twilight tried following the path Trixie's magics took. It was intensely frustrating, for she could sense the changes as they occurred, but she couldn't perceive exactly how they were happening!

The one thing Twilight couldn't mistake was the intensity of Trixie's power. It gave her the oddest feeling of standing in front of a massive kiln as the door was opened, as if she was sensing just the merest glimpse of that fiery heat that roiled and raged inside. It wasn't the strongest she'd ever sensed, true, but it was still a very strong one nonetheless.

“Goofed, yeah,” she admitted, mortified. “I sent the scroll after nightfall. So it didn't get delivered to Princess Celestia. It got sent to Princess Luna, instead.” Tapping the grinder she made sure to get all the ground coffee powder into the small cup. “So she read it last night, and thought it was important enough to wake up Celestia to talk about it. And first thing this morning, right after they lowered the moon and raised the sun, they dropped in on me right in the middle of breakfast.”

“I'm really sorry Trixie,” Twilight was apologizing so abjectly that Trixie was finding it hard to remain angry with her. “But I was sort of flustered. I wasn't expecting any sort of response until this afternoon. And, even then, I'd only been expecting some sort of written response. And, well . . . they were really sort of, umm, not impatient, mind you. Not exactly insistent, either. But . . .” she trailed off.

“Trixie,” she said, much softer. “Don't panic. OK?”

“'Don't panic'?” Trixie repeated, her voice a low —and, yes, panicked— hiss. “Don't panic? You do know who just “dropped unexpectedly in”, don't you?”

Twilight stepped up and gently rested a hoof on Trixie's withers. “Trust me, I do know. I also know something else, too.”

“And what is that?” Trixie somewhat snippily asked, turning her attention now to the creamer pitcher and a third teacup and saucer, both of which were going to require something significantly more complex than illusionary magic for her purposes.

There was an odd note of sorrow in her tone. “I know how tired they both are of ponies treading on eggshells around them all the time, worried about saying, or doing, something that would “offend their Royal Dignities”. And how tired they are of the constant hovering around them.” Her voice took on a smooth, obsequious tone. “'Would Her Highness like another cushion?', 'Does Her Highness want more pepper on Her salad?', 'Would Her Highness want Her shawl before She takes Her walk in the garden?', 'Perhaps Her Highness would care to look at this proposal more closely?'.”

Trixie's head whipped around at the bitterness she was hearing in her voice. “I have to deal with that now, too,” she said, her eyes swimming for a moment before she blinked that away. “I have no idea how Celestia —and now Luna— stand it. So, yes, please,” her voice took on a pleading tone as she gazed into Trixie's eyes, “Don't panic. Be respectful, yes, but try to remember that behind their positions, their titles and duties, they, too, are just ponies.”

She wanted to snort at that. “Just ponies”, indeed! That was rather like saying the Sun was just a small campfire! Then again . . .

“Trix—Trixie will try,” she haltingly said, and was surprised when Twilight's face lit up, and then hugged her. She was still quite miffed, but was, oddly enough, finding it hard to remain angry with her.

She started concentrating on the creamer pitcher, teacup and saucer, when an impish little thought popped into her head. “Are you ticklish?”

The question came so out-of-the-blue that Twilight honestly answered a question she'd always ever before ducked and dodged. “Why yes, I am. Very.” Her voice abruptly grew suspicious and guarded. “Why?”

Closing her eyes Trixie answered before focusing on the items before her. “Something for Trixie to remember when it's her turn.”

Trixie carefully descended the stairs, serving tray hovering just above her croup, making sure it remained level even as her body angled down the steps. Her face momentarily heated as she turned and faced the small table and single chair there. Had she had even fifteen minutes warning . . .

Gliding, then settling, the tray to the middle of the table with meticulous care she discreetly swallowed before turning a smile upon her regal —and most unexpected— guests. “Trixie does most humbly apologize for the lack of seating,” she began, only to have Princess Celestia graciously lift up a hoof.

“There is no need to apologize, Trixie,” she said, her voice and tone holding a sensation of familiarity that should have relaxed her but, instead, made something deep inside her coil even tighter. “In fact, it is we,” she indicated her younger sister and then herself with another elegant motion of her hoof, “who should apologize, for giving you so little —well, none at all, to be honest— warning of our visit.”

Princess Luna nodded at that, but it was obvious that fully half, if not more, of her attention was to the oddly-shaped pot and cup that Trixie was positioning before her. Celestia noticed her sister's rapt focus, and lifted a hoof to her lips to cover a smile. Alas, said hoof did nothing at all to conceal the twinkle in her eyes as she returned her gaze to Trixie. “I think my sister is a bit, ah . . . eager.”

Luna actually blushed for a moment, a sheepish expression fleeting across her face. “Verily, it does smell very good,” she admitted, “but that doesn't excuse my boorishness. Pray, forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive, Your Highness,” Trixie replied, her voice smooth as silk, her deportment worthy of the most elite. Twilight struggled to keep her jaw closed, for seeing Trixie act this way was completely new, and utterly foreign.

Luna kept watching as Trixie continued with the preparations. The Diarchs were a bit surprised at the service itself, for there was only the two pots, plus three cups and saucers, and the elegant lead crystal tea container. There was no cream, no sugar, no teaspoons, no lemon . . . in fact, someponies might even have considered the service quite meager and lacking. However . . .

The pot, cup and saucer set before Princess Luna was quite unlike anything she'd seen before. They were made of porcelain, coloured and glazed in swirling patterns of deep, rich earth tones. The cup was oddly shaped: it resembled a standard coffee cup, except one that had been elongated upwards while being narrowed in circumference, until it was four times as tall as it was wide. The pot looked about the same, in that it was taller and thinner than a standard teapot . . . which was in and of itself odd, as this was supposed to be a coffee service. The spout looked odd as well, straight instead of curved, and slanted upwards at a moderate angle, and instead of extending from near the base of the vessel, instead it exited the container about halfway up its side.

Lifting up the pot Trixie carefully tipped it, slowly filling the cup with the decanting fluid and, as she did . . . Luna's eyes widened, her ears flicking forwards and perking as the incredible aroma wafted upwards. The beverage looked incredibly dark, and looked . . . thick. Not molasses thick, no, but Twilight could see the difference in turbulent flow as the fluid left the spout and poured downwards. It looked . . . smoother, somehow; which definitely meant thicker.

Stopping once the cup was three-quarters full Trixie set the pot back down before gazing at Luna, a soft lift to her lips as she did. Luna didn't wait for more than a moment before lifting the cup up level to, and just before, her muzzle. She delicately inhaled, and a light shiver visibly rippled her skin. Closing her eyes she gingerly sipped . . .

“Oh dear Faust! Sweet Mother of all ponies great and small!”

Luna's tone sounded reverential, as well as resembled in no small fashion that of a young, virginal mare who had just been brought to rapturous climax by the fabled Don Roam.

Another, much more intense, shiver rippled down her skin, her flanks especially quivering. For a second time Celestia covered her mouth with a hoof to conceal her smile, a quite doting and indulgent one as she gazed at her younger, beloved sister.

Luna cradled the cup between both forehooves, having no real need to do so save for the comfort of that gesture. Taking a second sip she again breathily exhaled, a sound more akin to a moan than any mere sigh.

“I hope Your Highness likes it?” Trixie asked, as she shifted over to serving Princess Celestia now.

One hoof rose in an Imperious gesture. “Please. Just let me . . . revel.” One blueish-green orb peeked out past a slitted lid, the twinkle that danced out lightening the otherwise possibly-misunderstood tone of her voice.

Twilight recognized the teapot, cup and saucer pattern sitting before Celestia, as it was exactly the same style as the one Trixie had used for brunch. It seemed as if Celestia was familiar with that pattern and style, too, as she'd reacted upon seeing them. It was such a subtle, minuscule response that Twilight was certain Trixie had missed it, but Twilight had lived for a very long with Celestia, and was exceptionally familiar with her, to the point that perhaps only her sister knew her better.

Luna was still swooning over her coffee as Trixie filled Celestia's cup. Setting the teapot down she gently gestured to the now-filled cup, watching through thick, lowered lashes as her Highness lifted up the cup and took her own cautious, delicate sip.

“Oh my goodness!”

Celestia's breathy sigh sounded very much like that same virginal mare, only this time basking in the flushed warmth of an Afterlife of afterglows.

She took another sip, a radiant expression of delight and indulgent delectation lighting up her face. “This . . . this is Zhaneeling, isn't it?” she asked as she took another sip.

Trixie's soft smile increased the tiniest amount as she nodded, moving this time to fill Twilight's cup. “Yes, Your Highness, it is.”

Twilight was startled seeing a flash of . . . sorrow? . . . that flickered across Celestia's face immediately following her recognition of the tea. Her eyes darted back and forth between her mentor and her newest friend, puzzled at the undercurrent of feeling she was detecting between the two.

It wasn't just her imagination, she realized, for although Trixie was looking as calm and composed as any socialite she was familiar with, there was, nevertheless, a sensation of strain in her eyes and expression, something that Twilight simply couldn't resolve or figure out.

Trixie finished pouring a cup for Twilight before setting the pot back down. Her eyes kept flickering away from Celestia, mostly seeking out Twilight although occasionally that of Princess Luna. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what was so unsettling about Princess Celestia. Granted, she was the preeminent ruler of Equestria although, since Princess Luna's return, they now jointly shared that duty and responsibility in equality. But, unlike the Moon Princess, this wasn't the first time that Trixie had been in the presence of Princess Celestia. And between the two, Princess Luna had the more formidable demeanor . . . and that wasn't even taking into account her fearsome —and terrifying— past!

But for some reason she was feeling more comfortable with Princess Luna than she was with her elder sister. Trixie kept finding herself shying away from Princess Celestia, and she didn't know why. Worse, when she pried away at that niggling sensation it felt as if she was disturbing much more disquieting ones that lurked deep inside; ones that didn't wish to be disturbed and roused.

“This is really very good!” Luna enthused, drawing Trixie out of that deeply troubling retrospection. “I don't think I've ever had anything like this before.”

“It's a very special blend, Your Highness,” Trixie explained, a pleased smile on her face. And again, as Twilight had previously noted, that wasn't a gloating, scored-points expression, but instead was merely happy. “It's also prepared in its own unique fashion.” Since she still looked intrigued Trixie continued.

“The beans themselves are grown on only one mountainside in all of Equestria,” which had all three Princesses' attention. “Well, the entire world, I suppose, would be more accurate. And that's located in Saddle Arabia. Usually they are reserved, much as Zhaneeling is,” she motioned to the teapot, “to those of Royal lineage . . . or exceptionally favored guests or personages.” And, once more, instead of that coming across as gloating —which, as Twilight was aware, would be not only reasonably understandable in this situation, but, as well, expected from any of the Equestrian elite, who would spare no pains to subtly underscore their status and station— Trixie was simply providing information to satisfy her guests' curiosity.

Twilight wished some of her other friends —Rarity came instantly to mind, as did Rainbow Dash and, to a lesser degree, Applejack— could be here to see and hear this, for they would be astonished at the change in Trixie.

Although Twilight was beginning to feel a bit uneasy about that change, for it wasn't at all superficial, whatever it might appear with just a casual appraisal. This was a major, and fundamental, change in Trixie, and Twilight still couldn't shake off the feeling that the Alicorn Amulet had left behind some sort of residual, malefic damage.

Trixie continued explaining how the coffee was prepared: how the beans were roasted; how they needed to be freshly ground to a very fine powder; that those fresh grounds were actually added to the pot and remained inside; that the water was never heated to a boil, for that would ruin the flavor; that sugar could be added, but, if it was, it needed to be added along with the coffee grounds, and not after being served into the demitasse cups.

Luna was listening with rapt attention as she took several, small sips, savoring the thick, black brew instead of chugging her first mug as she was often wont to do. Trixie had just finished her explanation when she suddenly looked acutely uncomfortable, her head shying away for a moment. “Trixie . . . Trixie didn't actually have the beans . . . or tea,” she added, head lowering further, almost hunching. “She . . . she used glamers on them,” she finished, sounding miserable.

“Certes?” Luna said, sounding surprised . . . and impressed, which shocked Trixie to no end.

She peeked over at the Princess of The Night and nodded. “Trixie knows what they both look like and taste like; she remembers their aroma and flavors, so she could replicate those. But . . . they aren't real,” she sadly added.

Since Trixie was looking at Luna as she confessed, both of them missed the astonished expressions on the other two. Twilight and Celestia were staring at each other, eyes wide. “Trixie?” Celestia started, waiting until she had the unicorn's attention. “You cast the spells on the coffee beans, and the tea leaves, correct?” she asked, carefully stressing those two words.

“Yes, Your Highness. And I'm sorry.”

It was with a massive effort of willpower that neither Celestia's nor Twilight's jaws dropped open like Pinkie Pie's upon seeing a stranger moving into Ponyville. “Sorry?” Celestia managed to get out past her astonishment. “Sorry for what?”

“For deceiving Your Highnesses; for not being honest up front that I was serving you cheap illusionistic fakes.”

Now she had even Luna's attention, who was looking askance at Trixie's unnecessary abasement.

Celestia took a sip of tea as she marshaled her thoughts, very aware of Twilight's subtle hoofwave of “Please don't push her on this,” although she wasn't entirely aware of just which particular “this” her former student was intimating with that gesture. For, unlike her, Celestia knew far more about her other former —albeit not as a personal protégé as Twilight had been— student than Twilight did.

“I would be careful, Trixie Lulamoon,” Luna finally replied, after several, uncomfortable seconds had passed in silence. Trixie's head popped up at the stern tone, eyes wide with alarm. That expression quickly changed as Luna continued, “The rumours of my keeping baristas locked away in a deep, dark dungeon for my own personal use are only slightly exaggerated.”

A little giggle spurted from Trixie, and Luna's face creased with a smile, quite pleased at being able to cheer her up from whatever funk she'd descended into, and all the more so since she had the (completely inaccurate) reputation of being only dour, stern, and grim.

While Trixie's attention was focused on her younger sister, Celestia glanced at Twilight and mouthed the words 'beans' and 'tea leaves'. Twilight nodded, immediately understanding what she meant. 'Later?' she mouthed back, and Celestia nodded.

Twilight was mentally kicking herself for having failed to notice last time what Celestia had this time: Trixie hadn't cast her illusion spells on the already-brewed coffee or tea, altering their taste, appearance, texture and the like through glamers. She'd cast that on the beans and tea leaves, and then had brewed the beverages. But . . .

But that wasn't how illusions in general, or glamers in particular, worked!

Twilight felt like a flywheel spinning far in excess of its design specifications: poised on the edge, ready to explode into a thousand pieces, each one rocketing off at blinding speeds. There was no way that Trixie should be accomplishing what she so obviously had successfully executed. That wasn't just pushing a boundary, or even expanding one . . . this was exceeding beyond that. Twilight was literally squirming, visibly fidgeting as she stood there, about ready to burst at the seams, already mentally calculating, figuring, graphing and charting, planning out experiments . . .

She almost gagged as she took an overly-deep swallow of tea, gulping it before choking off a cough. Regaining composure in the face of research, of new knowledge, had never been her strong suit, so it was a substantial struggle doing so now. But they were here this morning for a purpose —which, by the way, was also intensely appealing and alluring, as it was potentially opening new frontiers— so . . .

“Trixie?” Once she had her friend's attention, “Their Highnesses are here to meet your friend,” she began. Both alicorns gravely nodded at that. “They, as I do, feel that, if it is true what I do believe is truth, there then has been a grievous misunderstanding concerning Primary Elementals, and one that should be immediately corrected.”

Again both alicorns solemnly nodded, and then Princess Celestia spoke.

“Equestria was founded based upon several principles,” she began. “Primarily those of peace, harmony and friendship. These were not to be extended solely to the three pony tribes, but to any creature that sought to peacefully, and peaceably, live within Our domain. Nor were those principles to serve and benefit only Our citizens, of whatever tribe, race or culture, but were to be extended to any other who wished to interact with Us, whether that be by trade, free passage, marriage, or anything else.

“This has not always resulted in peaceable exchanges or interactions,” she explained, nobly refraining from mentioning any specific race or culture like, oh, say, the Gryphonic Empire. “But although We have responded with force when force has been used against Us, We have never initiated such against another. We do not force, or impel, or coerce. We do not enslave.” and her voice was hammered iron, her eyes seeming to blaze with that blacksmith's ringing forge.

Luna's eyes were no less fiery in their resolve and, in fact, blazed hotter than her elder sister's, regardless that Celestia was the Sun Princess. For it was because of Celestia that Luna's —in actuality, Nightmare Moon's— created race, the thestrals, had not just survived that hideous night of chaos and destruction, but had actually thrived; had prospered and flourished as a free race.

Granted, that was still a somewhat rocky road, with many ponies being fearful about thestrals —admittedly, there was some good reasons for that fear . . . if somepony wanted to dwell on actions a thousand years old, that is. But, while Celestia may not have been able to completely eradicate that prejudice and bigotry she had most definitely made the Crown's opinion about thestrals perfectly crystal clear.

“So,” she continued, “if what Princess Twilight Sparkle believes is true —that the Primary Elementals are not simply ponypomorphic ponyfications of one of the Primary Elements but are, instead, intelligent, sapient and sentient creatures in their own right— then We, and Our subjects, have been violating the very principles upon which Equestria was founded. That said violation was conducted in ignorance makes it no less vile, acceptable or forgivable.”

Celestia gazed at Trixie. “We did not wish to wait even an hour longer regarding this matter for, if it is true,” and her tone was in no way intimating she believed it was otherwise, “then the acts, and actions, of Summoning and Binding of the Primary Elementals become hideous distortions and travesties of those core values and principles which with We, in Equestria, embrace, and they need correcting without delay.”

It might not have had the volume of the traditional Royal Canterlot Voice, but that was the only particular Celestia's pronouncement lacked. Trixie felt herself hunching up again, feeling small and out of place, especially when she seemed to be the focus of attention now of all three Princesses!

“Trixie—,” she started, then furiously blushed hearing her voice crack. Swallowing, then quickly swiping her lips with the tip of her tongue, she tried again. “Trixie does not understand what you wish of her.”

“We'd like to speak with your friend,” Twilight explained, her voice soft, low and soothing, seeing how badly fretting Trixie was and wishing to comfort her.

Her stomach headed somewhere south of her hooves. “But Twilight!” she blurted. “Trixie doesn't summon him you know! It's not like she just claps her hooves together,” and, suiting action to words, sharply rapped her forehooves together three times as she reared up and balanced, “and he—”

*poomfh*

Behind her she heard a sound suspiciously similar to that of a gas burner being ignited. She weakly gazed at the three alicorns who were currently looking wide-eyed over her shoulder in the general direction of her campfire ring.

“—appears,” she feebly finished.

She really didn't need to look back over her shoulder to verify her suspicion, but she looked that direction anyway.

“Ah . . . Hi,” she said to the pair of bright eyes merrily gleaming at her from the now-brightly burning campfire . . . that hadn't been used in the last four weeks.

“Please excuse Trixie,” she said to her guests before turning about and pacing over to the fire, and the salamander within. Lowering herself down until she was resting atop folded legs she softly smiled at her visitor. “Thank you for coming,” she courteously said. “That means a lot to Trixie.”

The salamander, his figure vague within the dancing flames, smiled at her.

“There are some ponies that would like to meet you,” she declared. “Trixie promises you'll be safe,” she assured. She waited until she sensed, somehow, his caution relaxing, before rising back up, and then extending a hoof towards the flickering, dancing flames.

Behind her she heard twin, shocked —and no little fearful— gasps as the salamander daintily stepped onto her hoof. She heard those a second time when she realized how difficult walking three-legged would be . . . so she simply lifted up her hoof towards her horn, and waited until the salamander carefully perched on the tip before turning about and facing her guests, two of which had perfectly understandable expressions of acute shock, anxiety and dread.

Once back at the table Trixie motioned for the Diarchs to position themselves at the longer side of the table as she, herself, stood at the opposite, acting as if for all the world it was perfectly normal to be standing there with a Primary Fire Elemental brightly blazing on her horn.

Lowering her head she rested her horntip on the table, waiting until the salamander delicately stepped off and onto the table before lifting her head back up. Her attention fully focused on the salamander —whose heat could be felt yet wasn't even scorching the tablecloth— Trixie introduced him to everyone. “These are our Diarchs, Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna,” indicating each one as she mentioned them. “You already have met Princess Twilight.”

Gazing up at the Royal Sisters she apologized. “Trixie doesn't know his name,” she admitted, shamefaced. “She isn't sure they even have names. Truthfully, she doesn't really know all that much about him, or his kind.”

There was no mistaking how uneasy the salamander was feeling. Nor was there any mistaking how he kept looking at Trixie for reassurance. “Be at peace,” Celestia murmured. “We promise you, by all We hold dear and true, that We mean you no harm.”

The salamander closely looked at her, then at Luna, who was nodding in agreement alongside her sister. His flamed-outlined body shifted, the colors altering from a blue-tinged whiteness to a gentler orangey-red.

“This is truly amazing,” Celestia said. “It's obvious from what Twilight said that you never summoned him, so however did you meet him to begin with?”

“Oh!” Twilight blurted. “Didn't I mention that in my notes? Trixie had been doing fireworks and that attracted him.”

“Fireworks?” Luna's head shot up, her ears swiveled forwards. “You do fireworks!?” she excitedly asked Trixie.

Taken completely by surprise Trixie nodded. “Y-y-yes, Your Highness. Trixie does. Well, did, anyway,” she said much softer, her head abruptly sagging.

Twilight suddenly felt as if she were standing perched in the middle of a taut highwire stretched across an immensely deep chasm . . . before she had wings . . . precariously balanced between two choices.

And ones she needed to decide between right then, for any delay would render both of them void.

“She's very good at fireworks, Your Highness,” Twilight unequivocally stated, making that decision. “In fact, she's the best I've ever seen.”

Trixie's jaw dropped; she shot a horrified look at Twilight. How could she do this to me?

“I adore fireworks!” Luna breathlessly enthused, gazing at Trixie in wide-eyed wonder. “I have not seen really good fireworks since, well . . .,” she suddenly looked down and away, an inestimable look of sorrow and loss on her face. Her ears flagged back, as did her tail; in fact, her entire posture was one of wretched lamentation. And a quick glance over at her elder sister showed a nearly identical expression.

Trixie felt as if her barrel had been bucked hard. She must mean she hasn't seen fireworks since . . . she mentally swallowed . . . since her banishment. Since before being Nightmare Moon.

Sweet Celestia, she thought, not even seeing the irony in that expression. What must that be like? she wondered. Trying to adjust to a thousand year absence, let alone the reason for that absence? How many things constantly remind her of that? How many things have passed away into the dustbin of time, never to be recalled, that, to her, was just yesterday?

She glanced over at Twilight, and wasn't at all surprised to see tears, like shimmering crystal, glittering unshed in her eyes as she was gazing at Luna.

I can't undo a thousand years of pain and sorrow, she realized, but there is something I can do.

“Your Highness,” Trixie softly said, “It would be The Great and Powerful Trixie's pleasure, and rare privilege, to hold a firework's exhibition for your honor.” Twilight's head jerked around so fast that Trixie was surprised her neck didn't snap. Her insides were jittering and shuddering so badly she was feeling sick inside. What did I just agree to do? What was I thinking?I don't perform anymore!

Luna's face lit up with an incredulous joy. “Certes? Ah, I mean, verily . . . umm, truly? I . . . I would love that a great deal!”

Twilight's expression was no less dazzling, but Trixie had the oddest sense that that expression was one borne more of pride and approval rather than simple expectant joy.

Between the two, her insides calmed down quite a bit. The anxiety didn't completely go away, true, but it did ease.

At least, until . . .

“The Running of The Leaves Festival is this weekend,” Twilight excitedly gushed. “We could hold the fireworks that night, out in the Castle foregrounds!”

Luna's face lit up, and she suddenly looked like an ecstatic filly rather than the stern co-monarch legend and gossip made her out to be. Which didn't stop Trixie from thinking . . .

I am sooo going to kill you, Twilight Sparkle!

* * * * *

The chair had been removed, and the four of them stood about the table, one at each end. Trixie was going to absent herself from the proceedings, but all three Princesses would not hear of that, and, so, Trixie found herself in quite exalted company indeed.

Before they got started Trixie did return the service tray and associated items back inside the wagon, clearing the table of everything extraneous. However, one wistful, longing look from Luna at the departing coffee did have Trixie make one spontaneous change: the recently-relocated chair was now serving as a small side table, supporting the coffeepot, mug, and saucer for the Moon Princess.

Dead center of the table was the salamander, who was relaxed enough now to be gazing about with lively, curious interest.

“He doesn't, exactly, talk to Trixie,” Trixie was explaining. “Although he seems to understand Trixie just fine when she talks to him. Trixie just . . . empties her mind and he . . . well . . . it's as if he puts feelings, mostly, but sometimes words, too, into her mind. And when she talks to him, she tries and think the pictures and feelings behind the words as she speaks those words to him.”

The salamander wasn't the only being around the table more relaxed now than they had been at the start. Even though the Diarchs absolutely trusted their fellow princess, it had still been difficult to remain serene and composed in the presence of an unbound Primary Elemental, especially a salamander! But, as had Twilight herself, they had felt the chiding reproach coming from him at their fears and, also as it had done for Twilight, that admonition had done much to ease their fears and concerns, for that wasn't mindless slavering of a raging beast but, instead, had been the measured response of a thinking, rational creature.

“He is nothing like I've ever experienced before,” Celestia admitted, as she, too, faced the same unsettling epiphany as had Twilight just the day before. “How could we have been so blind?” she harshly barked, self-loathing and disgust thick in her voice. That was so intense that even the salamander winced before pacing over to stop immediately before her. Celestia, startled at that, glanced down at the flickering, living flame before her. Her eyes slowly widened over the next few seconds, hearing something the others could not, before she whispered, “Thank you.”

As the salamander padded back to mid-table Celestia looked back up, then carefully met each of the others' eyes. “I think we are all in agreement that, based upon our little friend here, there has been a grievous error made regarding Primary Elementals?”

The other three nodded, Trixie still feeling more than a bit out of her depth at her opinions and thoughts being held of equal value and weight as Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Twilight.

“As of this moment,” and Celestia's voice took on the intonation of unarguable command, “the Summoning and Binding of Primary Elementals is illegal and banned, with the additional Anathematization of Binding itself.”

Luna nodded, radiating that same Regal determination from every pore of her being.

“We probably should start with the curriculum at your School for Gifted Unicorns,” Twilight brought up.

Celestia nodded. “I'll need to draft up new regulations and have them broadcast throughout the realm as well. One way or another, though,” she firmly concluded, “this stops now.”

“I do wish there was some way to pass the news along to their side,” Luna said, adding when the others —salamander included— looked at her, “For several reasons. One is that, while it would be inexcusable, knowing what we now do know, to utilize their powers under coercion, it is undeniable that Primary Elementals have always been extremely advantageous under certain circumstances. It would be beneficial if, instead of forcing their obedience, we could, instead, request their cooperation and assistance.”

The three of them nodded; the salamander . . . just watched.

“Secondly, and of even more import . . . one cannot seek forgiveness if one cannot ask for that. One cannot build a bridge if one cannot even find the other side.”

Celestia nodded. “And it's not just Salamanders, either,” she stated. “It's Undines, Sylphs and Gnomes, too. It's all four Primary Elementals. I would like to be able to make peace with all of them.”

Trixie was feeling an odd . . . itchy feeling in her head. “You want to meet all four?” she asked, right out of the blue.

“Actually, yes,” Celestia asked. “Why?”

Before Trixie could answer . . . the salamander disappeared, making an audible pop like a log snapping in a fire.

All four of them blinked, startled at the abrupt departure. “Did we do, or say, something wrong?” Celestia asked, sounding quite concerned and worried.

That itchy feeling had faded the moment the salamander had vanished, but it abruptly returned, and with a vengeance. Her mental vision swam with multiple images for a moment, and then she weakly replied, “We . . . we have company.”

The three Princesses looked blankly at each other for a moment, but, truthfully, a moment was all they had before they understood.

Off to one side the campfire, now gently smoldering embers, abruptly erupted into a towering column of roaring flame as tall as the wagon.

Overhead the air suddenly began spiraling, whipping around in a concentrated, yet controlled, tornadic frenzy.

Beneath them the ground abruptly trembled, sharply enough to knock over the pot and mug sitting on the chair, the chair itself tipping on its side moments later.

From the direction of the stream came the sound of an enormous cascade, the spray visible from between the trees surrounding the clearing.

And just as quickly as all of that had occurred . . . it all ceased.

But they were no longer alone.

Stepping from the now-calm, cheerily burning campfire was a salamander. This one, however, when it stood upright on its hind legs, was extremely tall, dwarfing Trixie's friend, the top of its head reaching Celestia's withers. There was a sense of controlled power wrapped like a nimbus around it, an energy so staggering that Trixie felt overwhelming panic.

Trixie had intellectually known how dangerous her little friend potentially had been; she'd been aware that, should he have chosen to do so, he could have consumed Trixie's wagon —and Trixie herself— in the blink of an eye. But this new salamander, he —and somehow she knew it was male— could turn Ponyville to less than ash in the same amount of time.

But before she lost all composure and started screaming in terror, two things, virtually simultaneously, happened.

The first was that she trusted her little friend. She did not, in the least, believe it had been mere coincidence that he had flickered out only to have these other four arrive moments later, which meant he had, somehow, brought them here. Well, invited, brought, guided, whatever. The salient point was that Trixie simply couldn't believe that her little friend would betray her, and so, it followed that the new arrivals, no matter how fearsome they might appear, were, in turn, not hostile.

The second was when her eyes met his. And the moment they had . . . Trixie relaxed. There was no raging fury there, no bestial frenzy, no mindless violence. Power, oh yes! Of that there was plenty. Stern resolve, inexorable command, that, too. Then again, both Diarchs certainly could look that very same way, couldn't they?

Speaking of which . . .

A quick glance about showed all three alicorns seemingly frozen, poised on the brink of defensive protection and offensive battle, but also appearing extremely unsure and hesitant. It was obvious none of them wanted combat; it was equally clear that none of them were going to leave Equestria open to disaster.

Oh well. Somepony needs to do something before this gets out of hoof.

Stepping away from the table, Trixie gravely paced over towards the huge salamander. She ignored the hiss of dismay and warning behind her as she did, stopping just feet before the Fire Elemental, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Sinking into an exquisite curtsy she decorously announced, “Welcome to Equestria. May I have the honor of introducing to you our reigning Diarchs, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna and, in addition, our Princess of Friendship, Princess Twilight Sparkle,” indicating each one, in turn, with a gracious motion of her hoof.

Her head tickled again and, as it did, he gazed with a frightening intensity into her eyes . . . and then bowed . . . to her.

“If you'll forgive me a moment?” she requested, feeling almost as if she were inebriated, her mind was so giddy with overload. When he nodded she turned about, this time quickly moving over to their second unexpected guest.

The ground at the intersection where her clearing path met the wooded pathway had erupted into a towering pile of soil and earth, which had then collapsed into a caldera surrounding their second arrival, a Gnome. However, calling him a gnome was like calling the newer salamander a “mere salamander”. He, too, would reach Celestia's withers should he stand upright, which made him an enormous specimen of his type indeed. Unlike the salamander, which did, indeed, resemble the amphibian of that name, the gnome —as did all his kind— looked like a beaded lizard, his skin consisting of small, beadlike scales that didn't overlap. Unlike the typical beaded lizard, however, Gnome's scales weren't brilliant warning colors but, instead, were dun and earthy, and their paws were much larger, resembling spades, while the claws glinted in the light, resembling gems.

Indeed, Gnomes could burrow through earth as easily as fish swam through water, and those claws could gouge stone like a grater through cheese. They might be tremendously slow, but they were also enormously strong, and one of this size and power could probably drop all of Ponyville into a crater in the course of several hours.

She approached the gnome with the same grave decorum as she had the salamander. And, as she had with the salamander, she greeted him on behalf of Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Twilight Sparkle.

As she paced over to the third Primary Elemental, Trixie had to smother a very inappropriate, albeit understandable, giggle. Is this what being sunstruck is like? she wondered, because everything was taking on a very surrealistic sensation.

This one was an undine, and she undoubtedly had come up from the nearby stream. She was smaller than the other two, perhaps by a third, but the power Trixie could sense coiled within her was by no means any less powerful. In fact, Undines were possibly even more powerful than Salamanders. Granted, Salamanders were flashier in their destruction, but Undines could erode a mountain just as easily as a Salamander could melt and vaporize one. It was a merely a matter of time.

They also resembled Salamanders in that the closest taxonomic representation for an undine was a newt. Their skin was glistening and moist, and colored mostly in patterns of blues and greens, except for their backs which were cream and white and resembled frothy foam.

She preferred to stay on all fours, and the ground beneath her paws, and wherever she had stepped, was visibly moist. As Trixie approached, the undine's shoulders lifted, her head and neck raised; her eyes, literal pools of slowly whirling bluish-green looking very much like a revolving maelstrom, gazed very intensely at her.

As she did for the salamander and gnome, Trixie courteously welcomed her to Equestria on behalf of the three Princesses.

This left the final one of the four who, at the moment, remained hovering overhead. Trixie paced over to approximately several steps before her (should she land, that is) then patiently waited. The sylph —as were all Air Elementals— was exceptionally pretty, resembling a sleek lizard with a tail almost as long as the body. The tail was extremely mobile, and ended in a flat, spaded barb. Ridged spines ran the length of the body from crest to tail, while the skin was covered in fine, overlapping, supple scales. The head was tapered, longer than a typical lizard, and narrower as well. But the truly defining, and mesmerizing, aspect of all sylphs were their wings.

Twilight's jaw dropped as she gazed upwards at the enormous sylph hovering above. She'd seen wings very much like those, the time she'd given Rarity a set of enchanted ones.

The sylph floating overhead was gently fluttering wings whose overall size could easily cover the small table of Trixie's with room to spare. She actually had two sets of overlapping wings, the upper set more squarish with the lower more trapezoidal, their trailing edges ending in teardrops. They were almost transparent, with shimmering polychromatic hues brushstroking their surface. Her eyes looked as if a pegasus was peering down into the slowly-rotating eye of a cyclone, and her scales were colored such that she resembled a thunderstorm: dark-grey on her belly shading upwards to the icy white of the anvil.

She gazed at Trixie for a rather long time before finally drifting downwards, landing with a gentle zephyr puffing about her. Once again Trixie repeated her welcome and greeting before, at last, returning to three very awestruck, and fascinated, alicorns.

Gazing up at Princess Celestia she confessed, “Trixie is afraid she needs a bigger table.”

Demons and Nightmares

Demons and Nightmares

Trixie lay sprawled out on her belly, forehooves clutching her head as she softly groaned. The last —and only, thank the Stars!— time her head had felt this way, well . . . she'd been on the road a few months after having left the School for Gifted Unicorns, and had enjoyed the (now) dubious pleasure of partaking of several small glasses of triple-distilled peach brandy.

She'd barely even had hard cider before then, so she hadn't been prepared at all for the effects. It had felt so wonderful, at first, feeling her mind gradually expanding into a glowy cloud of effusive pleasure, all her cares, fears and worries evaporating into the gentle undertow of euphoria.

Had it remained so, Trixie would have truly enjoyed the experience. Alas, after having reached that point, and instead of remaining at that delightful vista, things had continued apace. Rather more quickly than she'd been prepared for, her mind was being pulled, like salt water taffy, in all directions. And along with that sensation of vertigo and disorientation had followed the truly awful ménage à trois partner of intense nausea.

Thankfully, this time, the nausea was absent. Unhappily, however, this time she'd been crying into her pillow the last hour, so now her nose was clogged and her head felt as if hammers were pummeling the insides while manic miniature dwarves were happily clogging along the inner lining of her skull.

Part of that throbbing misery could be attributed to the strain of having had four extremely powerful creatures “speaking” through her to the three Princesses representing Equestria during this morning's earlier Conclave, a meeting during which Trixie had been no mere flunky, but had been, instead, as much an involved participant as any of the others had been.

But only part.

No. No, the true source of the pounding agony was what had followed . . .

No bigger table was needed after all. No sooner had she said something about that than she realized, based upon their guests' physiology, that chairs would not be at all practical, let alone comfortable. Before she could say anything else though, Princess Celestia had diplomatically suggested they simply sit in a loose circle facing one another, obviously having followed the same train of thought as Trixie had and arriving at the same conclusion station.

Trixie demurely attempted to, once again, absent herself from the diplomatic negotiations, knowing she was a mere nopony, not at all anypony important like the three Princesses. But the moment she attempted to do so, deeply curtsying as she discreetly started to retreat . . .

Both Diarchs immediately made it quite clear that, not only did they wish Trixie to remain, but, as well, remain as an active participant and voice to the negotiations, as equal in status as the three Princesses themselves for the purpose of parlaying. The throbbing in her head started then, as the four Primary Elementals chimed in, making it quite clear to her, and just as unmistakably to the others, that they, too, insisted on her as their liaison . . . and that they would accept no other.

That meeting had only lasted perhaps half-an-hour, but it was the most intense thirty minutes of her life (well, outside of performances, that is). The Princesses Celestia and Luna went first, repeating again what they had earlier said to Trixie's little friend, firmly ratifying in that absolute, flat and Regal tone they both shared: the Summoning and Binding of Primary Elementals was immediately illegal and banned, with the additional Anathematization of Binding itself. Princess Twilight then followed, expressing a desire to extend fellowship and friendship to the Elemental Realms. Princess Luna then concluded by stating the hope that a partnership could be forged between Realms, wherein ponies could request assistance in certain, specified instances (for instance, a Gnome to help out with landslide disaster mitigation and rescue), making it quite clear that any such request was exactly that: a request, and not a demand.

The sticky issue there was that, while it was glaringly obvious what benefit such would be for Ponykind, it wasn't at all clear how such a partnership, and assistance, would profit the Elementals. And try as she might, Trixie's head had quickly exploded trying to parse the very alien —and very powerful— thoughts of the four Elemental Rulers there. For by now all four ponies had surmised that was exactly with whom they were treating: the Primary Elemental versions of ruling Kings and Queens.

There was a strong sense of satisfaction from the four Elemental Rulers when the Conclave finally concluded. There had been no negotiations regarding a cooperative partnership, but that was completely due to the difficulties of communications than disinterest, or, worse, flat, outright apathy.

When they finally returned to the Elemental Realms, instantly disappearing with audible pops, Trixie slumped, the immense pressure inside her skull fading within seconds. Head drooping, ears flagged, her coat lathered and looking as if she’d just run a complete circuit of Ponyville at a hard gallop, she closed her eyes as she fought to ground and center herself as she’d learned to do years ago at Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns . . . and the much harsher, implacable lessons at the hooves of her M-mother.

She sensed the presence of somepony approaching, and almost sobbed with relief as she heard Twilight’s low, murmur. “Think you can stand yet Trixie? Can we do anything for you? And that was really well done! We couldn’t have done this without you.”

Wriggling a bit Trixie shifted her weight and center of gravity preparatory to getting up to her hooves. “Trixie . . . is alright,” she shakily replied. “It was just, well . . . intense, is all.”

“I agree with Twilight,” Princess Celestia congratulated. “That was very well done indeed.” Her voice was low and soft, rich and warm, a tone that made anypony the recipient feel special, feel valued and cherished. Her students and subjects treasured those occasions when that tone was conferred upon them.

The Sun Princess smothered the pained sigh that threatened to escape as she detected the tightness ringing the exhausted unicorn’s eyes at Celestia’s words, a reaction she did not have in response to Twilight’s. Even after all these years . . .

“I agree as well,” Luna added. “I do not think this would have gone as well as it had, or even gone at all, without your assistance. In fact, I think We should make this official,” she added, her voice sounding pleased as a perfectly logical conclusion occurred to her. Warmly smiling at Trixie, who had just regained her hooves —albeit shakily still— Luna proudly announced, “Trixie Lulamoon, We stand in need of an ambassador to the Elemental Realms.” She was so focused on Trixie that she missed the sudden flash of horror on her elder sister’s face. “Will you accept that honored position? It doth come with a patent of nobility as well,” she sweetened the pot.

Her smile slowly faded, a look of confusion and befuddlement growing as Trixie just stood there. Then all three grew deeply distressed and alarmed, as Twilight waved a hoof in front of the frozen unicorn’s eyes . . . and she never blinked.

Trixie had gone stuporous catatonic.

“Feeling better?”

Trixie barely heard Twilight’s low, soft murmur; it was more sensed than heard. Why was Twilight here? Trixie couldn’t remember. She could not remember!

Twilight stayed with her for the next hour, a silent comforting presence as Trixie slowly started remembering that morning. Breakfast. Twilight’s unexpected arrival. The even more unexpected arrival of the Princesses Celestia and Luna. Before Twilight left, a leave-taking only agreed to with Trixie’s assurance, along with her weak yet firm expressed desire to just “take some willow bark and get some rest”, Trixie had remembered, albeit a bit sketchily in places, everything up to the departure of the Primary Elemental Monarchs. There was more that had followed, of that she was sure. But each time she’d cautiously put her hooftip in the water and tried to remember . . .

Body and mind screamed alarms of such violent intensity that it rendered impossible exploring further down those paths. It didn’t —and wouldn’t— matter how cautiously or forcefully she probed, from which direction or path she took. Although those memories might actually be stored . . . Trixie would never be able to access them. She’d simply have blank spots, forever unreachable, in the vault of memories.

Just like the hundreds she had regarding her youth . . .

And Mother.

As Trixie stepped outside the latest store she'd visited, the proprietor quietly closed the door behind her. Taking a deep breath she gustily exhaled. At least having a door gently closed behind her was a vast improvement over earlier times, when she would be unceremoniously hustled out the exit, hooves skidding, and have the door slammed behind her.

Improvement notwithstanding, she was getting nowhere fast with preparing for —her coat violently shivered— the upcoming fireworks exhibition that Princess Twilight had connived her into agreeing to perform. Well, she more softly exhaled through flared nostrils, to be scrupulously accurate, all Twilight had really done was light the metaphorical fuse. It had been the pain and anguish in Princess Luna's expression that had “popped the 'cracker”, as it were.

Whichever way she might point the hoof, she had accepted the task of putting on a fireworks display in honor of Princess Luna. Talk about a Royal Command performance!

Had this happened even just last year, Trixie would have been prancing on cloud nine, chest puffed out, a smug yet gloating expression at scoring such a victory. But that would have been last year. Now?

Now, however, she was fighting waves of roiling nausea, wishing a Gnome would just appear and pull her down into a deep, dark hole.

C'mon Trixie, just pull yourself together. You can do it this one last time.

Once her belly stopped heaving she took another deep breath before twitching her coat and setting off again, this time northeast, towards Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle. Trixie had already decided that the East Lawn of the Castle would be the ideal spot to hold the fireworks: it was reasonably flat and quite roomy, with a nice, lush, manicured lawn, plus the river behind would serve to contain any potential stray sparks. Having ascertained the best venue, she'd then started out procuring the necessary supplies: lumber for the stages, rope barriers, and other tricks of her trade. Yes, she could simply make everything illusionary —and do a fantastic job of that, too!— but, if she was going to do this, then she was going to make her final performance memorable for all, and something to (hopefully) banish some of Princess Luna's sorrows as well.

Unfortunately, although she was no longer being given short shrift as the local stores, neither was she being extended any credit. Bits on the barrel-head, she was told, time and time again. Well, if Princess Twilight wanted Trixie to put on a fireworks show, she was just going to have to pony up the bits for the supplies. Several minutes later she was approaching Sugar Cube Corner, on her way to see Twilight, when a commotion across the street caught her attention.

And not just her attention, either; pretty much any pony within sight and earshot was looking that way. Trixie's lips pursed into a tightness borne of dislike, for the two causing the disturbance were Heck and Jeck, twin earth pony workers. They were virtually identical: big, massively muscled brutes, completely jet black save for the cream colored underside of their barrels. Heck's cutie mark was a pick, while Jeck's was a mattock. They didn't live in Ponyville but were itinerant laborers, willing to do for a decent wage the hard and dirty jobs nopony else wanted to do.

One could be excused for mistaking muscles for numskulls, but that would be a mistake, for the Ell twins were undeniably intelligent . . . and all the more hazardous for that. They were bullies, plain and simple and, far more dangerous, they were intelligent, cunning, and crafty ones to boot. They never crossed the line far enough to run afoul of the law, yet they trotted that line with a scalpel's cold surgical precision. Trixie had had the misfortune of being their targets twice before, soon after she'd taken up residence in her clearing, and both times they'd reduced her to near-suicidal hysterics.

“Hey. Isn't it too early t' start drinkin'?” one of them slurred to the other, weaving on his hooves.

“I dunno,” the other slurred back. “Are we awake?”

“Yep.”

“Then it ain't too early!”

Both broke out into hearty guffaws, belly laughs that carried a strong undertone of maliciousness. They had obviously been at it for several minutes, as there was a small crowd watching. And, with their cruel cunning played with a virtuoso's finesse, once again had drawn the crowd into their hooves. Ponies that normally would have been aghast at the comments and antics were, once more, staring in mesmerization.

“What's t' best Mum t' have?”

“I dunno Jeck. Wha' is t' best Mum t' have?”

“A lush.”

“A lush? Why is that?”

“Cuz Heck, ye gets yer milk an' yer beer outta t' same taps!”

Again they erupted into mocking, braying laughs, mirthfully stomping the ground with their hooves.

What in the world? Trixie thought, brows furrowed in puzzlement. Then her head whipped to the side, ears back and flat against her skull as she heard a high, shrill —and undeniably young— voice shriek in outrage “You leave my Mamma alone!”

Standing just outside and to one side of Sugar Cube Corner were an earth pony mare and a very young blank flank unicorn filly. The mare looked frozen in place, every aspect of her posture radiating humiliation and abject despair, eyes shimmering with unshed tears before eyelids tightly closed, the tears now freely flowing down her muzzle which hung down in defeat. The little filly was standing just in front of the mare, between her forelegs and almost underneath her chest, slender legs rigid in braced fury as she screamed her defiance at the bullies tormenting her mother.

Something inside Trixie roused, feelings long dormant and virtually extinct, and, to be frank, ones she'd rarely, if ever, before felt with respect to another: indignant fury and righteous rage. Her eyes, normally placid purple pools, abruptly flared, at that moment (if she only knew) as fiery as the eyes of her little friend. Trixie had grown quite used to being the butt of nasty, mean and cruel jokes (although admittedly those had virtually ceased by now) and had quickly learned that the Ell twins would target anypony they sensed were vulnerable.

Like a former, failure of a showpony . . .

. . . Or a struggling alcoholic single mother.

Trixie's nostrils flared as she shifted her gaze from Berryshine (whom most everypony called by her nickname Berry Punch, due partially to her talent but mostly because she did have a drinking problem) and Ruby Pinch, her daughter, to Heck and Jeck. And, as she did so, her horn softly gleamed, the light pink aura almost lost in the bright sunshine. Nothing seemed to happen for several long seconds, and then . . .

Heck suddenly reared back, frantically waving a massive hoof, his eyes wide and rounded. A heartbeat later and his twin joined him, both making panicky little squeals. They spun and turned, still waving forehooves about as if swatting at . . . something.

“Get away!” “Shoo!” they hollered, incipient panic in the voices.

And then first Jeck, then Heck, crowhopped and jerked. “Bees!” they both screamed then, stumbling at first, they quickly accelerated into gallops as they raced off, still shrieking “Bees! Bees!”

Taking a deep breath Trixie extinguished her horn, feeling her pulse throbbing hard. She quickly throttled her fury down, although it was a struggle regaining a calm composure. Taking another deep breath she then slowly paced over to Berryshine and her daughter who, now that the bullies had run off, was sobbing, tightly pressed against her mother.

“Hello Berry,” Trixie soothingly spoke. “And hello to you, too, Ruby. My my,” she gently tsk-ed. “It looks like somepony could use a hoofkerchief. Don't you have one?”

The little filly tensed at first at hearing somepony so close, but relaxed a bit as soon as she saw it was Trixie, and not more bullies. Choking back a sob she gave a little headshake of negation, throat too clogged with tears to speak.

“Huh,” Trixie sounded puzzled. “Are you sure?” Then, before a baffled Ruby could respond, Trixie extended a forehoof and reached behind a little ear. “Then what's this?” A moment later and a white dove, rapidly cooing, took to the air. “Oops!” Trixie exclaimed. “You're right! That's no hoofkerchief! But what about this?” Reaching behind the other ear she pulled out a bright red hoofkerchief . . . followed by a green one . . . a yellow one . . . a blue one . . . seven in all, each knotted to the other, making a very colorful streamer.

Ruby had not only stopped sobbing by now, but had stopped sniffling as well, yellow-green eyes wide in astonishment and amazement. “Huh,” Trixie huffed, “That won't do either,” she exclaimed, tossing the knotted hoofkerchiefs up into the air . . . where they promptly vanished. “Ah ha!” she exulted, reaching behind the first ear again. “Here we go!” as she drew out a beautiful silk hoofkerchief, a white so pure it almost hurt to gaze at, and monogrammed with an interlocking “RP” in one corner.

Gravely extending the square to Ruby, Trixie deeply curtsied as she did. “M'Lady Ruby, thy hoofkerchief.” The little filly giggled, tears —and fears— now forgotten. Glancing up at her mother for permission first, Ruby then took the proffered square and started drying her eyes and muzzle before noisily blowing her nose in it. Giving Ruby a wink Trixie then turned to Berry before offering her a second one, this one without any prestidigitation involved.

“Thank you,” Berry whispered, her eyes still looking empty and haunted. She quickly blotted the worst of the tear-streaked ravages from face and muzzle before handing it back to Trixie, who simply smiled, shook her head and held up a forehoof. “Please. Keep it.” Berry weakly smiled, looking broken, an expression that Trixie was all-too-familiar with, seeing it virtually every day when she looked into her mirror. And as she did, yet another emotion stirred to life deep inside.

Glancing to one side at the entrance to Sugar Cube Corner, Trixie's mind rapidly whirred. “Berryshine?” she gazed back at the dejected earth pony mare. “Would you mind if Trixie bought Ruby a treat?” she asked, gesturing with her muzzle to the store. At that the little filly's ears perked up, and she pleadingly gazed at her mother with imploring eyes.

Berry's expression turned blank; moderate pink eyes, the whites red-rimmed from holding back tears, fixed on Trixie. She quite obviously suspected some sort of prank or trick, but, finding nothing but honest sincerity, blinked several times before giving a light shake of her coat.

“Mother? Please?” Ruby entreated.

“I . . . I guess it would be all right,” Berry hesitantly replied, then, more firmly and assured, “Thank you for the kindness.”

The three of them walked into Sugar Cube Corner, Ruby happily leading the way, almost skipping in her excitement. Off in the distance was heard a crash, a whinny, then a clatter, followed by an almost inaudible, “Bees!” Pinkie Pie was behind the counter, handing over a wrapped package followed by a receipt and change to a customer. “Be right with ya!” she called out. “Seat yourself!”

Sugar Cube Corner was moderately slow at the moment, poised between the end of the morning sales and the lunch rush, so there were several unoccupied tables available. Taking seats —the little unicorn filly eagerly squirming on hers . . . and still clutching the sodden hoofkerchief like some precious talisman— Trixie asked Ruby what treat she'd like.

“A sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bomb!” she excitedly enthused, while both Berry and Trixie winced.

For the most part the menu and recipes of Sugar Cube Corner's goods were the creations and products of the earth pony proprietors, and husband-and-wife team, Mr. Carrot Cake and Mrs. Cup Cake, who, while their establishment was noted for their specialization in sweets and baked goods, also frequently catered events —both public and private affairs— throughout Ponyville. Now and then, however, they permitted Pinkie Pie, their employee and renter, to dabble and create. Most of her experiments were, well, less than successful . . . unless one was grading gooey messes, clouds of smoke and “unique” flavors as successes. Several had been big hits, actually winding up as popular menu items.

And then there were the famous . . . if not infamous . . . sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bombs.

Foals, fillies and colts absolutely adored them, as much for the messiness as the taste . . . and the amount of sugary-sweetness they contained. It was rumored that an earth pony filly or colt who managed to finish an entire one was able to achieve flights that were the envy of any pegasus. Adults, however, shuddered at the mere name of them . . .

While no few secretly bought them for indulgent, guilty pleasure.

A sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bomb started off as a grapefruit-sized ball of profiterole, which was then filled almost entirely with rich, thick vanilla custard with intriguing hints of spices. It was then completely covered in a thick layer of dark chocolate ganache which, in turn, was topped by a layer of sugar frosting, and then finally finished with colorful, glittery sprinkles.

That quite hoofily explained the “sprinkle-covered”, “sugar-frosted”, “chocolate-glazed”, “vanilla custard” and “eclair” aspects of the confection's nomenclature, which left only the “bomb” characteristic remaining. At first blush, somepony could reason that that descriptive noun was based upon the spherical shape and heavy weight, reminiscent of the archetypical villain's fuse-sputtering bomb. It was even possible that such was what had inspired Pinkie Pie during its creation. Alas, that was not, however, what had truly earned the deceptive-looking pastry its distinctive moniker.

Some —not all, mind you, just a random few— sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bombs actually exploded when bitten into or cut open, sending the vanilla custard inside bursting out in an expanding ball of, well, sweet, sticky goo(dness).

It was common knowledge that on those occasions when that happened, a tucked-in napkin was entirely useless . . . as were bibs, or even aprons for that matter. Serious debates had been held regarding the advisability of having mackintoshes on ready standby for dining safety.

No sooner had Ruby excitedly announced her desire than nearby patrons hastily vacated adjacent seats (having no mackintoshes at the ready), causing her to hugely grin, yellowish green eyes sparkling with merriment. Berry winced again, her imagination quite up to the task of envisioning the potential hazards, while Trixie sternly throttled her second wince, this one borne from calculating the cost; while sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bombs weren't exactly costly, neither were they inexpensive.

Before either could consider all of the ramifications Pinkie Pie pronked over, cap on head, pencil tucked behind an ear and order tablet at the ready. “Sorry for the delay,” she apologized, “But we've been busy as bees today. Yessir, busy busy busy!” Bestowing an ear-to-ear grin to the three she hastily scribbled, “One sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bomb,” then, as she tucked the tablet away added, even as Berry and Trixie wordlessly sputtered, “Last one left, so I'll give you a discount,” as she then pronked back behind the counter.

Berry seemed to wilt under the dazzling smile of her daughter, but then took a deep breath before looking at Trixie, obviously wordlessly asking the unicorn if such a treat was more than Trixie had intended. Trixie, in turned, bestowed a similar look on Berry, verifying that such a treat was acceptable to Berry, from the perspective of her being Ruby's mother. Ruby, meanwhile, was excitedly squirming, earlier tears and fears quite forgotten.

“Ruby?" Trixie addressed the eager filly. “Trixie needs to speak to your Mom for a few minutes, OK? We won't be long.” Mare and filly instantly looked at each other, Ruby abruptly growing still. Berry then glanced at Trixie, who could see wariness in those worn depths. Trixie, of anypony around, certainly understood that leery caution. Without saying a word Trixie raised a forehoof up and touched her chest, then traced first a vertical, and then horizontal line there, finally finishing up by covering an eye with the bottom of her hoof.

From the back of the shop, from behind closed doors, came Pinkie Pie's voice. “I heard that!”

That was so unexpected, and sounded so bright and cheerful, that Ruby smothered giggles behind little hooves while Trixie and Berry both gave startled jerks. Berry gave Trixie an appraising look that lasted several seconds, and then she softly, tenderly smiled down at her daughter. “Ruby? Trixie and I will be right back. We have some boring grown-up stuff to talk about. Now be a good filly until Mamma gets back, OK?”

“Yes Mamma!” she replied, nodding her head even as she began wriggling in expectation of her treat. Trixie politely motioned for Berry to precede her, and then the two of them gravely paced outside Sugar Cube Corner and off to one side, as to not block the entrance.

Their manes lightly fluttered in the gentle breeze as they stood there, side by side, for almost half a minute in silence, before Trixie quietly asked, “How long?”

Berry seemed to freeze, her breathing halting, eyelids not blinking. It was such a seemingly innocuous question, and one whose subject could be virtually anything, but Berry instinctively knew about what Trixie was actually asking. Her plum coat violently rippled; her eyes closed tight, her head slumped as she dejectedly confessed. “Ni . . . nine weeks,” she brokenly answered, and then, with the bitterness of bile, “This time.”

Her head jerked up, haunted fandango orbs huge and rounded in startled surprise as Trixie enthused, “That's marvelous Berry! Truly amazing! Trixie is really impressed and proud of you!” There was a moment of feeling tricked and cruelly pranked, but only a moment, for there was no mistaking the utter sincerity in Trixie's voice and expression.

It was, however, a sincerity that Berry could neither understand, nor accept. Her voice harsh and acerbic, overflowing with self-loathing, she bitterly responded, “There's nothing to be proud of. I'm a failure. The town drunk. It's just a matter of time before I fall off the wagon again. Just ask anypony.” Tight-faced, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, Berry angrily swiped the side of her hoof across her eyes then tensed, bracing for the usual platitudes . . . or condemnations.

“Do you think of Princess Twilight as a hero?” Trixie asked. “A courageous, fearless warrior?”

Berry's train of thoughts came to a slithering derailment, the unicorn's apparent non sequitur confusing her. Shaking her head to clear the fog, ears flapping as she did, Berry finally replied in an over-controlled tone, “Well . . . yes. Yes, I do. Doesn't everypony?” Her eyes narrowed a bit as she suddenly recalled the rivalry that was said to exist between the (former) showpony mare and her alicorn competitor.

Gazing towards the distant spires of Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, visible over the rooftops, Trixie nodded. “Yes, Trixie does. And while Trixie was not here to personally witness the fight between Princess Twilight and Lord Tirek, she has heard much about that battle. Everypony in Ponyville is extremely proud of their Princess, and Trixie can certainly understand why they are.” She paused a moment, a sudden pinching tightness at nose and eyes before continuing. “But, as much as Trixie admires Princess Twilight, she knows of other warriors, unassuming in appearance and demeanor, who are even more dauntless and valiant. For they fight a foe even more insidious, more powerful, than even Lord Tirek.”

She paused a moment before gazing intently into Berry's eyes. In a tense, uneasy voice almost whispered, “They fight demons.”

Berry looked shocked, rocking back a bit. “They are terrible foes, these demons,” Trixie continued. “For once they find a victim, they claim her. And once they have . . . they cannot be vanquished; they cannot be banished. A demon that claims a victim for itself cares only to be cruel; to hurt and wound and injure. The truly terrible thing is that, no matter how often it may be defeated, it cannot be fully expunged. Each day may bring a new battle; each battle might be won in furious combat, but the war will never end; she will never be truly victorious, until the day comes when she finally closes her eyes for the last time.

“And those demons, they are terribly cunning. They are perfectly content to lick their wounds and wait to try again. Later that day; later that week; years later. They strike without warning, sometimes with obvious fury, other times with a serpentine cunning. They learn from past mistakes, always adapting, always seeking vulnerabilities, waiting for her guard to be let down . . . and strike when she does.

“Not everypony that finds themselves with a demon foe holds fast against it. Some succumb quickly, lost forever; even wallowing in the power of their demon enemy. While others buckle under the unending assault, their strength and determination eroding over time. Think of that Berry,” Trixie focused on the trembling earth pony mare as she gestured towards Twilight's Castle. “Princess Twilight is a heroine, and a warrior. But when she went to sleep the night after defeating Lord Tirek, she did so peacefully. She did not uneasily slumber wondering if tomorrow, or the next day, or the next week, she would have to fight him again . . . and again . . . and again. Princesses Celestia and Luna did not apprehensively slumber knowing that tomorrow, or the next day, or the next week, they would have to fight Discord again . . . and again . . . and again.

“But the warriors Trixie speaks of, and admire, do.

“They go to sleep each night knowing that, come the morning, their demon lies in wait. Perhaps it attacks her that day; perhaps it simply bides its time, patiently . . . oh-so-patiently . . . waiting. Come the night, she lies there, replaying that day in her mind. Win or lose, peace or combat. Always knowing, always knowing, the next day will be the same . . . again . . . and again . . . and again. Always with the knowledge that her demon does not fight alone, but often seduces friends, family, neighbors and acquaintances . . . anypony and everypony it can to its cause and flag.

“And sometimes, no matter how determined, how puissant and doughty a warrior she is, her demon bests her. She lies there, beaten, as her demon howls its victory, as it mockingly brays and humiliates. But though she lies there, beaten and defeated . . . she is not broken or vanquished. She pulls herself up, and dusts herself off . . . and returns to the fray. Wiser, more experienced, more determined. For, when all is said and done, it does not matter how often she falls . . . but that she rises up afterwards.”

Trixie paused a moment, as Berry saw an inordinate sadness glimmer for an instance in the sober unicorn's countenance before she solemnly gazed deeply into Berry's shimmering eyes.

“Which is why I admire you, and am proud of you. For you are one of those dauntless and valiant warriors. I admire your courage, and envy your strength.”

Berry blinked as Trixie finished, then swallowed hard as brimming tears overflowed, silently streaming down her muzzle. Her mouth worked wordlessly for several seconds, unable to speak, and then simply flung forelegs around Trixie and tightly clutched. It took Trixie a few moments to hug in return, having little experience in doing so.

They stood that way for about a minute, saying not a word as they each firmly embraced the other, until finally Berry gave a quick tight squeeze and dropped down to her hooves. Trixie blinked as Berry's tremulous smile abruptly froze, as the earth pony's expression started to fall. Glancing over her shoulder in the direction Berry was looking Trixie spotted Spoiled Rich and her daughter, Diamond Tiara across the street. Both of them were looking at Berry and Trixie, Ponyville's two scapegraces, with sneering expressions of superiority and disdain.

Without saying a word Trixie turned on her hooves and stood shoulder to shoulder to Berry. Unlike the dejected earth pony, Trixie stood there, proud and assured, not shouting defiance or challenge, yet, at the same time, radiating a sense of confidence, equanimity and serenity. Moments later, out of the corner of her eye Trixie noticed Berry squaring her hooves and lifting her head, matching Trixie's posture and expression.

Spoiled Rich and Diamond Tiara both started at that, then flushed in embarrassment as they did. “Hmpf!” they snorted in unison, lifting elegant muzzles up in aristocratic disdain before studiously ignoring the duo and continuing on.

Berry looked at Trixie, a grin spread across her face and her eyes twinkling, looking completely relaxed and self-confident for the very first time in Trixie's memory. Her grin grew even wider when Trixie held up her forehoof for a high-hoof. Smacking hers with a clonk against the broadly smiling unicorn’s Berry gave a bark of delighted laughter as Trixie haughtily sniffed in derision in the direction the two snobbish, pompous popinjays had departed.

“We should probably get back inside,” Trixie said. “Trixie is pretty sure Ruby is growing eager and impatient.”

“Pinchy,” Berry said as they walked back inside.

“Pinchy,” she repeated as they paced over towards Ruby, who, instead of impatiently squirming, was sitting quite still, a grave expression on her face as she solemnly watched her mother and Trixie walk towards her, completely ignoring the sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bomb sitting on a plate in front of her. “It’s what her friends call her. Isn’t it Hummingbird?”

At that, Ruby’s face lit up and, yes, she started wriggling again. As Trixie and Berry took their seats with her, Ruby beamed at her new unicorn friend. “It’s Pinchy!” And, since everything seemed OK, her Mamma actually smiling! Ruby saw no reason to wait any longer. Before either pony could say anything, or do anything, Ruby had picked up her treat in both forehooves, dived right in, and taken a huge bite . . .

KAA*BOOOOOSHHHH

Plunking the mop back in the bucket Pinkie Pie gave it another good splooshing around. “Good thing the morning crowd was mostly gone!” she cheerily chirped. Ruby was still heroically munching on her treat, although there had been a temporary “time out” while Berry went through an entire basket of napkins wiping custard off her daughter. It would have been more efficient just hosing her down —something Pinkie Pie would have happily obliged . . . as she’d made perfectly clear standing there in firefighter’s turnout gear and helmet, brass nozzle in hooves as a large canvas hose snaked back into the kitchen, ready and waiting.

Well, the morning crowd might have been “mostly gone” then, but at the moment it was just the four of them, the rest having fled in the wake of the custardy explosion. While Pinkie Pie finished “swabbing the deck”, Trixie and Berry took turns toweling each other off, Pinkie having raided the laundry for every clean towel she could find. Berry smothered a grin and chuckle as the custard-covered unicorn muttered, “That fire hose is looking better and better every second.”

“Mamma? Miss Trixie? Would you like some?” Ruby piped up as she licked custard off her lips with a quick swipe of a curled little tongue. Berry did burst out laughing as Trixie mordantly replied, purple eyes twinkling in complete contrast to her tone, “Thank you Pinchy, but no. Miss Trixie isn’t ready yet for a second coat.” She whispered something to Berry, who blinked in pleased surprise before nodding. “And if it’s Pinchy, then it’s just Trixie, not Miss Trixie,” she said with a smile, watching as Ruby’s face erupted in a dazzling smile.

“Here ya go!” Pinkie Pie burbled, setting two cups of coffee and a large glass of milk down with solid clunks. Before anypony could respond the pink earth pony pronked back behind the counter.

“I’ll be right back,” Trixie apologized as she got up and paced over to the counter. It wasn’t that she disliked coffee, because she didn’t; dislike it, that is. What she did dislike, however, was Pinkie Pie just serving items that nopony had ordered. She wasn’t exactly rolling in bits, after all!

“Pinkie Pie —,” she started, but before she could get any further . . .

“Made too much coffee this morning!” she bubbled. “Just been super dooper busy today! Bzz Bzz Bzz! Yup, busy as bees today! I would’a had to just pour it down the drain if you and Berry didn’t drink it. Thanks for helping out! Would’a hated t’ waste it!”

Eyes narrowing a bit the suspicious unicorn tried to follow along as Pinkie Pie prattled at high speed. “And the milk?”

“Well, she’s a growing filly yes? And growing fillies need lotsa milk. Helps build muscle ‘n’ bone yanno. And the sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bombs really taste much better with milk don’t’cha think? What good is—”

“Pinkie Pie,” Trixie interrupted, and as the enthusiastic pink pony caught Trixie’s expression she slithered to a halt, looking a like a guilty school filly with her hooves caught in the cookie jar. “While Trixie truly does appreciate the thought, and the kindness behind it, she did invite Berry and Pinchy and, in doing so, fully intended to pay for them. She appreciates the coffees, and will accept them “on the house” as it were, since you did say you would have poured it down the drain otherwise —you were going to do that, weren’t you?” she asked, giving Pinkie Pie the gimlet eye. Trixie relented a bit when Pinkie simply nodded, not a trace of artifice to her mien. “It is important to Trixie that she pays her debts,” she quietly yet adamantly asserted.

Pinkie Pie deeply inhaled before gusting out a sigh, her expression a mix of disappointment tempered with understanding before flashing back into her standard high-octane mode. Trixie smiled then, as much as hoping to ease the possible sting of rejection as to convey appreciation for the thought. She moved out of the way to make room for the lunch customers who were starting to arrive, and reseated herself back with Berry and Ruby. “Is everything alright?” Berry asked, sotto voce.

“Everything is fine,” she assured the concerned earth pony. A sudden inspiration hit her, almost physical in effect. “Trixie is not sure if you have heard the announcement yet,” she began, catching their attentions. “But in four days,” and Trixie fought back a momentary surge of panic at the thought, “Trixie will be holding a fireworks display, the evening of Running of The Leaves festival.” Ruby gave an excited squeal, and even Berry looked on in expectant excitement. “I would like Miss Cheerilee’s students to play a part. Pinchy, you are one of her students, yes?”

Ruby nodded, looking on in lively curiosity.

“If your M-mother says you may, would you like to help Trixie?”

Ruby immediately shot an imploring look at her mother, who, in turn, looked at Trixie. “Help how?” she asked, her tone inquisitive rather than suspicious.

“Trixie will be making, well, call them props of a sort. Enough for every student to have one —Trixie will need Pinchy to tell her how many students there are— and then, at the exhibition that evening, to distribute one prop per student.”

“What are the . . . “props” . . . for?” Berry asked.

Trixie just grinned and theatrically winked. “It’s a surprise.”

“Please Mamma? May I?” Ruby implored.

“Sure you can Hummingbird,” Berry agreed with a tender, warm smile.

“YAY!!!”

They talked about inconsequentials for a bit, a quiet contentment in socializing with guards down, something neither of them were at all used to doing. Trixie finally sighed, “Trixie needs to get moving,” she explained, “There is a lot of preparations she needs to do before the Running of The Leaves festival. Besides,” she glanced around at the rapidly filling shop, “we should make room for the incoming customers.”

Nodding in agreement Berry stood up, then gave Trixie a firm hug. Ruby then tightly squeezed Trixie, chirping, “I’ll be the bestest helper ever!” As mother and daughter exited, Trixie took her place at the end of the line, waiting to pay for things. Her mind was intently focused on all the arrangements and supplies she was going to need, on how she was going to present all this to Princess Twilight . . .while her stomach had the oddest, quiverish feeling as her mind traveled down daydream paths imagining talking with Twilight, not “Her Highness”.

And, possibly, perhaps more than just “talking”.

“Hey there Trixie!” The startled unicorn almost backed into the customer behind her, jerked out of intriguing snippets of fantasies and into the present. “Phew! Getting busy again! Busy as bees in fact! That’ll be three bits.”

Trixie felt herself wince. Still and all, she considered, she’d appreciated the company, and had enjoyed making Pinchy smile and forget her tears. Reaching for her bit pouch . . .

She froze. She literally froze, feeling her blood congeal and turn to ice. A tremor rippled back and forth through her as utter, absolute humiliation made her face ignite even as the rest of her was as cold, and as brittle, as ice. Her neck bit pouch was at home.

It was at home.

“Is something wrong?” Pinkie idly chirped, the question more pro forma than an actual query.

Trixie wanted to die on the spot. After all the fuss she’d made about “being responsible” and “paying her debts”, here she now was, unable to pay! “Tri— Trixie left her bit pouch home,” she whispered in mortification.

“That’s OK!” Pinkie smiled, an ear-to-ear grin, sky blue eyes radiating mirth and merriment. “I’ll just put it on your tab!”

“T-t-tab?” Trixie sputtered. “B-b-but P-pinkie, Trixie doesn’t have “a tab”!”

Pinkie Pie gazed deeply into Trixie’s eyes, and the stunned unicorn had a moment to see what a few, a very very few, ponies had ever had the distinction of seeing: sky blue orbs, usually seemingly shallow pools of comedy, amusement, and fun seemed to extend into infinity. Pinkie Pie’s expression was, for a heartbeat, as serious and intent as Princess Celestia’s had been (was it just that morning?) when making her declaration.

“You do now.”

Questions, Answers, and Puzzlements

Questions, Answers, and Puzzlements

Four quills hovered in mid-air, softly gleaming in the light lavender auras that surrounded them. Well, “hovering” was not the most accurate description; “frenetic scribbling”, however, would do nicely in their place. Beneath each quill was a parchment scroll . . . a long scroll . . . an extremely long scroll. Twilight sat at the table —her old table, as a matter of fact— her horn illumined by the same light lavender coruscation as her quills. Her muzzle was cutely scrunched up in fierce concentration as she simultaneously transcribed the morning’s Conclave on one scroll; her concerns about the Alicorn Amulet (its possible long-term harm, and potential malevolent, lingering effects, on those who had worn and used, it) on another; a third scroll with the twin headers of “coffee beans” and “tea leaves”; and finally a growing list of questions regarding Trixie herself.

Twilight had already, even before the showpony illusionist had returned to Ponyville this last time, started looking into Trixie’s past. At first, it was cautionary prudence but, the deeper she dug . . . the less she actually discovered, which lit a burning itchy fire under her curiosity bump.

For one thing, try as she might, Twilight could find no hint of Trixie’s past prior to her acceptance into Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. It was as if she had not existed until she had passed the threshold into her first class.

For another, although Twilight had found quite a few of Trixie’s peers and classmates, they were, one and all, barely able to provide any useful information about her. Oh, she went by Trixie now? She was called Beatrix at school. Yes, they remembered her: the social outcast, the shy wallflower, the silly goose who ignored advice and, instead of actually learning anything useful, pointlessly daydreamed about being a powerful, famous performer.

As for her teachers, they were more than just reticent to talk about Trixie; most flat-out refused to discuss anything at all other than verifying that, yes, Trixie had been in their class. The rare few that did expound on Twilight’s questions did so so vaguely that it did little to actually answer them. And as for records and transcripts?

Twilight had been able to access Trixie’s scholastic records, but in the most generic sense: what courses she took any given year, which classes, which teachers and professors, her grades. That might have sounded comprehensive, but Twilight knew better. Missing were the evaluations, the personal notes, the recommendations —good, neutral, or negative. The only reason Twilight knew that Trixie belonged to a very select group of talented unicorns —of being one of only three unicorns this generation with the aptitude and ability for all seven Disciplines— wasn’t by anything definitively recorded —as it certainly should have been!— but by interpreting the classes Trixie had been enrolled and taken . . . and assigned to take before she’d dropped out.

And when she had tried delving deeper, she discovered something disturbing: Trixie’s missing records had not just mysteriously gone missing . . . they had been collected, confiscated, and sealed . . .

By Royal Order of Princess Celestia, as the Sun Princess and Reigning Monarch of Equestria . . . and not as the Headmare of her School for Gifted Unicorns.

The quills did hover now as Twilight pensively glanced around the room . . . her room, as a matter of fact. Well, her old room, to be scrupulously accurate. It was located in the Royal Wing, immediately adjacent to Princess Celestia’s bedroom suite, in fact. Small and homey, it was a single room, with a small yet comfortable bed (for her) and a smaller donut one on the floor (for Spike), with two small bookcases (shelves bowed under the weight of books they held), a small table and two chairs, and a student desk in one corner (also quite worn from heavy usage).

When Twilight had first been accepted at Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, she had also concurrently become Her Royal Highness’ private student (and, later on, her personal protégée). Since she had lived with her parents, Twilight Velvet and Night Light, in Canterlot, at first she’d commuted back and forth. But within months it became obvious, both to her parents and teachers as well as to Celestia, that Twilight’s thirst for knowledge, coupled with her unparalleled aptitude, meant that, as much as she loved her parents, and would (and did) miss living at home with them, she resented the time wasted spent commuting back and forth. And she had absolutely chafed, fretting and begrudging every second being away from the campus library and having to wait! until the following day in order to research all the fascinating questions her agile and lively mind continually contemplated.

Halfway through her first year it was decided that it would be in Twilight’s best interests to have her housed at the School for Gifted Unicorns, boarded with others in the school dormitory.

Halfway through the last half of her first year, it was decided for the sanity of her classmates that she be privately boarded. This room had, in fact, been just that: Twilight’s own, personal, private quarters.

By the time she’d been sent to Ponyville, Twilight had barely been using her quarters, having been housed in her own tower, complete with her very own personal library!

Her expression softly eased as nostalgia and reminiscence kindled a gentle warmth in her. This room held so many, many memories! Twilight gently blotted her eyes as she recalled so many moments in time so dear to her. It was so hard comparing that little filly with the alicorn she’d become. Whoever would have believed that possible?!

Princess Celestia would have, Twilight thought, She always believed in me.

As if the introspective alicorn’s thoughts had been a summons, at that very moment the Sun Princess herself opened the door and paced inside, pausing a moment on the threshold as her expression took on a distant look, a soft tender smile on her face as she, too, took a trip down memory lane.

“Is Princess Luna ok?” Twilight softly asked, her tone worried and concerned. Twilight was very fond of the Moon Princess, regarding her very much as the sister-sibling she’d never had, and Luna had reciprocated in self-same fashion . . . save that of being another sister in addition to her elder one. Luna was convinced that what she’d said to Trixie had been the reason the unicorn had gone stuporous catatonic. As a result, Luna had been crushed, despondent, and anguished.

Taking a deep breath, Celestia twitched her coat as she exhaled, regaining her standard “on-duty” demeanor. Warming smiling at Twilight, Celestia softly murmured, “Still my faithful student.” Gentle purple eyes twinkled as her former pupil softly blushed. She deeply exhaled, growing serious for the moment. “Luna is sleeping. She was terribly distraught, fearful that something she’d said or done had triggered Trixie’s attack.” Celestia grew sad as she continued. “I told her it wasn’t her fault; that Trixie had just grossly overextended herself, and got overwhelmed.”

“But it was what she said that triggered it. Wasn’t it?” Twilight softly said, not really a question at all.

The Sun Princess did not reply; neither confirming nor denying, which perplexed the studious, inquisitive alicorn. Instead, Celestia fondly smiled, seeing the parchment scrolls that overflowed the table. “Reminds me of old times,” she smiled even warmer. Gazing at the first one she appreciatively nodded. “Thank you Twilight. It is important that we have thoroughly, and accurately, transcribed that meeting today.” She moved onto the second, and purple eyes grew into deep, introspective pools. “I thought you’d already thoroughly researched that amulet?”

Furiously flushing, Twilight admitted that, no, she had not done so. Once Trixie had given it to Twilight, and the spell (supposedly) broken, and once Twilight had turned it over to her mentor —to be locked away in the Royal Vault for Dangerous Magicks— she had not given it a second thought. Twilight was unhappy, but understanding, when Celestia gently informed her that any research on the Alicorn Amulet would have to be at second hoof; she would not be permitted to experiment with the amulet itself.

Celestia introspectively nodded at the third scroll, the one regarding Trixie’s surprising use of illusions, and started to inquire about that, but abruptly stilled as her eyes drifted over the forth scroll.

And that’s when things went downhill very, very fast.

The huge glittering star that topped the Castle of Friendship (the shorter, more common —and far easier to pronounce— version for Princess Twilight’s Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle) had been visible from the moment Trixie had left White Tail Wood, her clearing actually closer to the Castle than virtually any of Ponyville’s homes. And, in truth, had her clearing not been in the middle of a thick stand of pine, but, instead, inside one of oak, once the leaves had been shaken off in fall (like they would soon be in just four more days) Trixie would have been able to see it from inside White Tail Wood. That star was just as easily spotted above the rooftops from the vantage of outside Sugar Cube Corner, as was the top of the sharply conical, two-toned gold striped uppermost spire.

Trixie had never been to the Castle of Friendship before that morning, so she hadn’t any real idea of its size or shape. She’d kept her muzzle —and thus, her eyes as well— focused down at her forehooves as she plodded along, little puffs of dust as she trudged along the avenue that terminated at the great golden stairs leading up to the two-leaved golden door into the massive, crystalline tree’s trunk.

Once the bottom tread was immediately in front of her Trixie halted, then took a deep breath in preparation before slowly, oh-so-slowly, raising her eyes up . . . and up . . . and up. Bitter jealously and indignant fury ignited inside, blazing as she finally saw the exterior of the Castle in its entirety. It wasn’t just a castle: it was an enormous, radiantly scintillating crystal tree whose trunk and branches thrust upwards, reaching for the sun that kindled rainbow coruscations . . . and cradled an entire castle within its embrace.

Trixie had no desire for even a modest castle, let alone something this . . . this outré and outrageous. No, it wasn’t the Castle itself that had her insides furiously raging; it was what it represented.

—Success.

—Recognition of skills and power.

—Symbolism of admiration and gratitude.

She no longer was jealous of Princess Twilight. Envious, yes, but not jealous. Twilight had worked hard, extremely hard, at her studies, labors, and tasks, and had earned her accolades in the only way Trixie could respect. She hadn’t been given anything, she’d earned them.

But Trixie has worked hard, too! she mentally cried out. She has willingly given up everything for her dreams! She’s fought and struggled, sweated and bled. And all she’s ever wanted was to make ponies smile; to gasp, to ooh-and-ahh at her performances; to forget their troubles for a while; to be lost in the moment, and simply enjoy! Yes, she wanted accolades and applause, Trixie choked back a sob at that weakness, her desperate need for validation, then mentally whispered, I wanted to have made a difference . . . not die alone and friendless, nopony knowing, or even caring, that I have passed away.

The fire that blazed inside her was abruptly extinguished by a bitterly cold blast as, once again, settling over her was the heavy, weighty mantle of failure and hopelessness. The broken unicorn could no longer even feel the connection with her cutie mark . . . Trixie gave a sharp savage bark at that. What a laugh that had been, that cutie mark! What it stood for, what it represented — what it had impelled . . .

An already miserable foalhood had suddenly been shown a future of bright hopes and dreams . . . an escape from utter despair and suicidal longing . . .

A future that had never transpired but, instead, had mocked her time after time after time with promise . . . holding out that carrot while, from the very inception, had been ruthlessly leading her, not to bright lush pastures, but to a bleak graveyard of scattered hopes and dreams.

Princess Luna . . . Princess Twilight . . . Trixie is sorry, her slender legs quivered as she felt tears rolling their way down her muzzle, her earlier enjoyment with Berryshine and Ruby Pinch gone, drained away and utterly banished by the rolling, pounding waves of despair and misery that were her constant companions. She thought longingly of the tiny, sealed crystal vial of concentrated amethyst syrup hidden away behind a false panel in her wagon. But Trixie is tired. She is so so tired. She is so tired of fighting. She is not as courageous, nor as strong, as Berryshine. She just wants to surrender to final sleep.

A sudden, felt-more-than-heard, displacement of air overhead made her tense. Almost simultaneously was heard a sound that reminded her of an over loose sail fluttering during tacking, then a more vigorous flapping as air was fanned against her. What in the world—

“Miss?” a deep voice softly rumbled. “Are you feeling ok?”

Coat violently rippling a moment, Trixie cautiously opened her eyes . . . then froze. Standing just inches away, and gazing at her with concern . . .

Was a bat pony. A thestral!

There was absolutely no way to mistake him —and he was undeniably male; Trixie was startled, feeling warmth expanding inside— as anything else. If the wings —multi-jointed, leathery, and purplish-colored— didn’t give that away, the monotone grey coat with royal blue mane and tail, fluffy tuft-tipped ears, and huge golden eyes with slit pupils certainly did!

Oh, and fangs. Let’s not forget the fangs.

When Trixie just stood there, rigid and unmoving, the thestral’s expression slowly started changing, shifting from concern to blank neutrality. There was tightness to his eyes and tenseness to his posture, and abruptly something clicked in recognition inside the frozen unicorn. “Trixie is sorry,” she apologized, “She was just startled, is all. She didn’t mean to be rude, and,” she paused a moment, lifting her head up and meeting his eyes, “Do you know you’re soaking wet?”

She felt her face abruptly flame in embarrassment. She somehow doubted that the thestral was unaware of that fact, but she’d been so surprised at seeing him standing there, rivulets of water streaming down legs and dribbling off his barrel, that she’d just blurted that out.

Then she noticed those enormous golden orbs were now mostly hidden behind almost-closed lids, as he squinted at her. Moments later and those lids flew open, as eyes rounded in surprise, as a huge umbrella magically appeared overhead, plunging them both into deep shade. “Ah . . . thank you, Miss—?”

“Trixie. Trixie Lulamoon.”

His eyes flashed a moment in recognition, and then gave her a courteous bow. “Welcome to Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, Miss Trixie. How may we help you?”

There were many questions Trixie had, and quite a bit of assistance she could use regarding the upcoming fireworks exhibition, but she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head, “Why are you soaking wet?”

Now his face abruptly flamed, an incredibly sheepish look on his face. “Ah . . .” he began, flushing even deeper. “Backfired practical joke,” he confessed, and then grinned as Trixie found herself burst out in giggles.

Once she regained composure Trixie announced, “Trixie is here to speak with Princess Twilight. If . . .” she hesitated, “If she has time to see her?”

“Princess Twilight is not here at the moment,” he stated, then added, “But she should be back shortly. Would you like to wait until she returns?”

“Do you know how long that might be, ah . . .” she flushed again, looking mortified. “Trixie is sorry, but she did not ask your name.”

“Crescent,” he replied, while courteously motioning up the steps towards the double doors with a forehoof, indicating that Trixie should precede him. “I’m one of Princess Twilight’s guards; Night Guard to be precise. Personally assigned by Our Lady of the Night, Her Royal Highness Princess Luna.”

There was a great deal of pride in his tone, but Trixie very quickly realized that, unlike gilded aristos, supercilious courtiers, and the like, his pride was not self-centered. Oh, don’t misunderstand; he was proud of his assignment, the same sort of pride any talented craftspony had regarding his or her work. But the vast majority of his was a magnified reflection of his relationship with Princess Luna: his personal liege, the pony he —as did all thestrals— swore, and owed, absolute and utter alliance and obedience . . . and now, albeit in a lesser degree, his association with Princess Twilight.

She dispelled the shading umbrella as they passed the threshold and entered the main lobby. Just inside the doorway and flanking either side were two Guardponies, in full uniform and duty armor. Trixie’s eyes widened upon seeing them, for they weren’t earth, pegasi or unicorn ponies; these were crystal ponies.

“As Our Lady of the Night had done, so did Princess Cadence, who assigned several units of her personal Guardponies,” Crescent smoothly explained as they passed the two crystal Guardponies, who stood there in such a silent, rigid pose that they could easily have passed for true quartz statues . . . except for their eyes, which twinkled in mischievousness as they took in the drenched thestral’s discomfit. “And to answer your question, Her Highness should be back within the hour. Would you like refreshment while you wait?”

“Thank you for the offer,” she demurred, “but Trixie does not want to impose or presume.”

At that, Crescent paused, and in the cool dimness of the hallway, he gazed again at her, his eyes now fully open. “Princess Twilight has specifically ordered that, whenever you visit, you are to be treated as an important guest. Not a supplicant, not a petitioner. But as an esteemed and valued friend. Therefore, I very much doubt that you could possibly impose or presume.”

Twilight could never recall a time that she’d left Princess Celestia feeling acrimony in her heart. Feeling scolded and disciplined, yes. Disappointed at times, too. But those had been very few and far between . . . and well-deserved; Twilight might not have enjoyed the experiences, but she wouldn’t ever deny the propriety of them.

But, this time?

Twilight had literally stalked out of her old room, coldly furious, turning her back on Celestia and departing with the iciness of a scalpel slicing flesh. Somehow, she managed not to slam the door, but that had been difficult, a very close call indeed. There had been no goodbye, no curtsy —let alone a hug! She stormed through the hallways, anger rolling off her in palpable waves, purple eyes smoking with barely-suppressed fury, hooves thunderous against the stone floors.

No sooner had she reached a balcony than she had leapt into space, extending her wings and beginning the long, dynamic glide down to Ponyville. She could have simply teleported, winking to just above her castle . . . which is how she usually commuted between home and Canterlot. But she needed time to compose herself before she landed. Twilight had no wish for anypony home to see her this angry. They would be worried and concerned, and, with the best of intentions, would passively as well as actively nag and pester her in their misguided attempts to fix whatever had distressed their Princess.

Two conflicting loyalties battled within her. One was love of, and allegiance to, her Monarchs, Princesses Celestia, and Luna. The other was her own Royal obligations as Princess of Friendship. That duty was no mere window-dressing, not from the moment she accepted that Title. No, it was a compulsion.

And now it was personal, as well.

I need to stop dwelling on this, or I’ll wind up having to thermal about the Castle until morning!

Princess Celestia had, with a most unusual bluntness, told Twilight to stop looking into Trixie’s past. No more researching; no more interrogating teachers and schoolmates. That records Royally Sealed were done so for a reason. And, no, not even being the Princess of Friendship would change matters. If Trixie chooses to freely share things with you, that is one thing, Celestia had declared, But you will not pry, pester, or meddle with her. That is not a request, Twilight Sparkle; that is a Royal Command.

Twilight had tried reasoning and explaining; she’d quickly descended into outright begging and pleading. No, this was not some dispassionate, objective practice or mission. Twilight considered Trixie a friend, and knew something was deeply troubling her friend and she just wanted to help her. That was it; no ulterior motives at all.

She loved her mentor; she respected her as her teacher and friend; she owed allegiance to her as her liege Diarch. Intentionally disobeying a direct Royal Command had never, ever before entered her mind.

Until today.

Crescent had offered several possible destinations: informal dining room (should she wish refreshment); the solar (Crescent delicately shuddered; should she wish to relax); the gymnasium (should she wish to work out); the library (should she wish to read) ——

“The library will be fine,” she politely interrupted. Crescent nodded, and then started ambling along corridors, courteously leading. “May Trixie ask a question?”

“Of course!” he relied. “I will do my best to answer. And if I don’t know the answer I will find somepony that does.”

“Why are you up and awake? Is this not the middle of your ni . . . umm, well, sleep cycle?”

Crescent’s steps faltered for a moment before regaining equilibrium. “Well . . . ahh . . . you see . . .” Trixie was amazed seeing his fluffy, tufted ears glow a brilliant scarlet. Glancing left . . . right . . . up and down . . . the thestral finally gave Trixie a chagrined look. “I set an alarm to wake up, so I could set up a practical joke on the Day Guards.” Grinning more normally he chuckled, lightly twitching his still-damp coat. “It didn’t go well.”

His eyes widened when Trixie gravely replied, “Do the Day Guards taunt and ridicule you because you’re a thestral? Is that why the practical jokes?” That was the logical conclusion for Trixie, who, for years —especially these last few years— had been the frequent target of torment and malicious practical jokes.

“Oh no!” he immediately corrected. “We —Day Guards and Night Guards both— do it out of good-natured fun, and for the challenge. Besides,” he grinned wider, “it keeps us on our hooftips!” He grew silent a moment before speaking up. “Might I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Trixie replied.

“Ah . . . have you met thestrals before? I ask because you seem to be taking my appearance much more calmly than most ponies do.”

“Trixie stayed in Hollow Shades for several months.”

Crescent paused in mid-stride, hoof in the air, staring wide-eyed at the dainty unicorn next to him.

“And before you ask, yes, Trixie knew thestrals lived there before she visited,” she volunteered, completely calm. “But as Trixie has performed for ponies, and griffins, and yaks, should she not perform for thestrals as well? Why should Trixie look at you any differently, or treat you any differently, as she does any other intelligent creature?”

As Crescent opened the door to the library, and gestured for Trixie to enter, for the first time in his memory he simply could not find words to speak.

Having seen the Golden Oaks Library, Trixie was expecting something similar.

Hah!

Hooves making light tocks as she slowly pivoted, Trixie felt her jaw drop. While it wasn’t anywhere near as large as the Royal Canterlot Library, that wasn’t exactly surprising: there were no other libraries that came close to rivaling, let along matching, the Royal Canterlot Library. Having said that, however . . .

It felt easily the side of a small stadium, with full, three-hundred-and-sixty degree bookshelves against the cylindrical wall. Six bookshelves, as a matter of fact, with books virtually filling every available space. The incurving wall just before the ceiling was pierced by multiple windows, providing a reasonably shadow-free environment. There were multiple carrels and several floor-to-ceiling rolling ladders . . . for those without wings, she reasoned.

She’d never even managed to select a book to read, feeling as if a neck pouch full of dried breadcrumbs might be obligatory for exploring the library, when she heard the soft clicking of hooves from behind. “Hello Trixie!” Twilight chirped, a very pleased and excited expression on her face. “You’re looking much better! Did you rest well? How are you feeling?”

“It has been a somewhat busy morning,” Trixie hedged. “But Trixie is feeling better,” which was the truth, inasmuch as, compared to events of this morning, it was doubtful she could feel worse.

“So? What do you think?” Twilight asked as she came to a halt next to Trixie, gesturing with a forehoof to the library. From most anypony else —M.m.mother and her social peers instantly sprang to mind— Trixie would assume they would be fishing for compliments, or seeking to rub her muzzle in their wealth, power and possessions. But Trixie sensed that wasn’t at all behind Twilight’s question. Yes, she was pleased as punch with her library —and undoubtedly her castle as well— but who could blame her? Trixie certainly couldn’t. It felt more as if Twilight took a quiet pride in her library, and wanted to share that with Trixie. Not flaunt, but share.

Trixie slowly turned a complete circle, feeling her eyes blur as they filled. I used to love studying, and learning, and doing research, she sadly recalled. There were quite a few possible answers to the expectantly awaiting alicorn’s question that sprang to mind, but Trixie’s actual answer came from her heart. “Trixie is very impressed. She just isn’t sure where the lever is.”

“The lever?”

Trixie could hear the puzzlement in Twilight’s voice. “Yes, the lever,” she replied, utterly deadpan. “You know . . . the one they have to use to crowbar you out and back into the world?”

There came a series of wordless spluts and sputters, and then a bright, merry peal of laughter. Trixie looked over her shoulder to see Twilight dissolving into mirth. For a moment, gentle heat warmed her, before the iciness of failure and hopelessness, her twin and constant companions, smothered that warmth in its cradle. The same thing happened a second time, when Twilight, still chuckling, hugged Trixie in welcome.

“Honestly?” she admitted. “There’s more truth to that than I’m embarrassed to admit.” Twilight slowly gazed about, a raw hunger in her eyes. “I miss the freedom to simply study,” she softly murmured, expressing an honesty with Trixie that few other ponies were privy. A look of melancholy flashed for a moment across her face; closing her eyes tight, she took a slow, deep breath . . . held it a moment then slowly exhaled. “The Guard says that you wanted to see me?” she inquired.

Nodding, Trixie inquired, “Yes, Trixie does. If that is not too much trouble?”

“Not at all!” Twilight immediately avowed. “Do you mind if we talk in the dining room? I haven’t really eaten since this morning and, well . . .” she winced in recollection, “I sorta had my breakfast interrupted.”

When Trixie nodded in affirmation Twilight started walking. “Have you had lunch yet?

Twilight looked baffled; it sounded like Trixie had mumbled something about “custard”. “Come again?”

“No, Trixie hasn’t had lunch yet,” she replied, starting to hunch at what she was sure to come: being offered charity, a free meal.

Twilight caught that motion out of the corner of her eye and, with a sudden insight totally at odds with her usual social ineptitude, came to an abrupt stop before turning to face her friend. Trixie, taken totally by surprise, almost plowed into the now-stationary alicorn. “One thing that friends do,” she gently explained to the startled unicorn, “is sit down and share meals together. That isn’t charity, or largesse, or benevolence; not when it’s between friends.” Trixie felt herself falling into the compassionate purple depths of the Princess of Friendship’s eyes.

“O–o–ok,” Trixie weakly replied.

Twilight gently rubbed the side of her muzzle against Trixie’s. “Now come on!” she grinned. “I’m starving!”

Having seen the Library —honestly, after having now seen it, Trixie could not help but mentally capitalize it— she rather expected the same Palatial accommodations for the dining room. So she was rather surprised when Twilight guided her into a rather small, yet cozy, room instead. Gazing about in curiosity it quickly became readily apparent that this was, indeed, a dining room. The oval table, covered in fine, snowy linen, would seat no more than six —eight, perhaps, if they were really close friends— and, at the moment, had seats for four. There were a small buffet, sideboard, and hutch that obviously were part of a matched set, along with the table and chairs. It was elegantly yet tastefully decorated . . . there was no way Trixie could mistake that. It managed to successfully combine intimacy and privacy with informality and relaxation . . . and that was much much harder —and took a great deal more talent and expertize— to do than simply tossing bits all over the place and turning a room into an overblown monstrosity.

Trixie warily entered, unable to stop tensing, too many painful past experiences screaming at her in warning. Twilight gestured to a chair opposite hers as she settled in place, and then teasingly lifted a brow as Trixie just stood there. “This is where Spike and I —and my friends— eat. Or would you prefer the main banquet hall instead,” she kidded. “I’ll warn you though; we’ll need to use megaphones to talk to each other there.”

Heart hammering in atavistic dread Trixie finally took her seat. Twilight tipped her head to the side, one ear swiveled back, silently indicating a willingness to listen along with the understanding that she wasn’t prying or pushing; again, a totally foreign experience to the unsettled unicorn.

“I hope you don’t mind salad,” Twilight sheepishly said, while several earth ponies, dressed in immaculate white linens, silently swarmed inside, working briskly and efficiently as they set out cut lead tumblers before each, then filled them with icy cold spring water. Napkins were laid, chargers set out, flatware precisely set out . . .

Trixie could not help but admire the seemingly choreographed routine before her. In less than a minute, the table was fully set, water poured, salad tossed and served, and the servants vanished. “Trixie does not mind salad,” she admitted, then lifted a brow as Twilight grumped. “Trixie assumes that you do not?” she hazarded, while wondering why the alicorn, Mistress of her Castle, would be served something she disliked.

Munching on a bite Twilight swallowed then took a sip of water before answering. “It’s not that I dislike salad,” she began, then her face abruptly flamed, baffling Trixie to no end. Levitating a forkful up Trixie took her first bite . . . and felt her eyes round as the crispness and flavors blossomed in her mouth. Closing her eyes in bliss, Trixie slowly chewed, relishing the savory tastes.

Twilight smothered a grin, watching Trixie’s expression. No . . . no, she really didn’t dislike salads; how could anypony, when they were this delicious. No . . . no, the reason she wasn’t fond of them had nothing at all to do with their taste . . .

Twilight waited until they were halfway through their salads before speaking. “Was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?” Her heart started pounding, wondering if, just perhaps . . .

Half-formed dreams were dashed as Trixie answered. “Trixie needs supplies for the fireworks exhibition. She has spoken with everypony she needs supplies from, but they require payment up front.”

Nodding Twilight replied, “I’ll issue you a writ of credit. That should take care of that.” Pretending she didn’t see the shock on Trixie’s face at that, Twilight continued, “Do you need any other assistance, before, during, or after? Help with pre–show construction for instance, or crowd control and seating during?”

Trixie considered that in silence as she returned to eating, replying after a few mouthfuls. “Trixie could use help assembling the stages.”

“Umm . . . stages? As in, plural?”

“Yes. A small one for Trixie, from which to direct the fireworks. Another for where you, and Princess Luna, will be seated, as the Guest of Honor, and as the Hostess and Benefactor. Possibly a third, for the Element Bearers; Trixie hasn’t as yet decided on that as of yet.”

“Are you mad at me?” Twilight asked, her voice low, soft and hesitant.

Taking another forkful, Trixie gazed at Twilight. That . . . was a difficult question to answer. The former showmare had spent long, long months quashing every last remaining vestige of her aspiration —her intense, craving thirst and hunger— of being a performer. But that still whispered to her, day after day after day. It had never really left her, no matter how badly she’d tried.

And now Twilight was asking her to rip wide open that unhealed scab.

So . . . yes, Trixie was mad. Upset and angry and furious.

And absolutely, and utterly, terrified; terrified of what might happen should she perform once more.

Yet, Trixie could still clearly recall the longing in Princess Luna’s expression, as well as the deep pain and anguish there. And if Trixie, who barely knew the Moon Princess, could see and sense that, how much more intense was that for Twilight, whom was as close to Princess Luna as to be her (much, much younger) sister.

Swallowing the last bite of salad, Trixie blotted her lips and muzzle with the napkin. “No Twilight,” she quietly answered at last. “Trixie is not mad at you. It has just been a very intense, and draining, day so far.”

You can say that again, Twilight thought.

As silently as they’d set up, the servants flowed inside and, within seconds, it seemed, had refilled water tumblers, cleared the table, and then departed. “Was there anything else you needed?” Twilight asked.

“Actually, yes,” Trixie replied, and Twilight’s faced heated like the surface of Celestia’s sun, as her heart pounded in her chest, as her tummy butterfly–flip-flopped. “Trixie would finally like her questions answered . . .” and as her face flushed as hotly as Twilight’s, “and to see for herself how you look . . . after you’re “done.”

Tell and Show

Tell and Show

“Thank you, Sugar Spice. Oh, and please pass my apologies to my appointments secretary, but I need my afternoon schedule cleared. And leave the coffee service behind, please.”

Dropping into a deep curtsy, Sugar Spice replied, “Yes, Your Highness. Of course, Your Highness. Will there be anything else?”

“No, but thank you for asking.”

The immaculately uniformed earth pony servant curtsied again before backing out the door and closing it behind her. Trixie kept her expression blank, torn between surprise at the unexpected deference Twilight’s staff displayed . . . and disquieting, distressing memories of her foalhood and her youth.

She felt her eyes widen a bit at Twilight’s softly-gusted exhale, then suddenly remembered a snippet of conversation from—was it just this morning?

I know how tired they both are of ponies treading on eggshells around them all the time, worried about saying, or doing, something that would “offend their Royal Dignities”. And how tired they are of the constant hovering around them. 'Would Her Highness like another cushion?', 'Does Her Highness want more pepper on Her salad?', 'Would Her Highness want Her shawl before She takes Her walk in the garden?', 'Perhaps Her Highness would care to look at this proposal more closely?'. I have to deal with that now, too.

The brooding alicorn blinked when Trixie softly murmured, having deduced the actuality, “That is neither sycophancy nor smarminess, you know. They do that out of respect, and love, for you.” If anypony would be able to recognize those differences, Trixie would.

Taking a sip of coffee, Trixie softly gazed into Twilight’s deep, purple eyes. “Remember how you felt about being Princess Celestia’s personal student? How you wanted to make her proud of you? Prove worthy of her belief in you?” Trixie wasn’t at all sure about any of that; she was purely hazarding guesses. After a few pensive moments, Twilight slowly nodded. Trixie then gestured with a forehoof towards the door, and, by implication, the entire castle. “They love you,” she simply continued. “Being part of your staff, your guard . . . it is the highest honor, the greatest privilege, to which they could ever desire to aspire. And their words, their actions, their obedience and performance . . . those are the only ways they have of expressing their devotion to you.”

Twilight wrinkled her nose as she took a sip of coffee. It was not that she thought Trixie was mistaken . . .

“You are afraid of becoming numb to that . . . of, in the beginning, taking that for granted, and then, as time passes . . . expecting that as no less than your due.”

The Princess of Friendship suddenly stilled, introspective blankness on her features. Something in her thoughts clicked; she roused with several blinks before meeting Trixie’s calm, understanding gaze. “Part of it is that I feel uncomfortable . . . unworthy . . . of being fawned over like this,” she haltingly explained. “Even when I was Princess Celestia’s personal student and protégée,” —Trixie was startled seeing the angry tightness to Twilight’s eyes at mentioning the Sun Princess— “while I’ll admit I was proud of that,” she softly blushed a moment, “I never felt, well, superior? Pretentious? Vainglorious?”

She paused again, marshalling her thoughts. “I never felt as if I were anypony special. I never imagined, let alone wanted, all of this.” She waved a forehoof about, implying, as Trixie had just done, the entire castle, then closed her eyes and lightly shuddered as she swallowed. “And I’m already starting to take things for granted,” she tremulously whispered, “so . . . does that mean that, one day, I’ll start——”

“No,” Trixie firmly interrupted, her voice sharp; sharp enough to startle the anxiety-ridden alicorn out of her reflections.

“But . . . but . . . how can I be sure?” Twilight sounded close to tears.

Trixie took a deeper swallow of her coffee before setting the cup down. “Nopony that is honest with herself when she “looks into her mirror”, concerned that, once day, she will turn into somepony she does not want to become, is likely to do so,” she calmly exposited. “But,” she assured as she stood up and gravely paced over to Twilight, resting a hoof on the alicorn’s shoulder as she gazed down at her, “mostly because your friends will not let that happen to you.”

Lower lip quivering, Twilight reached up, covering Trixie’s hoof with hers. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Taking a deep breath Twilight then gustily exhaled. “Hooo!” Smiling more naturally now, she asked, “So . . . where to begin.” She waited until Trixie reseated herself before asking, “I’ve been promising to answer your questions, but things seem to keep interrupting us.” Twilight cutely wrinkled her muzzle at that. “And, well,” she softly blushed, “I do have some questions of my own.” For a moment, it was a supreme struggle to quash at birth all the other questions about Trixie she had, her bitter argument with Celestia still fresh in her mind. “So . . . would you mind if I went first? Answering, not asking!” she hastily clarified.

Trixie’s tummy started feeling very quivery and peculiar, her breathing oddly caught for a moment. Her mouth started feeling dry, so she quickly took another swallow of coffee while waiting for the other shoe to drop with a clang. Ever since last week, since “The Discovery” (as she’d started mentally referring to that) Trixie kept whipsawing back-and-forth between hard reality and dare-I-dream-of desires. But, as time-and-time again, things kept interfering with, and obstructing, those tantalizing hopes, those wishful feelings were gradually smothered, and now, virtually extinguished . . . as all her other hopes, dreams, and aspirations had been. But, unlike all those other times . . .

Right across the table from her was the physical incarnation of those almost-quenched tantalizations. And, if memory served Trixie right, Twilight was just as —just how did Pinkie Pie put that? Ah, yes! Nervicited. Such a perfect description!— nervicited about their mutually-shared interests of “stress relief” as Trixie herself was.

How decidedly . . . odd. Rather like being acutely embarrassed and self-conscious, but without that being truly negative. What an extraordinary feeling!

She truly felt a spurt of delicious wickedness when she finally replied. “Trixie would not mind if you went first . . . as long as she still gets to see for herself how you look . . . after you’re “done”, afterwards.”

Twilight got the oddest look to her face, a combination of lightly blushing shyness and an equally rosy impishness.

Then Trixie looked very much the same when Twilight softly replied, “I . . . I was hoping you still might. That’s why I cleared my afternoon schedule.”

After Twilight topped off their cups and set the pot back down, she took her cup between hooves, leaned back in her chair and relaxed, eyes softly closed. “My earliest memories go quite a while back,” she began without preamble, “and were absolutely innocent and chaste. It was only a week or so after I’d broken my foreleg, and I hadn’t been sleeping well. Fidgety, fretful, and restless pretty much accurately described it. I don’t remember that time of my life very well —I was rather young at the time— but this incident remains very vivid.”

Trixie had grown very still at that, but relaxed as the oblivious alicorn continued.

“I don’t remember the nightmare —or even if there was one— but I remember waking up and being unable to move.” A soft little smile lilted her lips; taking a sip of coffee, she continued. “Somehow I’d managed, in my tossing-and-turning, to wrap myself up in the top sheet and blanket. Between the unwieldy, unfamiliar cast, being three-quarters asleep, and feeling trapped, I must have let out a blood-curdling shriek, because it wasn’t but a couple of seconds before Shiney burst into my room.”

Again she paused, and Trixie could see another soft, little smile play across Twilight’s lips.

“And then he did the sweetest thing,” she almost whispered. “Instead of just matter-of-factly “rescuing” me from the blankets, or calming me down and soothing me . . . he just melodramatically exclaimed, ‘Where did this caterpillar come from? Oh . . . wait . . . it’s not a caterpillar, it’s a Twiley-pillar. Hello there Twiley-pillar! Are you going to become a moth, or a butterfly?’.”

Spurting a soft giggle, she continued. “He sat down next to me, gently stroking me as I calmed down, fussing over the ‘cute lil’ Twiley-pillar’, until I was relaxed, calm and soothed.”

Twilight finally peered through slitted lids at her guest. “And felt safe.”

“He had to go to school the next morning, but that didn’t matter to him. After he helped me “out of my cocoon”, he stayed up the whole night with me. I slept soundly for the first time in weeks.” Taking a sip of coffee, she continued. “Oddly enough, I don’t recall actually remembering that at the time. But it must have left a deep subconscious impression on me, because several months later I was feeling unsettled and restless and unhappy. I knocked on his door —waking the poor dear up”; she tenderly smiled— “and when he answered I, umm, well . . . sorta pouted and went ‘Wanna be a Twiley-piller’.”

Twilight gazed off into the mental distance, eyes softly closed. “Until I moved to The School for Gifted Unicorns, whenever I felt unhappy, scared, even just fussy, Shiney would always play ‘Twiley-pillar’ with me. He was so incredibly patient and kind. And when I was ready to “metamorphize” —come out of my “cocoon”— he’d always ask if I was a butterfly or a moth.”

“Well,” Trixie pointed out, “you have grown wings after all.”

Trixie looked surprised at Twilight’s reaction. Hadn’t she ever considered that?

“Sun and Moon!” the stunned alicorn finally exclaimed, as fits of giggles burst from her. “I have got to tell Shiney that the next time we’re together!”

Trixie smiled back, and then felt her eyes round in astonishment as Twilight gazed off into the distance again, for a sudden revelation hit her. Twilight is just speaking her innermost, intimate, personal thoughts, and utterly composed and relaxed doing so!

That might not sound astonishing at first blush, but this was Twilight Sparkle, who was, regardless of her being the Princess of Friendship, notorious for her social ineptitude. Science, mathematics, physics, chemistry, biology, logic, philosophy, magicks . . . yes, with those she exhibited absolute composure and competence. But —as Trixie herself was only too well-aware, having experienced it for herself— when it came to emotions, socialization, interpersonal relationships . . .

There was structure; organization to the former. It was all objective. But when it came to the latter, well . . . that was all subjective. Nopony could anticipate every possible permutation; nopony could rehearse every potentiality. And —again, as Trixie could personally attest— when faced with something outside of her comfort zone —which pretty much included everything outside of the pure sciences— Twilight floundered.

And pretty badly, too.

The amazed cerulean unicorn clearly remembered how Twilight had Sparkle-spazzed when attempting to talk to her last week; when she hadn’t had any opportunity to rehearse, plan, plot, scheme, flowchart, prepare . . . but here she was, relaxed and serene, and with words just freely flowing from her.

There was an odd tightness in Trixie’s chest at that realization; she felt her eyes prickle with tears. The hollow, singing emptiness that was always at her core felt . . . smaller, somehow. Ponies liked to talk (talk, not gossip; gossip, after all, would be boorish and crass) so Trixie had some idea of the number of times anypony had mentioned Twilight being this relaxed. In fact, the standard description of Twilight at her best was didactic, pedantic and bookish, while at her worst . . .

Trixie still had a difficult time picturing Twilight resorting to the “Want It Need It” spell just because she was afraid of being tardy on her report to Princess Celestia. She had an even harder time matching the composed alicorn here with the panicked, frazzled, semi-hysterical, desperate unicorn that the tales (it wouldn’t do to call them gossip, after all) described.

But this didn’t sound rehearsed to Trixie. There was a peculiar, particular cadence to a rehearsed speech, and this certainly wasn’t it. Which meant that Twilight was relaxed enough with Trixie to speak about something very personal, very private —very special and intimate— and be at utter peace and serenity while doing so.

“I really missed Shiney when I went to school; well, when I started boarded there, to be accurate,” Twilight wistfully continued. “Even more than my parents, he was my world. My BBBFF,” she said with a tender smile.

“Ahhh . . . ‘BBBFF’?” the puzzled unicorn inquired.

Twilight’s lips softly curved as she nodded. “BBBFF: Big Brother Best Friend Forever. Because he was . . . and still is,” she fondly declaimed. “Sometimes I think he’s the only reason I didn’t suffer socialization issues —well, worse socialization issues, I suppose— and become truly antisocially withdrawn. He had this special way of gently teasing me out of my obsession with reading and learning and helping me associate with the “real world”. And I never felt like I had to compete with him, prove myself to him, or feel worthy of his attention. We just . . . were.”

Princess Celestia, I’m not sorry to ask this, Royal Order or not, Twilight thought, before softly murmuring, “Did you have a brother? Or sister?” she asked, her tone just idly curious, not at all prying.

When long seconds passed in total silence, Twilight finally opened her eyes before sipping her coffee, glancing out of the corner of an eye at Trixie. There was tightness to her eyes, her muzzle a bit whiter, a tenseness to her body. Bingo! Twilight thought, recalling past times her unicorn friend had reacted the same whenever her family —well, it did seem just her mother, until just now— had been mentioned.

The longer the time passed in silence the worse Trixie started feeling; a few seconds of silence was easily explainable as a thoughtful pause, but almost a minute? That was unexplainable as any mere “contemplative moment”! Her belly was now churning instead of the shivery tingles of just moments ago, her blood like ice instead of sun-warmed water. Yes. Yes, she did have a brother, and she hated him with every fiber of her being even as she pitied him with all her heart and soul. But the loathing she felt for him was nothing at all compared to the loathing, the abhorrence —the fear and dread— she had for M.m.mother.

“Hey.” Twilight’s soft voice startled her, so lost in the deep darkness of her thoughts; she jerked so sharply that coffee sloshed out of her cup, and spilled onto the immaculate white linen tablecloth. Trixie’s face glowed in humiliation, then burned brighter as Twilight just soothed and dismissed the shameful accident and staining.

“Hey,” Twilight repeated. “So now we’re even,” she said with a grin.

Wha’? Trixie’s self-recrimination was interrupted by bafflement. Even? Even from what?

Seeing her bewilderment —which was a vast improvement from her self-mortification— Twilight grinned even wider . . . which confused Trixie to no end. “‘First date jitters’, remember? When I did a spit-take all over your tablecloth?”

Braced for patronization or condescension, that was the last thing Trixie expected, and a cleansing spurt of giggles burst from her, astonishing Trixie when that cleanly swept the feeling of disgrace from her as if it were nothing.

Gentle warmth spread throughout the pleased alicorn, thrilled and ecstatic at figuring out how to cheer up Trixie. Her showpony friend, Twilight was rapidly concluding, was much more complex than anypony had ever imagined . . . or —worse— than anypony had ever bothered imagining.

Topping off both their cups Twilight then picked up the thread of conversation once more. “I really missed being a ‘Twiley-pillar’ at school,” she admitted. “It’s kinda hard to explain,” and then she paused, gazing at Trixie, “No. No, I think that you’ll certainly understand,” she declared, which rekindled that oddly nice warmth inside Trixie. “Being a ‘Twiley-pillar’ wasn’t a game; well, just a game. It made me feel safe. Secure. I suppose it comes to no surprise to you,” she directly addressed her friend, “that my mind never really “shuts down”. It never really does except for when I’m deeply asleep. Even if I’m exhausted and just plop into a chair, close my eyes and try relaxing . . . the wheels keep spinning, the gears keep revolving.

“Except when I was a ‘Twiley-pillar’.”

Trixie’s eyes rounded a moment, then narrowed in deep thought. Without realizing she had, her head nodded once in mingled understanding and agreement.

“I didn’t understand that. Not back then, anyways. All I knew was that I missed something that filled a need deep inside me. Missed that badly, in fact. Thankfully —thankfully!— by then I’d gotten reasonably proficient at levitation. It took a few hit-and-miss attempts, but I quickly learned how to snugly roll myself up into a ‘Twiley-pillar’. It wasn’t exactly the same,” Twilight wistfully sighed in remembrance, “But it did manage to accomplish what I needed at the time.”

“I still sleep my best when snuggled in my blankets,” she admitted. “It’s comfortable, and comforting. And then . . .” she paused, and the tips of her ears and the points of her cheeks lightly pinked. Trixie’s left ear swiveled forwards at the pause, as she felt her curiosity peak. “And then,” Twilight repeated, “there came puberty.” Trixie’s eyes rounded, nostrils lightly flared.

“Well, to be scrupulously accurate,” Twilight revised, “Not mine, but Shining Armor’s.”

Trixie abruptly stilled, but rapidly relaxed as Twilight continued. “Early on, especially the first couple of years, my mom and dad would regularly visit during the weekends.” Twilight paused a moment, feeling a familiar ache in her heart. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents, because she most certainly did. But her thirst for knowledge —driving obsession, to be perfectly accurate— coupled with her bonding with Princess Celestia —who had become, for all intents and purposes, a second mother to her— had wound up with her relationship with her parents morphing from love to fondness.

That had to have been obvious to her parents, and it had to have been painful for them. But, if so, they’d never said a word to their daughter; never made her feel guilty about her enormous love of, and thirst for, knowledge.

And these last few years, after she’d relocated to Ponyville and actually started learning about, experiencing, and maturing on, the matter of friendship, she’d rekindled her relationship with Night Light and Twilight Velvet. At times Twilight mourned those lost years, but, as she’d learned the hard way, the pony you are today is a result of past experiences; change something in the past, and who knew what effect that would have on who you were now.

Picking up the thread again, she continued. “Mostly they were eager to hear about my week: what I’d learned; how I was feeling; was I eating well; was I sleeping well; had I made any new friends,” she wrinkled her nose at that last one. “But they also volunteered a lot about what was happening with them.” Twilight paused, then guiltily confessed, “I’m afraid they had to “volunteer” information, because, to be blunt, I was so monofocused, and so self-centered, that my studies were my world.”

“Trixie . . . Trixie can relate to that,” the unicorn haltingly interjected. “About being monofocused and self-centered about something that meant the world to her.”

Twilight waited a bit, silently encouraging Trixie to continue. But when it became obvious she had said all she was going to say, Twilight took several small sips of coffee before continuing.

“One of the things they “volunteered” was the difficulties of dealing with a colt growing into a stallion: puberty. The mood swings, the emotional surges, bouts of crying, aggression. Identity crises, extreme sensitivity . . . the works. That finally got me thinking . . . I was going to go through puberty at some point myself.”

Twilight sheepishly grinned as Trixie startled herself with a burst of giggles, finally smothering them behind her hooves. “Yup, you guessed it,” the unabashed alicorn cheerfully admitted. Pumping the air with both hooves she caroled, “Research Time!”

Trixie abruptly stilled a moment, as an epiphany struck her hard, as she compared how tense, how anxious and insecure she had felt around Princess Twilight during brunch, versus how relaxed and at ease she felt now. Well, relatively “relaxed and at ease”, that is. There was still that desperate eagerness to be liked, that anxious fear of falling short, of making mistakes, of being humiliated and ashamed. But unlike virtually every second of every waking day, those feelings were significantly in the background at the moment.

Noticing Trixie’s expression, Twilight cocked an interrogatory brow as one ear swiveled forwards. Lightly shaking her head in negation, Trixie then took a sip of coffee before smiling, gesturing with her muzzle for Twilight to continue.

Well, she really hadn’t expected an answer, but Twilight relaxed nonetheless when Trixie just relaxed and smiled. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t any experience with those “off-into-space” moments herself, after all!

“And, ah . . . how did research go?” Trixie inquired.

Softly blushing in memory Twilight then grinned like an unrepentant urchin. “By then I was reading, and comprehending, at entry-year university level,” she unassumingly stated. “So neither Princess Celestia,” and again Trixie caught the momentary tightness around Twilight’s eyes at that name, “nor my teachers or librarians, saw any necessity to restrict my access to anything in the Royal Canterlot Library, save for actual spell books and the actual Restricted Area.” Twilight grinned again, purple eyes sparkling at Trixie’s rounded eyes and lightly jaw-dropped mouth. Then she laughed at Trixie’s dumbfounded whispered, “Oh my!” Trixie’s expression was mingled dread and amusement, the sort of look one might have seen when noticing Ponydora about to open her box and being unable to say anything in time.

Twilight gaily laughed, seeing Trixie’s face. “Yup! You guessed it!” Still grinning, she cheekily continued. “A whole new world opened up for me then. Granted,” she more soberly explained, “it was all still completely objective. Academic. And an awful lot didn’t make sense at the time. Like intercourse.”

Trixie felt her face grow very hot, and hastily took a deep swallow of coffee, hoping to hide her blushing discomfiture from Twilight.

“I mean, I understood the mechanics,” she detachedly explained, “and the reasons, and necessity, behind that. I just couldn’t understand why anypony would want to do that. I was like, ‘Ick! How messy and intrusive’.”

She couldn’t help herself; Trixie felt herself grow breathless at that, covering her mouth with a hoof to smother burgeoning giggles.

“I guess part of me understood that a lot of it wouldn’t make sense until I’d actually gone through puberty myself. And I’ll also admit that, based upon a lot of what I’d researched, I was wishing I could find a “no-puberty/stay filly” spell. Alas, however, there wasn’t, and isn’t, one. However . . .”

Twilight trailed off, and Trixie could tell, this time, it was most definitely a theatrical pause. “However, in addition to all the textbooks, monologues and papers were other references. And those weren’t just dry facts and figures. These dealt with sexuality. Biological, erotic, physical, emotional, social, and spiritual feelings and behaviors. Intimacy, sensuality, orientations and preferences . . .

“Fetishes.”

Twilight was utterly serious now as she continued. “It was during that time that I learned about such things as bondage, and self-bondage. And while a lot of what I’d studied didn’t quite make sense to me —and, well, wouldn’t, until I finally did go through puberty”; she delicately shuddered— “a lot of things “clicked” when I researched those two. And when I finally did hit puberty, I was awful glad that I had read up on them, because, I have to admit,” she blushed, ducking her head a moment, “puberty put an entirely different, additional perspective on them!”

Trixie just continued listening, both enthralled at Twilight’s stories, flattered and honored at her willingness to share such deeply personal history with her . . . and no little bit of thrumming warmth deep in her core.

“Those reference books did more than just answer questions,” she continued, “but also kindled, and aroused —no pun intended— a great deal of curiosity, and desire to explore and experiment. Especially the ones that were, ah . . . illustrated.”

Trixie’s eyes rounded, feeling her breath catch, her ears flipping back and forth and feeling unusually warm.

“At the time, that drive of mine was all objective. I didn’t feel feel, you know? And some of the illustrations and details were, erm . . . well, a bit squicky to me. But as for the restraints? Gags? Blindfolds and the like?” Twilight gamine grinned.

“It did make it a bit difficult with having Spike to take care of,” she admitted. “He really was very much a baby dragon then, and although I had a nursemaid for him while I was in classes, I took care of him once I was back home.”

“Home?” Trixie asked.

“Not my parent’s home,” Twilight clarified. “My quarters in the Castle. Canterlot Castle.” When Trixie nodded, the reminiscing alicorn continued. “Especially for a two to three month time period, when I was experimenting on an almost daily basis.” Twilight’s cheeks grew rosy. “I wound up asking Princess Celestia if I could have a small hooflocker, with magick wards,” her cheeks grew rosier, and her ears joined in. “I explained that as wanting something I could keep things in, something that Spike couldn’t get into. Which was the truth in a way,” she grinned. “By the end of that experimental period I had quite a bit of hoofmade things: several gags, blindfolds, cuff-style restraints . . . after that burst of experimentation, though, I pretty much went back to just the now-and-again, stress-relieving comfort and security of just rolling up in a soft, thick blanket.

“Like I said earlier, puberty put a slightly different spin on things,” she confessed, another quick tide of crimson washing over her face and muzzle. “Oddly enough, though, even with all my earlier research, I still didn’t put “two-and-two” together for the longest time. All I remember is that, so gradually it never registered, being a “Twiley-pillar” at times was different: instead of simply being just stress relieving, I’d find myself feeling fidgety-squirmy, my tummy feeling tight, warm and tingly. And as more time passed, subconsciously I understood that when I was using my hoofmade items, and really restraining myself, those nice feelings got even nicer.”

By now Trixie was starting to feel a gentle warmth in her belly as well, a subdued heat that abruptly flared when she saw Twilight fidget-squirming in her chair. “Ah, T-trixie?” Twilight stuttered, and then the stunned unicorn felt her belly really start roiling as the flushed alicorn swallowed before licking her lips, face beet red, “Would you like to see?”

Trixie sent out a silent, yet utterly sincere, prayer of thanks, that they hadn’t encountered anypony on the way to the lowest level of the castle, for both of them had the oddest expressions on their faces. We must look like fillies about to peek at our crushes as they shower, she thought. We certainly don’t need lanterns; our faces are bright enough to light the way!

They stopped just outside an unobtrusive door, but Trixie’s mane started standing up, sensing a tremendous amount of energies nearby, a sensation confirmed as Twilight spoke up.

“This is my laboratory,” she explained, as her horn softly glowed, light magenta aura coruscating along the length. Invisible sigils on the door’s surface gleamed as they luminesced in response; but that was the only visible sign. “Come with me.” At that, Twilight simply paced through the door.

Oo-okay. The surprised unicorn took a deep breath, trying very hard not to imagine getting stuck in a solid stone door while only halfway through, then —at a considerably faster pace than Twilight’s— passed through the door and into the room behind, and then she felt her jaw try to drop.

On the one hoof, the Laboratory —and, yes, exactly as with the Library, Trixie could only mentally capitalize ‘Laboratory’— wasn’t as big as the Library (see?). On the other hoof (isn’t there always the “other hoof”?) Trixie hadn’t seen such a large, and extremely well-furnished, laboratory since her school days. Slowly roving her eyes about, the awestruck unicorn took in her surroundings. Neat-as-a-pin, well organized (what a surprise) and exquisitely designed, Trixie quickly saw the method behind the architectural composition: each of the major Sciences had their own particular section, with all the appropriate and/or necessary equipment readily available.

Glancing over at Twilight, Trixie expected to see the same sort of quiet pride as she’d seen displayed with the Library. Instead, her alicorn hostess was standing there with a rather different expression: hopeful longing mingled with hesitant shyness. Trixie had no idea what she must look like, but she was pretty sure that Fluttershy would be ecstatically squeeing at the butterfly swarm that was spawning in Trixie’s belly. Nonetheless, Trixie didn’t understand why they were in a Laboratory, of all places!

Twilight must have seen Trixie’s puzzled expression, and either guessed, or deduced, the reason behind it. “I got tired of having to be sneaky when I wanted, erm . . . privacy. So when I designed my lab . . .” Trailing off for a moment, Twilight’s horn again softly glowed, and this time, instead of a nondescript door glowing with sigils, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase silently revolved ninety degrees, revealing a yawning blackness behind.

Feeling a touch nervous, Trixie nevertheless followed Twilight into that unlit abyss. She felt a very unsettling, extraordinarily brief, moment of nausea, similar to the feeling when, as one is climbing stairs, you take one too many. At the same time, gentle illumination replaced shadow.

Against her will, Trixie felt her eyes round, at the same time her breathing quickened. Slowly turning in place, silently examining the room, Trixie somehow immediately grasped the purpose and intent of this very private room. Everything was immaculately spotless, exquisitely organized.

It was a perfectly round room, with a small rectangular alcove, at one end. There were three small wardrobes, two small chest of drawers, several pieces of, well, furniture . . . sort of . . . a sawpony, a . . .

Trixie’s head whipped back, her eyes locking on the sawpony, for it was a peculiar-looking sawpony indeed. In fact, it resembled a great deal like . . .

“Twilight Sparkle!” Trixie yelped in outrage . . . and acute embarrassment. “Did you . . . how dare you . . . how did you,” she spluttered. There was no mistaking that sawpony, for she had an exact duplicate disassembled and stored in her special trunk. Or, more accurately, the original was stored in her truck, and this was the duplicate!

Scuffing a forehooftip on the floor, tracing circles, Twilight’s head seemed almost about to be drawn into her shoulders. “It . . . when I saw it . . . you . . . it . . .,” she hunched even more, “I just wanted one, too,” she whispered, barely audible.

How her face managed not bursting into flames, Trixie had no idea, for she only used the sawpony for, ah . . . “special occasions”, and, unlike the straightjacket and bandages, not for “stress relief”. “You are sooo going to pay for this!” the furiously blushing unicorn vowed, then felt the oddest sensation as Twilight just peeked up at Trixie through thick, lowered lashes and nodded.

Trixie found herself torn between fulminating anger, acute embarrassment, and curious anticipation. She was about to tear a strip off of the obviously-repentant alicorn, and make her swear a vow to never spy on Trixie again, but paused before doing more than taking a prefatory inhale. This particular spying incident had to have occurred a couple of months ago, and while that still irked and upset Trixie, Twilight had, just yesterday in fact, apologized for having spied, along with the implied vow to never do so again.

Mock scowling at her once-and-now-former adversary, Trixie “menacing” shook a forehoof at her. “Mark my words: You . . . Will . . . Pay!” she theatrically hissed, like the stereotypical villain in a puppet play.

Twilight nervously chuckled, surprising Trixie, because she honestly couldn’t tell how much of that nervousness was playacting back, and how much was sincere. Then a look of intense shyness suffused Twilight, who resembled, at the moment, a very young filly working up the courage to ask a colt to dance with her at a school social. “Would . . . would you like to see the most special way I restrain myself?”

If Twilight could have heard the way Trixie’s heart suddenly accelerated, she wouldn’t have needed any vocal or visual reply. Trixie’s mouth felt a bit dry, her tummy was still jumpy-nervous, but now she was also intensely curious. No sooner had Trixie nodded then a look of barely-suppressed excitement, mingled with shy impatience, illuminated Twilight’s face.

“I should warn you,” Twilight cautioned as she stopped in front of a well-worn but still sturdy trunk, “it’s a bit, ah . . . well, not extreme, exactly. Elaborate. Yes, elaborate! That’s the word,” she anxiously prattled as she drew the trunk closer to the middle of the room, the floor there of exquisite hardware parquet.

Trixie silently watched as the fidgety alicorn opened the trunk, removing the top inner tray and setting that to the side before removing a rather odd, semi-bulky, black bundle from within. As she settled it on the floor Trixie was quite shocked, because, unless she was completely mistaken, that wasn’t fabric . . . it was leather.

Now it wasn’t as if leather was unknown, or taboo (even though it made some ponies queasy because of the source), but it was rare, and usually quite expensive. And Trixie’s expert eye easily could see this was very high-quality leather indeed, flawlessly dyed a smooth, semi-gloss black.

As Twilight finished preparing . . . it —for Trixie had no idea, really, what it was at the moment— she gazed back over her shoulder at Trixie, visibly seeking assurance that her unicorn friend wasn’t being repulsed or appalled. “I haven’t done this in a while,” and Trixie was startled hearing the wistful desire in her voice. “I hardly ever have any free time anymore.” She paused a moment, looking into Trixie’s eyes. “I meant what I said: it’s pretty elaborate, and pretty restrictive. Are you OK with that? I’m not pushing you into anything, am I?”

Heat expanded from deep within Trixie. Twilight had never been noted for dissembling, and Trixie could so plainly see the hunger in the anxious alicorn’s eyes. Fear, as well. Fear of Trixie perhaps deciding Twilight was a freak after all. In fact, a wealth of complex emotions could be seen in those depths, spanning from fear and dread, through angst and nervousness, and heading through shyness and, as well, a twinkling of wickedly delicious, shared naughtiness. And, having considered that, Trixie was more than certain that her eyes were reflecting the very same.

“Trixie must admit that she had no real idea where “this”,” she gestured with a forehoof to the black bundle, “is going . . . other than it will accomplish a similar result as Trixie’s straightjacket does.” Blushing more than a bit at that, Trixie assured, “Having said that, however, Trixie must confess to a growing curiosity to see.”

Delicately shivering, Twilight returned to her task. That “bundle” seemed to be composed of multiple, attached sections. As Twilight’s horn softly glowed, so did, one at a time, parts of the bundle. The front third draped forwards, while the back two-thirds, which was split down the middle, was placed at either side. This revealed a base of sorts at the bottom, which resembled a small, rectangular-shaped, padded, leather-covered mattress.

“Well . . . here we go,” Twilight said, an audible quiver to her voice.

Carefully positioning herself atop the padded base, Twilight wriggled fore- and hind-legs as if to lay down, upright on her barrel. As she folded her legs and settled her weight down, Trixie saw how the mattress had been designed with recessed grooves for the lower half of her limbs, and also saw, by the magenta light of the aura touching them, two wide straps being fastened sideways over her lower limbs.

As the right- and left-half now glowed and moved, Trixie’s eyes rounded. The two halves met at Twilight’s back, the seam running down the spine from shoulders down to dock, with her tail sticking through an opening barely big enough for that. A zipper glowed; the soft rasp as it secured the halves sounding startlingly loud. Twilight wriggled a bit, getting the leather adjusted, and then a set of straps and lacing tugged and tightened, until the leather fit almost like a second skin.

At that point, Twilight gazed back at Trixie, purple eyes both smoldering yet still anxious as well. Nervously licking her lips, she took a deep breath before levitating an item from the top inner tray that was sitting nearby on the floor. Trixie’s ears flicked forwards, hearing a barely-audible “Well . . . here we go,” that she was virtually certain Twilight hadn’t meant to be heard.

As it passed by Trixie, she got a quick glimpse of it. It appeared to be, once again, made of leather. The main part resembled a semi-flexible truncated cone, with a series of straps attached to it. She got a much better view of it when it stopped in front of Twilight.

In front of her muzzle, to be precise.

Opening her mouth wide, Twilight guided the wider base of the cone over her muzzle. Trixie had a moment to see something resembling . . . a sphere? . . . inside the cone, before it was drawn up into position. With an ease of obvious long-practice the straps snaked around Twilight’s head; buckles were threaded; straps drawn tight and firmly buckled.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Twilight delicately shuddered, nostrils flaring. A moment later, and the front third of whatever-you-called-this-thing was drawn up and over Twilight’s head. A zipper rasped, sealing the base to the rest of the body, then, as before, straps and laces were buckled, tugged and tightened.

Trixie’s mouth felt unaccountably dry, even as her chest hammered from her pulse. By the time Twilight had finished, the only visible parts of her were eyes, nostrils, tail, and horn, the sleek, supple leather covering her almost like a second skin. And, even as she watched, a form-fitting blindfold settled over her head, completely covering her eyes. The body-molded leather momentarily creaked a little, as Twilight shifted inside, settling in and getting comfy, although stars above! Trixie had no idea how anypony could possibly be comfortable in that. Although . . .

Maybe she was a bit premature in that assumption. Yes, it did appear horribly confining, yet, now that she pondered the matter —which the rapidly growing-in-curiosity unicorn was most intently doing— as she slowly paced around the leather-encased alicorn, perhaps this felt more like an all-body straightjacket. Of one thing she was positive: there was no way Twilight would be breathing that slowly, that regularly, if she was in discomfort, fear, or pain.

Huh, she thought a few minutes later, I suppose Trixie should have asked what happens after? How long was Twilight intending to stay cocooned? She almost stumbled at that; was that what this was about? An elaborate cocoon? She’d have to ask, later on. In the meantime, curiosity was still pulling at her. Stepping over to the trunk she gazed inside, but the trunk itself was empty. The tray, however . . .

There was a leather article that looked like a cross between a supple hood and a muzzle, with the obligatory straps and lacings to secure it. Trixie had no idea what the purpose of it was for. There were a few other oddments that, like the muzzle-hood, were puzzling and unfamiliar. Then there was a neck pouch underneath . . .

Trixie abruptly stilled, eyes slowly rounding into enormous saucers. Trixie’s horn glowed a light pink, as did the pouch as she lifted it from the tray and suspended it before her eyes. She knew this pouch!

She felt herself lightly trembling as she undid the drawstring then lifted out the contents, sharply inhaling as it appeared from within . . .

Hovering alongside the now-empty pouch was a steel dispersion ring.

Trixie hadn’t gotten more than a momentary glimpse of that at the time, being a bit, ah . . . preoccupied. But she’d certainly seen the neck pouch, and Trixie couldn’t imagine Twilight owning more than one with that specific design. Trixie quickly glanced over her shoulder at the tightly confined alicorn. Twilight had said the ring she’d used on Trixie was her personal one. Had she just tossed it in her “special trunk” —Trixie lightly twitched her coat; she had a “special trunk”, too, after all— and had forgotten it was there?

Her eyes began gleaming brighter, her pulse throbbed harder, faster. Gravely pacing over, she stopped right in front of Twilight. Revenge is sweet! she mentally giggled, not really vengeful, but nevertheless wriggling in anticipation. Wide, glittering eyes followed the path of the ring up . . . and over Twilight’s horn . . . and then finally down, grinning as leather abruptly creaked and strained.

The ring lightly flashed as Twilight tried casting a spell. Then flashed brighter, then brighter yet. Trixie had no experience with dispersion rings —well, other than the night six days ago, that is— but, even so, she could easily sense the powerful intensity of the spells the ring was aborting.

Suddenly, all sense of teasing, of one-upping, of legitimate payback vanished. She stood frozen there, feeling like a heel. Twilight had trusted Trixie! Had called Trixie her friend. Tears filled her eyes; her vision blurred. This isn’t right! she silently wailed. But, before she could right her wrong . . .

Twilight gave a deep breath . . . then another. And as her breathing settled into the gentle rhythm of serene tranquility, Trixie was positive she’d heard —albeit quite muffled— a low, deep hum of bliss.

Seeds Are Planted

Seeds Are Planted

She really needs a clock in here, Trixie thought, smothering a giggle, although there was a great deal of truth to that. Given some warning, or anticipation, most mages could set an “internal time clock” that was quite accurate. Of course, the stronger the mage, the more accurate the timekeeping . . . and the longer the “clock” could run.

(It never occurred to Trixie that keeping her clock —on those occasions when she’d “set” it— accurate to within three seconds over the course of a week was anything noteworthy)

She did know it was just over two hours since she had started her clock, but as she hadn’t immediately done so, she had no idea just how long Twilight had been “cocooned”. Trixie hadn’t left her position since placing the dispersion ring on Twilight, positioned just a couple of steps directly in front of, and facing, her; standing there hipshot, left hind leg cocked and relaxed, with just the very tip of her hoof touching the ground.

Although quite curious and intrigued about this room, nothing was going to distract Trixie from watching over the utterly helpless alicorn in front of her. Trixie was still feeling a gentle warmth, a tingly tenderness, at the absolute trust Twilight was extending to her. Granted, perhaps she hadn’t anticipated having her own dispersion ring used on her, so she hadn’t been truly helpless prior to that point. But once Trixie had ringed her . . . oh, yes; yes indeed! From that point onward Twilight was absolutely, utterly and completely, helpless. Trixie had no idea what that . . . thing . . . was called —which was why she had mentally categorized it as “cocoon” for the nonce— but having watched Twilight encase herself inside that, it was blatantly obvious that, without magic, there was no way in Tartarus she was getting free on her own.

The cocoon wasn’t as flawless as she’d first thought, although she slowly realized that what she’d thought of as blemishes or imperfections were, quite possibly, something different. Her brows lowered as she more closely scrutinized the cocoon, and then she nodded to herself, happily humming in satisfaction. One would have to look close to see the barely-perceptible modifications, because that, she grasped, were exactly what they were: alterations to adapt to her wings. Obviously she’d had this custom made —simply seeing how perfectly it conformed to her shape and size made it perfectly clear that this had been custom-fitted to her— back when she’d been a unicorn. Even Trixie knew how fragile feathers could be, and between the bulk of the wings themselves along with the delicacy of the feathers, Twilight would have risked serious damage securing her alicorn body in a cocoon meant to fit her unicorn one.

For about another minute Trixie just listened to her captive’s soft, slow, rhythmic breathing. It almost sounded as if she were asleep, although Trixie suspected Twilight was most likely twilighting —she smothered a giggle at the inadvertent pun— rather than actually sleeping. Her mind drifted back to the moment she’d slipped the dispersion ring on, and the series of enchantment-aborted magical spells that had surged from the alicorn princess immediately after. Again, having no real experience with dispersion rings, she wasn’t sure how accurately she could judge the power of a spell a dispersion ring was blunting, but it had sure felt as if, at the very end, Twilight had been seriously straining.

Nibbling lower lip Trixie ruminated on things. At the time, she had felt as if Twilight was panicked, and had frantically been struggling to get free. But, she reasoned, that couldn’t truly had been the reason, because mere seconds after she ceased those struggles then she’d lapsed into slow, steady, serene respiration. So . . . instead of a panicked reaction, perhaps that was more like “testing her bonds”, similar to how Trixie, once she’d secured herself, liked to strain against her restraints, as if assuring herself of their inescapability?

Whatever the reason —although she was certain-sure it was the latter— one thing Trixie was absolutely positive about was the unconditional trust Twilight was showing in Trixie. Unless and until Trixie —or somepony else— removed that ring, Twilight was never getting free. And since Trixie had no idea of the spells required to unlock the outer Laboratory door (and pretty certain that whatever spells they might be, anyway, that they were personally keyed to only Twilight anyhow) if she walked out of this room . . . walked out of this Lab . . .

An icy shiver rippled through her. If Trixie did that . . . Twilight was doomed. Trixie was positive that both the Laboratory and this private room were heavily shielded, and, given the Princess of Friendship’s magical training and inherent power, those shields were probably strong enough to block even Princess Luna and Celestia. And, once outside, Trixie would have no way to get back inside . . . assuming she’d even want to do that.

Deep inside her innermost core, where that black bleakness never left, uncoiled the desire to do just that. Take vengeance against the pony who had beaten Trixie, who had sentenced her to a life of misery, despair and loss. Who had been responsible for ruining her dreams, shattering the only thing in her life that had meant everything to Trixie. Let her enjoy the same heartache and hopelessness that Trixie did every waking moment, and, quite often, even in her dreams. Punish the upstart who had tricked her into giving up the Alicorn Amulet, and, in doing so, had robbed Trixie of her just due.

Shifting her weight evenly back onto all four hooves, Trixie’s heart started thudding, a heat of a far different sort, and source, swelling inside her, expanding outwards from her core. Her vision started tunneling, until her focus consisted of just the helpless alicorn before her. Memories of the last few years, starting with the disastrous first visit to Ponyville, rapidly replayed in her mind, one misery after another. Let’s see how you like it for a change!

But then two other memories surfaced, so difficult to hold onto, as the now raging blaze inside her threatened to consume them both.

Shhhh. Shhhh. Just relax. Don't worry, just relax. I will keep you safe. Nothing on, above or below Equestria will bother you as long as I'm watching over you.

I was never upset at you the first time you were in Ponyville. The blunt fact is, Trixie, that everything that happened your first visit here was somepony else's fault. Let's go backwards, shall we? First off, you had nothing at all to do with an Ursa Minor running riot through town. That was completely Snips' and Snails' fault. So right there I would never have held you responsible. But here's something you've never known: I felt a great deal of respect and admiration for you because of what you did.

Oh, how that inner conflagration roared and blazed even more furious, seeking to devour, to destroy! How could the gentle, inner warmth of those memories possibly compete, let alone prevail, against that?

On their own, they stood no chance. But they weren’t on their own, as Trixie valiantly struggled, battling and toiling, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, absolutely refusing . . . to . . . yield.

Growling and snarling, the raging flames of vengeance and retribution retreated to their lair, beaten for now but not defeated.

Violently shuddering, shivering as if having fallen through the ice of a frozen pond in the middle of winter, Trixie panted, breath whuffling through flared nostrils. She still hadn’t completely regained her composure —in fact, had actually resorted to grounding and centering as if preparing a major casting— when her ears pricked forward, catching a change to Twilight’s breathing.

Fully alert now, her entire concentration focused on the leather-encased alicorn, Trixie watched and listened. As Twilight’s breathing took on more of an “awake” rhythm, her leather cocoon started lightly creaking as she gently shifted inside.

Suddenly Trixie was torn between nervous giggles and true anxiety. Was this how Twilight felt when Trixie woke up? For, indeed, Trixie had no idea what was expected of her. Obviously, right at the start there were two choices: leave the ring on and then release Twilight, or take the ring off and let Twilight free herself. Nibbling her lower lip Trixie pondered matters. There were, of course, her own daydreams and fantasies; she could use those as templates; her cheeks furiously heated as she considered some of them. But, starting like a tiny spark in the depths of tinder, others feelings, other desires, began to blossom.

Yes, Trixie could be bossy and commanding. Remember what you told Twilight that morning last week, when she was dithering about what to do? Simply remembering what she’d told Twilight then —that, as the situation had currently obtained (said situation being Trixie still helplessly restrained) whatever Twilight might plan on doing 'afterwards' was entirely in her own hooves, as Trixie had been in no position to gainsay whatever she might choose to do— had Trixie wriggling, had little electric jitters dancing along her nerves.

Anxiously reaching out with a forehoof, she very lightly trailed the hooftip from the back of Twilight’s neck, down the spine to the shoulders. Leather softly creaked, accompanied by very muffled little hums. “Are you ready?” Trixie softly murmured. Yes, there were a myriad of things she would like to do to, and with, a helplessly restrained Twilight; Trixie did have paybacks due, after all, and ones that Twilight had confessed to owing. And Trixie was also enjoying imagining Twilight’s probable reaction when the time came for Trixie to see just how ticklish the alicorn princess really was. But . . .

But, for now . . .

“Trixie is not sure what to do, or what is expected of her,” she confessed, even as she lifted the ring up and off, depositing in the neck pouch before returning it to the inner tray. “So, if you could help instruct her?”

Her feelings were deeply wounded when Twilight just started giggling. However, it only took an instant for the heartsick unicorn to understand, and, once she had, she caught herself smothering giggles as well. Trixie could barely hear Twilight’s mirth, it was so muffled, and at that Trixie remembered that thing Twilight had affixed over her muzzle. That must have been a gag, she reasoned. Trixie had no idea just how effective one is!

Effective in more ways than one, she hotly blushed as she squirmed, suddenly desirous of having one used on her to see what that was like.

Flickering magenta danced like heat lightning, coruscating about the cocoon. Before Trixie could blink thrice, all the straps had been unbuckled, all the lacings loosened, the zippers retracted with a rippling buzz, and the leather “skin” peeled back and off, leaving Twilight still lying on her folded legs and barrel, and with the gag still on.

The silently observing unicorn’s eyes rounded as she took in Twilight’s countenance. Her coat was completely covered in a sheen of sweat, while her throat and upper chest looked soaked and . . . sticky? Her eyes grew even rounder when, as Twilight unfastened the two legs straps, softly groaning as she did, a stream of saliva trickled down from the gag.

Perhaps Trixie can wait to try that after all.

“What may Trixie do?” she softly asked, then gasped as Twilight finally turned her head enough to meet Trixie’s eyes. Twilight’s purple eyes seemed almost all pupil, with an intense dreamy look to them. Just seeing that had Trixie’s heart skip beats, and spawned a new flock of butterflies. “Here; let Trixie help.” Suiting action to words, she helped the groggy-acting, dazed appearing, alicorn to her hooves. When she started purring at Trixie, the unicorn swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly drying as her belly tingled and throbbed.

Weaving on her hooves, she wobbled towards the rectangular, adjacent room, leaning against Trixie for support. The lights inside turned on as they passed the threshold, revealing a modest, but well-appointed, bathroom. Stopping at the sink, Twilight finally removed the gag, a low, soft groan as it slipped free at last. Trixie wrinkled her nose as a stream of saliva followed the mouth-filling ball of the gag.

Yes, perhaps Trixie can wait to try that.

Her lips curved into a grin even as she wriggled in shy embarrassment, seeing the marks on Twilight’s head and muzzle, recalling Twilight’s exact words: ‘Does it help any to know that I recognized that because I've seen the exact same thing when I look in a mirror after I'm done?’

Twilight had to have followed her thoughts, because a dreamy grin spread across her face. “Tol’ya!”

Cheeks igniting, Trixie ducked her head, before peeking up and shyly grinning back. Straightening up and growing serious, she looked the wobbly, semi-spaced-out alicorn in the eyes. “What can Trixie do?”

“Baf.”

“Hot, warm, or cold?”

“Warm, please. Jus’ wanna soak a bit; get cleaned up.”

It was foal’s play to get the tub set up. Finding Epsom salts amongst the supplies Trixie added a goodly amount as the tub filled, then led Twilight over, and helped her settle inside. Deeply sighing in bliss the dopey alicorn sank up to her chin before closing her eyes and semi-drifting off.

While Twilight soaked, Trixie paced over to the sink and started washing the gag Twilight had left there. Trixie knew about leather: unless it was properly waterproofed, getting leather wet could stain, weaken, or even damage it. A little bit of surreptitious exploration and Trixie discovered a small basket containing high-quality leather care products, everything from saddle soap, to conditioner, to waterproofing. Softly humming to herself as she worked, Trixie first rinsed, then soaped, rinsed again, then conditioned the gag . . . except for that odd inner ball. That she just rinsed off very well before patting it dry.

Now that she could clearly see it, Trixie marveled at the construction and design of it. The main part was shaped as a hollow, truncated cone, sized to fit over a muzzle. Attached to the inside, at the smaller part of the cone, was a roundish squishy leather ball, obviously filled with something like dried grain or fine-grained sand. Huh. What a clever idea.

Checking on the drowsy alicorn Trixie then went back into the main room. Once there she thoroughly cleaned, then dried, Twilight’s cocoon, inside and out, before carefully folding it and replacing it back in the trunk. The gag went into the upper tray; the upper tray back into the trunk; the trunk closed.

Back in the bathroom she checked once again on Twilight, who was now sitting more upright, both forelegs draped to the outside of the tub. Hearing the unicorn enter, Twilight opened her eyes and smiled at Trixie, and something in that smile made Trixie’s steps falter a moment as, once again, her heart skipped beats. “That was . . . sooooo wonderful,” she purred, a deep, low throaty croon that sent shivery tingles rippling through Trixie. “I think . . . no; no, I’m absolutely positive, that this was the best it’s ever been. Thank you Trixie.”

Trixie felt herself wriggling in pleasure at the sincere praise.

“I have to admit,” the enervated alicorn lazily drawled, “I was a bit surprised when you slipped my dispersion ring on.” Her cheeks momentarily turned a soft pink. “I’d forgotten it was in there. I mean,” she amended, sounding more like her usual self, “I knew it was there. After all, that’s where I always keep it. But I’m so used to it being there that I didn’t think about it. I was sorta, well . . .” she tapered off, before slumberous eyes gazed at Trixie, “I was sort of nervicitedly eager.” Stretching out a little, Twilight closed her eyes before continuing. “I’ve never had anypony I felt comfortable with enough to talk about my, ah, “interests”, let alone show them. Until you. I did warn you, that morning, that I was being a bit selfish; that I wanted things perfect not just for you, but also for me. That I was hoping to find somepony to share my interests, and desires, and longings with.”

Her lids gently parted, and Trixie seemed to see lambent flames flicker deep inside. “I can’t begin to tell you how it felt when I discovered that you, too, liked being tied up. I’d already hoped we could be friends, you know, and now it looked like we could be special friends.” Suddenly Twilight sat more upright, her eyes opening fully as she took a deep breath before gazing at Trixie. “I’m not freaking you out, am I? Disgusting you?”

“No!” Trixie blurted. “Why would you ever think that?”

“It’s not so much that I’m thinking that, as I am concerned about you. I’m afraid that because I’ve wanted this for so long that I may be greedily pushing the pace faster than you’re ready for, or even want, for that matter.” Twilight paused a moment before whispering, uncertainty in her tremulous tone, “Am I?”

Lowering her head, gazing at the floor, Trixie gently scraped the tip of a forehoof backwards several times as she thought. “Trixie suspects that, yes, you are, and have been, a bit . . . enthusiastic about things.” Before Twilight could cringe and shrink into herself, the contemplative unicorn added, “Trixie also suspects, should she have been the one aware of matters for several months, long months to dream, to imagine, to yearn . . . that she might be, ah, enthusiastic herself.”

“Do I look OK?”

Trixie casually glanced sideways at Twilight as she anxiously whispered. They had just entered the main floor of the castle, and just up ahead were several servants. “If you are worried that somepony might see “after I’m done” signs,” she conspiratorially whispered back, “then the answer is “no”. But Trixie should warn you that, at the moment, you are looking as nervous as a filly with powdered sugar all over her muzzle facing a parent asking where the last donuts have gone off to.”

Trixie smugly smiled as the anxious alicorn started spluttering, fighting back a sudden gale of laughter. Then, becoming serious, she assured, “You look fine Twilight. You’re squeaky clean and completely dry; your coat is brushed, and so is your mane and tail. Trixie would not have let you out in public otherwise.”

Indeed, Trixie had attended to Twilight, letting the alicorn indulgently relax in hedonistic pleasure while Trixie shampooed mane and tail, then lathered her coat before sluicing her clean with mild warm water. Once out of the tub Trixie used several fluffy towels to thoroughly dry her, then finished off by brushing her coat, mane and tail, telling Twilight to just relax and savor the afterglow of her “unwind time”.

The smile that Twilight bestowed on her felt like the sun’s summer warmth as it came out from behind heavy, brooding clouds. “Are you sure you can’t stay?” she wistfully asked.

“As much as Trixie would like to,” and the flattered unicorn was quite sincere at that, “Trixie does have a lot of preparation to do, and only four days to do it. Well,” she amended, “three days, actually” as the day was already into early evening.

Before either could say anything else, they —well, essentially just Twilight— were swarmed by servants and staff, including a rather miffed appointments secretary. Deeply sighing Twilight surrendered to her duties, but only after making sure to first appoint one of her staff to see that Trixie was given a writ of credit before she left.

The sun was low on the horizon, the air crisp and chill, as Trixie paced outside the double doors of the Castle of Friendship. Pausing at the very top of the stairs Trixie gazed down the avenue towards Ponyville, seeing lights there beginning to flicker as the residents began preparing for nightfall. It was too late to conduct any business, she realized and grudgingly accepted, as she slowly descended the staircase at last. Well, perhaps it was for the best, she reasoned. There was a lot of planning for the fireworks display she had in mind. It was closer, actually, to a choreography than a mere, simple series of various fireworks being sent into the starry night.

Trixie deeply shuddered, and not from the chill of the evening air. Honestly, if this wasn’t for Princess Luna’s sake, and to also please Twilight . . . there just wasn’t enough bits in all of Equestria to have convinced Trixie to break her solemn vow to never perform ever again.

She just hoped she didn’t live to regret her capitulation.

The Swan Song of The Great and Powerful Trixie

The Swan Song of The Great and Powerful Trixie

It had been, yet again, another successful Running of The Leaves festival. The day had been glorious —of course, it had been scheduled that way far in advance— with only a few scattered, very puffy and enormous cumulus in the sky, providing occasional shade and visual contrast against the dazzling blue vault above.

The actual race itself had finished several hours ago, but the entire day had been filled with various competitions: mostly of the earthbound physical variety, such as six-legged races, potato sack races, relay events and the like, but also quite a few cooking contests as well. These ranged from good-natured and laid-back to quite serious and intense rivalries, although even those, once concluded, tended to devolve into backslapping and vows to “do better next time!” finales.

And, as always at such events, Ponyville sponsored many booths selling a wide variety of food and drink, so the citizens had no real reason to retire early for such mundane matters as lunch or dinner. Even so, usually by the time late evening rolled about, most everypony was exhausted from the festivities, and more than ready to retire for the night, stuffed to repletion —or far in excess, in some individual's instances— and happily exhausted.

But not this year!

This year there was going to be an additional event, and one that had generated a great deal of mixed feelings amongst Ponyville's citizens, for, this year . . . there was going to be a fireworks display!

Now it wasn't a matter of the fireworks themselves causing the division . . . and some grumbling. No, that was left up to whom the fireworks were being held for . . . and, just as decisively, just whom was going to be performing the exhibition.

Ponyville was pleased as punch at hosting any sort of event in honor of Princess Luna; she was special to, and in, their hearts, and doubly so to the foals, colts and fillies. However, that pleasure was tempered by the knowledge that “The Great and Powerful Trixie” was the actual performer.

For the most part, the majority of the inhabitants had gradually tacitly accepted Trixie’s residing in Ponyville. Since she’d completely ceased her distinct trademark swagger-and-boast attitude, had stopped performing shows, had stopped seeking blandishments and fishing for compliments, replacing them, instead, with a quiet determination to work and just quietly fit in, including the former showpony as a member of Ponyville society wasn’t as difficult as one might have expected.

There were some, however, that still harbored grudges, with others remaining suspicious. Not even the revelation that their Princess of Friendship seemed to be cultivating friendship with Trixie mollified them. However . . .

It was fireworks!!

Nothing moved as fast through Ponyville than news (never gossip; remember?) and so virtually all of the residents had learned some time ago that a fireworks show would be held the night after the Running of The Leaves festival.

Had learned that four days ago, to be accurate.

Four long, long, long days ago.

Four very long (did we mention long?) days during which Trixie had been very industrious, busily purchasing supplies —with a writ of credit furnished by, and secured by, Princess Twilight herself!— having two stages (well, one platform and one podium probably was more accurate) built, along with a host of other arrangements, most of which were puzzling to them. What point did spices and candy, for instance, have to do with fireworks?

As evening started to fall, several pegasi lifted to the sky, clearing out the few remaining clouds before returning to the ground. As if that was a signal, ponies started arriving at the east Castle lawn, some singly, but most in groups, of either family or friends . . . or really close friends.

The seating area was arranged in a partial semicircle, more of a quarter arc, with the Castle of Friendship at their backs, with the low platform situated in the front middle of that arc, and the podium about ninety hoof-lengths in front of the platform, with the river a thirty-second trot behind that.

The platform was furnished with two alicorn-sized, comfortable chairs, with a smaller one —obviously Spike-sized— to the side of one of them, and was decorated with colorful fabric coverings, runners and bunting, appropriate for Their Highnesses. The podium, in stark contrast, was unadorned, featureless, yet sturdily built. There was nothing about it to attract any attention from the Guests of Honor and draw that, instead, to the performer.

At the rear of the performance area was a V-shaped, velvet-roped entrance, the open part of the V facing the Castle, and the narrow end towards the seating area. Each rope was only eighteen hoof-lengths long, and looked a little ridiculous at first blush, rather like seeing a garden gate in the middle of a huge pasture, standing there all by itself with no fencing attached. It certainly wasn’t preventing anypony from entering the performance area from a different direction! Nevertheless, since it was there, most ponies assumed it was there for a reason, and Ponyville ponies being Ponyville ponies . . .

Ruby Pinch stood at one side of the entrance “gate”, a huge smile on her face, bursting with pride and responsibility. As each of her classmates approached, she fished out a prop from the small box Trixie had placed there. They looked exactly like the stereotypical “magic wand”: about three hoof-lengths in size, the handle made of smooth, polished wood and topped with a glittery crystalline, five-pointed star.

Most of Miss Cheerilee’s students grinned as they got theirs; Silver Spoon, on the other hoof, just rolled her eyes, almost refusing to take hers but, for some reason, just huffed and accepted it. Why did Diamond Tiara have to be away with family today?

And almost all of Miss Cheerilee’s students had the same question: What is this for? To which Ruby replied as Trixie had instructed: You will know what to do, and how to use it, when it is time.

As the evening slipped from twilight to dusk most everypony had arrived and, with the occasional assistance from helpful castle staff, had found seating. Princess Twilight and Spike were standing by the platform, pausing to chat now and then with friends and acquaintances. There was a stir, and a surf-like sound of oohs and ahhs, as Princess Luna appeared overhead, hovering motionless, wings spread wide, pinions barely rippling, before daintily descending and landing next to Twilight.

Suddenly the two were swarmed and swamped, the center of a foal cyclone. Yes, oh yes indeed, the children of Ponyville adored their Princess of Friendship. But this was Princess Luna!

As dusk marched onwards to true night, everypony took their places in expectant anticipation. Quiet murmurs were heard all about as they conversed in low tones as they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The conversations hadn’t quite turned to grumbles —yet— but eyes kept flickering to the still-unoccupied podium.

And then a soft chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd, for now there was a conical tent of fabric atop the podium, colored a very familiar pattern: star-spangled purple. As the gasps shifted to low murmurs, they again became gasps when, with no warning, no sign, that conical tent simply . . . opened up. Standing there now was Trixie herself, in her cloak and hat.

Twilight felt her throat close, her eyes blur, as she saw her friend standing there in her trademark outfit. But then she blinked, as a realization struck: there had been no wash of magic!

She wasn’t the only pony startled; virtually every unicorn felt astonishment at her appearance. There was always a little “bleed-through” when a unicorn —well, and alicorns, too— did magic. How much of a hoofprint that left was directly proportional to the strength of the spell, the skill of the caster, and the experience of the bystander. All things being equal, they should have sensed something, no matter how dimly or unrecognizable. But . . .

. . . they hadn’t. And they’d seen that podium being built. Some had, earlier, during the day, even explored about the exhibition area, checking things out. There were no hidden tunnels, no secret, concealed compartments. There were no non-magical ways that Trixie could have passed the crowd, unseen and undetected, and just appeared on her podium. And there were no magical ways she could have done so, either.

Yet . . . she had.

Trixie simply stood there in silence, none of her standard “The Great and Powerful Trixie!” boasts or grandiloquence. Gradually the murmurs faded, as everypony felt a growing sense of expectant anticipation. They became utterly silent when Trixie lifted up a single forehoof.

Ten heartbeats later, and Trixie, without saying a single word, dropped her forehoof . . .

A soft cough behind her, and a rippling stream of fire raced up, up, up into the night sky, fading into invisibility before suddenly erupting with a sharp pop into a purple peony, a spherical break of colored stars that fanned outwards, softly crackling, in a perfect globe.

Two more soft coughs; two more wavering trails of fire upwards, only to disappear before —like the purple peony— these, too, erupted, this time into twin chrysanthemums, one orange, one gold. Like the peony, they were spherical in shape, but unlike that, these were birthed with a loud bang, the stars leaving a visible trail of sparks behind them.

One after another, some singly, some in groups, twisty little snakes of fire raced upwards before erupting into their glory.

There were willows, silent bursts that closely resembled chrysanthemums, except these were a myriad of tiny, twinkling stars that left thin, glittery spangled trails, either of silver or of gold, behind.

There were ponytails that appeared with a louder pop than a peony, but a much quieter one than chrysanthemums, creating a tight burst of stars that descended in a pattern resembling a pony’s tail, accompanied by very loud crackling.

There were spiders, a very fast burning, very hard bursting, effect, a series of sharp, staccato, rapid-fire bangs, with little stars furiously racing outwards, burning themselves out within seconds.

There were crossettes, a short-lived, but very colorful and complex, effect: a firm pop birthed a series of magenta stars, twenty in all, that raced outwards in a spherical pattern . . . then each star disappeared as, with crackles, it birthed four stars of its own.

There were kamuros, a dense burst forming an enormous ball of hundreds of tiny silver stars that expanded outwards before descending like a waterfall of glittery twinkles.

There were rings, which, as was named, formed with a loud bang a circular band of crackling stars radiating outwards.

One after another after another . . .different designs; different colors and sounds; differing launch tempo, sometimes one right after another, some in series, some with a pause between. This wasn’t just an exhibition of fireworks, this was an exquisitely-choreographed extravaganza.

A full fifteen minutes later a crescendo of multiple effects burst across the starry heavens above, accompanied by loud reports, even louder bangs, and loud, continuous crackling. As the last crackle faded, as the last sparkle dimmed, the crowd erupted into loud stomps, applause, cheers and whistles . . . that gradually faded into a low susurration of whispers as Trixie simply stood there.

Stood there, motionless, as she’d done the entire performance.

The crowd grew silent within seconds as Trixie, once more, lifted up a forehoof. Was there more?

Several seconds passed in silence, and then Trixie dropped her forehoof down . . .

With a loud series of roars multiple balls of fire raced upwards, leaving behind, not thin, squiggly trails of fire, but thick brown, heavy columns of sparkling smoke that simply hung in place. Up, up, up they went, then erupted rather like a willow burst, save that instead of being thin, glittery trails of silver or gold, these were dense green clouds that resembled . . . leaves?

As the leaves took on a more definitive shape, the brown trunk of sparkles gradually faded and vanished. And as they did, amongst the hovering green canopy of still-glittering leafy sparks appeared tiny sparks of red . . . sparks that slowly grew in size as they slowly descended, as the green canopy of their birth gradually dimmed and vanished. Sparks that, as they descended, took on the unmistakable shape of ripe, juicy apples.

They finally disappeared with audible pops when just overhead, leaving behind the mouth-watering scent of the Apple family’s best.

“Whoa!” Applejack exclaimed, eyes wide and astonished.

Two crossettes rocketed upwards, then, as their effects faded, another singular cough was heard, as another firework lofted up. This one trailed multi-colored sparks behind, before finally detonating high high high up in the sky. This one was a ring, consisting of just seven fat balls of colored stars . . . red . . . orange . . . yellow . . . green . . . blue . . . indigo . . . violet . . .

They slowly radiated outwards, then, just as slowly, started curving down as they descended. However, as they began their decline, they grew closer together . . . fell faster . . . and closer . . . and faster yet again . . .

The crowd ducked as the stars, now together, streaked down and across, seemingly just overhead, leaving a wide rainbow stream behind before arcing back up and disappearing in a large, loud explosion, the glittering remnants sounding more like mischievous laughter than crackles.

Two ponytails lofted up; as they finally disappeared yet another rocket streaked upwards, this one exploding into a crossette. But, instead of magenta, these stars were a light blue; a light blue that seemed to radiate with a light all their own, while also refracting into a glorious scintillation. Glittering and sparkling, they fell lower . . . and lower . . . and lower . . . separating as they did . . . then dropping before each pony: tiny little light blue diamond-shaped crystals. Before each pony, yes . . . but before a young dragon? His was larger, more ornate . . . and was an actual blue star diamond.

Another series of effects, followed by a kamuro. As the dense forest of twinkling silver stars descended, they gradually changed hue, shifting from delicate argent to an even more delicate pink. And, as they subtly shifted in color, they did so also in appearance, twinkling and glittering, altering to fluttering. With a low rushing roar they swarmed overhead, pausing to circle several times over Fluttershy —who had eeped, ducked her head and was furiously blushing— before rising back up, expanding into a sphere and disappearing.

Another rocket forged its way upwards. Everypony gasped as this one burst, expecting another round of normal fireworks but, instead . . . this just blossomed into a thick, roiling cloud of darkness . . .

A darkness that seemed to have a pale blue glitter forlornly striving in its depths.

Seconds later came another cough; another quivering trail of fire ascending. It burst adjacent to the somber black cloud, brightly gleaming stars of purple and green. The stars seemed to hover for a moment, before turning as one and lancing their way back and forth through the menacing black cloud, shredding it, grinding away at it until, in a blinding burst the black cloud exploded with a deafening bang, leaving behind the purple and green stars . . . and a slowly revolving light blue heart.

A soft cough, and another trail of streaking fire, the tiny ball finally bursting into six parts: a central core consisting of five twinkling little pink stars forming a five-pointed star, and surrounded by five smaller, similar in design, white stars, which slowly orbited the larger one. As that pattern gradually descended, it approached the remaining purple and green ones . . . approached, then embraced; the purple-and-green orbiting the pink-and-white . . . or was it the other way around? Orbited faster and faster, almost blurring, until nopony could tell where one left off and the other began . . .

As it should be, after all.

As those twinkling stars finally faded, as seconds passed by in silence, a hush spread over the crowd as they all stared at the podium, and the unicorn silently standing there. There were some fidgets, notably amongst Miss Cheerilee’s students, who were, one and all, wondering just what they were supposed to do with their wands.

Thirty seconds passed in silence. Then there came a low, almost subaudible, cough; low, yes, but it literally rumbled, vibrating everypony there. As it spiraled up into the vault of the heavens there came several gasps, because the light of the rocket was a purple so dark, so black, it was almost invisible.

Up, up, up it went, before bursting, and again there were several gasps, for the stars that streaked out were, again, so deep in hue as to border on invisibility. Several seconds passed, and then . . .

The entire crowd gasped in shock, as, far overhead, those stars resolved into an enormous shape. Dark purple, dark magenta, and pink stars had spread out, forming a gently fanning pair of nebulous wings, while two massive, glowing stars seemed to form eyes for the darkness behind them; a darkness sensed, perceived, as a gigantic horned skull.

The crowd might have gasped, but Twilight’s head whipped to the side as Princess Luna just stiffened, teal eyes widened into enormous —and fearful— orbs, her coat twitching and shivering, tail tucked tight against her.

Overhead that enormous figure idly hovered, a sense of ominous foreboding radiating like an enveloping, icy chill.

Suddenly, mixed throughout the growing-uneasy audience, appeared tiny little twinkles of pure white. It took a few moments for that to register, but then Miss Cheerilee’s students softly ooohed, as the star topping their wands gently illumined. But . . . what did that mean?

Predictably, it was Pipsqueak who figured out a likely use for his. “Avast ye monstah!” he cried out. “Take that!” Suiting action to words, he thrust out his wand towards the looming, overhead figure. “Eeep!” he squeaked, as a bright, dazzling white star streaked upwards from his wand, finally striking the monstrous shape above, and bursting into a thousand tiny stars.

Moments later and, one after another, with different cries of challenge and theatrics, each student fired their own wands upwards, each one causing that shape to flinch and cringe.

But it wasn’t enough.

The final impact had faded into darkness, and now star-studded wings expanded even wider, glowing eyes gleamed with malevolency. Heads turned, staring at Princess Luna as she gasped, her face clearly pale and strained.

Heads turned again, fast as a whip, as a deafening scream shockingly outburst. This wasn’t a cry of fear or terror, a shriek of dismay or outrage.

That was a battle cry of an enraged warrior belling out a challenge, a scream of defiance worthy of an elite, battle-hardened champion.

And it was coming from Silver Spoon.

Everypony simply stared at the filly as she stood there, as she screamed her defiance a second time. Any possible temptation to smile at her pretentiousness was immediately extinguished the moment anypony looked at her. Silver Spoon radiated a fury so intense it rolled off her in palpable waves. Her ears were pinned back against her skull so tight it appeared as if they’d vanished, and that wasn’t the pinning back of fear, but that of a stallion about to engage in close, mortal combat. And her eyes, normally a delicate light purple, blazed with a fury all their own.

“For Equestria!” she battle-screamed. “And for Princess Luna!”

With that, she thrust her wand forward, like a spear into a foe, her cutie mark abruptly blazing as she did.

It wasn’t a bright, dazzling white star that sprang from her wand; it was a furiously raging meteor, and it rocketed upwards in a direct line, as if iron to a lodestone. A heartbeat later, and it literally exploded against the hovering monstrosity, utterly consuming it in an eyeblink.

The audience burst into deafening applause, while Silver Spoon shook her head, feeling dazed and trembly, and wondering why she, of all ponies, was being cheered by her classmates.

There couldn’t possibly be more to the exhibition. Not after that! So, needless to say, everypony was startled when a succession of coughs announced the ascension of a series of rockets, each trailing a shimmery, pink trail.

Multiple chrysanthemums were birthed, blue and yellow instead of orange and gold, accompanied not by rapid crackles but something very suspiciously like giggles. Lower and lower they descended, gradually settling into triads of two blue and one yellow stars . . . except they weren’t stars.

They were tiny balloons.

Beneath each balloon trio were suspended tiny wicker baskets. Baskets filled with, as everypony discovered once each one had landed in front of them, small treats: caramel-covered popcorn bits, jawbreakers, sugar cookie crumbles, jelly fruits . . . a small cornucopia of sweet delights.

“She’s gone.”

Heads whipped up at Pinkie Pie’s cry, eyes traveling to the podium . . . the now-empty podium.

Trixie had simply vanished, with nopony seeing her do so.

The applause that followed was thunderous, rattling the windows of the nearby castle.

Author's Note

One hooflength = four inches
Three hooflengths = one foot, or 12 inches

Lost and Found; Found and Lost

Lost and Found; Found and Lost

Light tic-tic-tics echoed in the silence, as Spike, talons clicking against the stone floor, slowly jogged down corridors. The fireworks display —how that seemed such an inadequate description!— had ended about fifteen minutes ago, yet Trixie had not, as yet, made a reappearance. Virtually the entire audience was still milling about, very few —if any— having departed, and with no few waiting for Trixie to return, eager to congratulate and thanks.

Spike was, for certain-sure, that tonight would remain talked about for months, if not years. Decades, even. In one, single, twenty-five-minute performance (and, again, that seemed such an scanty description!) Trixie had shown herself truly worthy of her self-bestowed moniker of “The Great and Powerful” —and Spike was absolutely positive that that had not been her primary intention . . . or any intention at all, for that matter.

As he lightly jogged along, he felt the light thump of his neck pouch as the weight inside swung back and forth; that weight belonged to a small but perfect blue star diamond, the exact shape of the ones that formed the cutie mark that decorated Rarity’s flanks. It hadn’t disappeared at the end of the performance. And Spike was a dragon; he most certainly could tell the quality —and thus deliciousness— of precious gems, so he knew this one was real. It wasn’t costume; a fake. It wasn’t illusionary.

It was real.

He wondered how many ponies were feeling like he was: a heel. He’d never understood why Twilight had had any interest in Trixie; had no idea what she’d thought she’d seen there. Even though he’d unbent enough to accept that Twilight really wanted to be friends with that showpony, accepting that concept wasn’t at all the same as accepting Trixie, or forgiving her.

His cheek scales glowed a dull cherry, as his face grew hot in shame. Everypony made mistakes; he made mistakes. Turning into a gigantic, destructive dragon simply due to greed was proof of that! But everypony had been willing to forgive him for that. Everypony had been willing to forgive Twilight when she’d run amok with her “Want It Need It” fiasco. Sweet sapphires, even Discord had been forgiven!

But nopony had ever been willing to forgive Trixie.

Except for Twilight.

Even when Trixie had done her best just living a simple, unobtrusive life, virtually nopony had forgiven, let alone forgotten. Everypony had simply turned a blind eye to her . . . but tonight she had proven, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Trixie had been playing very close attention to everypony else.

Four days. Trixie had had only four days warning, only four days to prepare. The first fifteen minutes of the performance, and all the preparation that that would had entailed, would certainly have consumed a large chunk of that time. But she’d then concluded with a series of fireworks to honor the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. She’d managed to capture the essence of each, distilling that down into its purest form, something she absolutely could not have done on the spur of the moment. And then, having done so, she'd then displayed that into an individual firework for each one of them.

A firework.

Except for Spike.

He loved his friends, he really did. And he most certainly loved Twilight Sparkle. But there were times —more, actually, than he wished— when he felt . . . overlooked. Taken for granted. Where he felt more as if a hanger-on than as a participant. It wasn’t a matter of him craving the attention, the glory, the honor, as it was being tired of being viewed as a groupie . . . when he wasn’t outright being treated like a baby dragon, that is.

Pausing at a four-way intersection, Spike strained his senses, seeking any sort of clue that might indicate where Trixie might be. As he did, a small forepaw gently closed around his neckpouch, and the priceless diamond inside.

Not once. Not twice. But a full three times, Trixie had recognized, and honored, Spike in that breathtaking exhibition.

This diamond was the first time, and —his cheeks warmed as he recalled the circumstances— he had gotten it during Rarity’s part. And the only reason for that, that Spike could deduce, was that Trixie wanted to give Spike something in recognition of his feelings for the fashionista unicorn. The second had to be symbolic of Spike’s part in helping to save the Crystal Empire, while the third —taking place during Twilight’s part— had demonstrated Trixie’s awareness of the deep, intense partnership and love that Spike and Twilight shared.

In fact, the entire second half of tonight’s fireworks display revealed an amazing perspicuity about the disdained unicorn showpony. And —he admitted to himself, with an ease that would have stunned him just this morning— had proved to everypony, and not just himself, how very wrong they’d all been judging Trixie the way they had.

Except for Twilight.

From the very beginning, she’d backed Trixie, defending her reputation from the nasty slings and arrows sent her way. In fact, that was one of the very few times that her friendships and associations had been severely strained. Yet, even in the face of that, although Twilight may have ceased vocally protesting, neither had she capitulated. Instead, a rather uneasy, implicit truce had formed.

There were three things you didn’t talk about at the dinner table with visiting relatives: religion, politics . . . and Trixie.

At first Spike hadn’t believed it when Twilight said that Trixie was reluctant to put on the exhibition, but had only agreed to do so because Twilight had sort of snookered her into doing so. Yeah; ri-iiiight, Spike had thought, for certain-sure that little-miss-humility was just gleefully rubbing hooves together in anticipation of launching a comeback. But as the days passed by, nothing that Trixie had said, or done, had seemed to support that. And neither did anything about her entire act. Granted, it was pretty amazing, her just appearing and disappearing like that. But there was no comparison between her earlier, flamboyant performances, and tonight’s silent one. And yes, simply seeing her silently stand there, motionless save for the two introductions, was a bit profound; sometimes less actually resulted in more. However, if she really was trying to be discreet, to have the limelight completely on the two Princesses and the Element Bearers, disappearing like that made sense.

But it didn’t make sense remaining absent for this long.

Spike started turning to the left, but something at the very edge of his hearing caught his attention. Turning to the right, he started purposefully jogging down the corridor, pausing for a moment at the next intersection. Motion caught his eye; turning to the right, and looking down that hallway, Spike noticed one of the Night Guard standing there. Before he could even start hazarding guesses as to why the guardpony was standing there, the thestral held a forehoof up to his lips in an unmistakable sign, before motioning for Spike to approach.

Silently tiptaloning, the little dragon quietly grew closer. He wondered what was going on, even as he suspected he knew the answer.

And then he no longer had to suspect, for, behind the closed door to one of the utility closets, Spike clearly heard the muffled sobs. Wails of such anguish, of such agony and heartbreak and grief, as seldom as Spike had ever heard before.

That was amazing!

Way to go!

Awesome!

How did you do that?

Three cheers for Silver Spoon!!

The soft grey filly wasn’t used to being the center of admiration or acclaim. Center of attention, oh yes; yes indeedy! Light purple eyes were quite rounded behind her glasses, as literally every one of her classmates were surrounding her and cheering . . . even the Cutie Mark Crusaders!

She might be unfamiliar with being the object of admiration or acclaim, true, but she was certainly well-versed in recognizing sycophancy. And this most certainly was as sincere as it gets!

Earlier she had been huffy and feeling miserable going to this . . . affair alone. Well, alone due to Diamond Tiara, her closest —actually, her only— friend not attending; she was with her parents, after all. But she might as well have been alone even with them there. Silver Spoon had already been rehearsing the pity-party she was going to throw later tonight with her parents, and had already decided what they would get her as an apology, to compensate her for her misery and for forcing her to attend.

Well, that wasn’t going to have much of a chance, not after what had happened!

And thank Stocks and Bonds that Diamond hadn’t been there! She’d be fuming at all the attention Silver Spoon was getting! One thing that DeeTee simply couldn’t —and wouldn’t!— ever forgive was anypony taking the center of attention away from her! She’ would have made Silver Spoon’s life absolutely miserable for as long as it took for her to feel satisfied that sufficient punishment had been rendered.

Because of her parents’ social status and standing, the three of them had been seated quite close to the stage where Princesses Luna and Twilight had been sitting. Prepared for a dull, boring plebian exhibition, within minutes the young filly had found herself, instead, amazed at the astonishing performance.

Unlike her classmates, however, she wasn’t at all paying attention to the what-and-when of the silly little counterfeit wand she’d been given. At least, not until . . .

Silver Spoon had felt an odd little shiver twitch her coat as that ominous, brooding form loomed overhead, a shiver that had grown more pronounced when she’d clearly seen how Princess Luna had grown so still, her entire posture radiating apprehension, if not outright fear. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the Princess of the Night, not even when everyponies’ wands finally illuminated; not even when her classmates started using them. And as the last one had been fired off . . . as that looming monstrosity remained . . . as Silver Spoon had watched Princess Luna actually look fearful . . .

Sweet Faust! I’d give anything to help!

The next thing she clearly remembered was being swarmed by her classmates. Unfortunately, her parents clearly weren’t at all pleased by their little filly making an uncouth spectacle of herself. Maybe nopony else could tell that, but she could, and Silver Spoon was already growing anxiously tense, bracing in anticipation for when they were finally together at home. Well, there went any chance of wheedling anything out of them!

It took a few moments for the silence, and the wide eyes, of her classmates to register through her mental pout, and when it did, she realized she was standing alone, the school ponies having backed away several paces, their eyes wide and awed. What in the world? she though, turning around in puzzlement. Oh!

Silent as the night itself, there stood Princess Luna, gazing quite intently at her. An odd, thoughtful . . . measuring gaze. Silver Spoon wasn’t afraid; none of her classmates were afraid of Princess Luna. And none of them could understand why Princess Luna had the reputation of being stern and humorless. She was sweet! She was kind and funny!

She found herself kneeling; not bowing —which would have been bad enough— and not curtsying —which would have been proper— but kneeling: left foreleg bent, right foreleg extended, neck straight, head tipped down, muzzle just above the ground. There was an odd . . . something . . . jingle-jangling along her nerves, like electricity.

“Silver Spoon,” Princess Luna finally spoke up, her voice sounding oddly deep and ponderous . . . and very archaic. “Thou hath been borne into wealth and privilege. Thou hast always been given all that thou hast desired. Art thou willing to forswear and foregoeth all that thou art, to become all that thou mayeth? Wilt thou forswear and foregoeth all for thy Liege, thy Lady of the Night?”

For some reason, as heavily archaic as her speech was, Silver Spoon somehow understood. Deep inside, a sensation, one she hadn’t felt since she’d gotten her cutie mark, roused . . . roused and expanded. Inexplicably, she understood exactly what Princess Luna was asking of her: to swear formal allegiance to her, become her sworn vassal, in the same way that every thestral —Nocturne and otherwise— avowed.

What did she want? Want to do with her future? Granted, she was still very young; not as young as a foal, of course, but nevertheless still a very young filly. Even so, quite often she found herself wondering about that nebulous future. Princess Luna was right: she had been given everything she could possibly want. But she never felt satisfied. Something was always lacking. Would it ever be enough?

Silver Spoon understood what her future was meant to be. She was neither slow, nor shallow, nor dull, no matter that she acted that way. Husbands need to feel more dominant —cleverer, stronger, taller, funnier— than their wives. She heard —and overheard— that often enough. And that went doubly —if not triply— so for young mares seeking suitors. So, even so she might be very young now . . . she wouldn’t always be so, and her parents had already begun inculcating the proper attitudes suitable for a filly of good breeding.

She was reasonably confident that her parents would find an appropriate match for her; that she’d have a husband who would continue pleasing his wife by getting her whatever whim struck her fancy.

Was that really what she wanted?

“Yes, My Lady,” she heard herself reply, her voice low and soft, but not a quiver to be heard. “I will.”

Voice thrumming, Luna announced, “Then rise, My Champion. And never again wilt thou kneel in Mine presence.”

As Silver Spoon stood back up, she was peripherally aware of several things: The dropped jaws of her parents; the equally flabbergasted expressions of her classmates; an internal wince imagining Diamond Tiara’s reaction. But those were exactly that: peripheral.

Princess Luna was tenderly smiling, an expression that warmed Silver Spoon down to her hooves. “Come, My Champion,” she smiled, her intonation once again modern and contemporary. “There is much I would like to discuss with you.”

Silver Spoon had no idea what that might be, but, she realized, she was looking forward to whatever Her Lady had to say; looking forward to that far more than any anticipation she’d ever had for gifts and presents.

As a general rule, the Nocturne had a reputation similar to that of their Lady, The Princess of The Night: taciturn, stern, forbidding, detached and dispassionate. Spike had always found that to be ridiculous, absolutely unfounded. Yes, he had not reacted well that first Nightmare Night, when Princess Luna had shown up. Neither had anypony else, for that matter . . . except for Twilight Sparkle. Because of that, Spike had been privy to the intense grief and sorrow Princess Luna had shown at the unreasoning, and quite undeserved, fear and despair from everypony. She had just wanted to be liked.

His stomach lurched; he felt very queasy. Trixie had just wanted to be liked.

Just like Princess Luna.

While thestrals in general, and the Nocturne —the Night Guard, also known as the Lunar Guard; Princess Luna’s personal guardponies— in particular, also had a grim reputation. Granted, and with far more reason, their reputation was not at all unfounded. History was a bit sketchy about the exact circumstances of their birth —and clarifying that was something that Princess Celestia had consistently categorically refused to do— but it was generally understood that thestrals were created either by Princess Luna, shortly before, ah, well . . . or by Nightmare Moon, in an explosive fit of destructive rage. Either way, both camps agreed upon several points: bat ponies (a derogatory term that, alas, still lingered on) had fangs, and weren’t afraid to use them; owed allegiance, and obedience, solely to their Lady of the Night, their Princess of the Moon; were blatant omnivores, and that, at the time of their birthing, had been very, ah . . . cosmopolitan in their diet; existed utterly and completely to serve their Lady, and see to it that she received her just due . . . which was generally understood to mean being the reigning Monarch, and not one of two cooperative Diarchs.

Spike was in no position to accurately verify most of that. And, much to his shame and chagrin, when Princess Luna had assigned two full squads of thestrals to Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, that had given him the creeps. However, he really had matured quite a bit these last few years, and so he dragonfully swallowed his fears . . . only to discover, after all, that there was nothing, really, to fear.

Finding out that thestrals enjoyed practical jokes —and were actually quite inventive at them, too!— pretty much quashed any lingering reservations he might have harbored.

All of which meant that Spike wasn’t surprised to see obvious emotion displayed by one of the Night Guard. And anypony that saw the clear distress and worry that Spike was seeing would, never again, picture thestrals as cold, emotionless, and forbidding.

Motioning for the guard to lower his head down to Spike-level, the little dragon softly whispered. “I’ll be a few minutes but will be right back. In the meantime, nopony —and I mean nopony— is to disturb her.”

The guard simply nodded, straightening back up, his countenance, well . . . now focused and dedicated. Spike didn’t wait another moment. Just as quickly as he could do so, he quietly headed back down the hallway, picking up speed once around the corner, then swiftly trotted to the kitchen.

With the ease of long pracice, he swiftly put a kettle on to boil, then packed a tea infuser, not with chamomile —chamomile was great to help relax, but he needed something stronger this time— but with a very special blend of herbs: six parts motherwort, four parts rose petals, two parts each of hawthorn berry, linden, and violet, and one part each of cardamom and cinnamon bark. Zecora had provided him with not just the recipe, but the herbs and the instructions as well.

While the kettle was heating, he raced to the Master Linen Closet, grabbed a lavender-scented, heavy comforter, then dashed back down to the kitchen. Pouring the now-boiling water into the teapot, Spike dropped the infuser inside, closing the lid to contain the heat. While the tea brewed he quickly grabbed one of the bigger mugs, a container of sugar lumps, and a little jug of heavy cream.

Finally, grabbing a scrap of parchment and a quill he scribbled:

Twilight, Trixie is alright but sends her regrets. She really exhausted herself and isn’t up to dealing with a crowd. I’m watching her.

Considering his excellent calligraphy, one might be puzzled at the small ink blots and smears resulting from his sloppy notation. However . . .

Looks could be deceiving.

Several years ago, as Twilight Sparkle started becoming more and more noticeable, standing out as one of the Heroes —well, Heroines— of Equestria, she came to several unhappy conclusions, one of them being that her relationship with Spike was also just was well-recognized . . . as was his ability to send messages by Dragonfire. It was possible —highly unlikely, mind you, but, as her equations and graphs had clearly shown, the possibility did exist— that somepony with ill intent could foalnap either Spike, or Twilight and Spike together, and force Spike to send messages letting everypony think everything was fine.

So those “accidental spills” were anything but accidental, for Twilight had devised a code of sorts, and these current smudges stated “fine”, “don’t worry”, and “explain later”. Quickly rolling the parchment up, and, one quick gout of fire and a bright burst of flame, and off it went for delivery.

Several minutes later, and he was back outside the utility door. Setting the tea service tray down he picked up the heavy comforter. “Slide that,” he indicated with a hind paw, “inside once I’m in, then close the door. Nopony but Twilight is to disturb us.”

As soon as the guardpony had nodded, Spike took a deep breath . . . then opened the door a crack before slipping inside. And once he had . . .

The little dragon felt a stab of pure, unalloyed panic. Amongst the brooms, mops, and other arcane janitorial paraphernalia was Trixie, curled up in a tight ball on the floor and sobbing, deep racking wails of such utter and intense grief such as Spike had never heard before, not even from Twilight at her worst. He literally had no idea what was wrong; how she could go from such an amazing performance to this. What in Equestria had happened??

I . . . I can’t do this! he panicked, feeling like a baby dragon for the first time in ages, overwhelmed; terrified of accidentally making this worse. Before he could bolt, however . . . he felt the weight of the diamond at his throat . . . he remembered the fireworks that honored Spike for his role in saving the Crystal Empire . . . the fireworks that honored his relationship with Twilight Sparkle.

I can do this! And I will!

Casting the comforter over the distraught unicorn, Spike tucked it snugly around Trixie before hugging her tight, wrapping her in his arms . . . well, wrapping his arms as close as he could, what with their size differences that is.

Trixie froze; horrified at being found, she gathered her muscles in preparation for lunging up onto her hooves and running off. But she froze again, almost against her will, as she heard an odd, emotion-thickened, catched voice: “Shhhhh . . . shhhhh . . . it’s OK Trixie. I promise.”

Spike?

No. No, it most certainly not “OK” . . . and never would. Never would! She started sobbing again, her huddled body racked by them. “It burns,” she choked out. “It burns. Trixie tried. She really tried. But it . . . it never went away. No matter how hard she tried. It was always there. Always there. Whispering. Whispering. Oh . . . oh! Trixie should never have performed again. She should never have promised. But . . . but she looked so sad. So sad. How could Trixie not? But now it burns again. Like acid. Like fire.”

A much deeper, soul-tearing sob. “Trixie . . . Trixie just wants to die!”

Author's Note

Pre-read by: Dusk Melody Thanks again!

Peeling an Onion Brings Tears

Peeling an Onion Brings Tears

The sudden snap of the axle cracking was both shocking and deafening. As it fully fractured and the carriage lurched, the occupants inside were severely jolted. Thankfully, as well-appointed and as opulent as the carriage was, neither of the two passengers —a young earth pony mare, austerely garbed as a noble’s maid, and the young filly noble herself— were bruised, let alone injured.

“What was that? What happened?” the young filly, possibly no older than nine, asked in a delicate, cultured tone, doing her best to hide the anxiety she felt.

“I do not know, Miss Dupois,” her maid admitted. “Let me see if the footpony knows.”

Before she could summon the footpony, he had already opened the door, deeply bowing as he then addressed the young filly noble. “My apologies, Miss Dupois,” he servilely began. “But your coach has broken an axle, and is unable to continue.”

The very elegantly-dressed young filly delicately scrunched her muzzle, even as intense dread throbbed inside her. “But I simply must be there on time!” she announced. “Mother has demanded my presence there for a recital!”

The footpony tried hiding a wince at that. Although nopony could have predicted the axle breaking, that would not matter to Madam Avoir Dupois. If her daughter failed to arrive on time . . . heads . . . would . . . roll.

Frighteningly enough, there were whispered rumors of that being literal rather than figurative.

Saffron, Miss Dupois’ personal maid, nibbled her lower lip. She, too, was very much aware of Madam Avoir Dupois’ capricious, and volatile, temper. And if Saffron’s charge was late for her appointment, the earth pony maid knew that it wouldn’t be just herself being splashed with the brush of “disappointment” . . . Miss Dupois, herself, would be included. And it wouldn’t matter one thin wooden bit that neither of them were at fault, or, indeed, had anything to do about it.

“Miss Dupois?” she hesitatingly murmured.

The young unicorn filly coolly turned a gaze to her maid, one brow lifted up in disapproval. “Yes, Saffron? You wished to say something?”

Holding back the urge to swallow, or even lick suddenly dry lips, Saffron nodded. “Yes Ma’am.” Normally Miss Dupois was a very likeable, and agreeable, young filly. But under certain kinds of pressure —specifically, whenever potentials existed at disappointing Madam Avoir Dupois— she could be every bit as dangerous as her Mother was. “The salon is only eight blocks away. We . . . we could walk there.”

“Walk? Walk?” The footpony discreetly removed himself from any potential splashes his way. Miss Dupois’ voice had turned both silken and dangerous. “Are you suggesting that I walk, like that common clay outside is doing?”

“I . . . I just don’t want to see Madam Avoir Dupois disappointed,” she tremulously replied. And, like that, Miss Dupois’ expression changed from offended and insulted . . . to fear.

“No,” she whispered. “No, I certainly don’t want to disappoint M-mother.”

Beatrix was no stranger to walking. Mother’s home was certainly big enough that simply navigating from bedroom to bathroom, to kitchen to conservatory, from solar to spa, required quite a bit of walking. But walking there, or in the stately residences of those in Mother’s social circle, didn’t require gymnastics to avoid distasteful contact with those of baseborn blood. Or, worse, those of the lesser races . . . like unicorns and pegasi.

And these sidewalks simply teemed with throngs of those unwashed masses.

She was quite familiar, of course, with the less-fortunate unicorn and pegasus races. They made excellent unskilled labor, after all. Naturally, totally unsuitable for refined positions such as personal maids, valets, chefs, butlers, and similar positions. However, normally she never had to worry about being jostled by bumpkins and rubes.

Wrinkling her nose —which was lifted up to the sky— she disdainfully sniffed. I’m going to smell like a barn by the time I arrive!

Now what? she huffed, seeing an unmoving crowd just in front. None of them were moving, they were just standing there, blocking the right of way. “Saffron . . . see to moving . . . that,” she gestured at the crowd, “out of our way.”

Before her maid could even begin making the attempt, a loud voice projected out: “Come one, come all! Prepare to be mystified and mesmerized! Baffled and bewildered! Amazed and . . . oh darn . . . what’s a good word starting with “A”?

The crowd burst out laughing; how crude and uncouth!

“Come and see the amazing, the awe-inspiring . . . Hey! There’s an “A” word!” and again the crowd laughed, “Madam Mythic!”

What in the world?

“I want to see,” the now-curious unicorn informed her maid.

Saffron mentally sighed, understanding that “I want to see” actually meant “clear a path”. However, much to her surprise, except for a few grumbles, most everypony shifted enough until, at last, Saffron and her charge was near the front.

Beatrix . . . wasn’t exactly impressed. It was just a common street performer. And, most likely, a grifter, or another kind of ne’er-do-well, since it was a unicorn: an older mare, flamboyantly garbed, an ornate turban perched atop her head, and standing behind a small, four-legged, portable table just as garishly decorated as she was.

At least she knows how to wind one correctly, Beatrix sniffed as she glanced at the elaborate headgear. I suppose that’s not too shabby, coming from a yokel, after all.

“I like juggling. Does anypony else like juggling? Accountants, keep quiet!” the undoubtedly itinerant “performer” called out. Beatrix sighed as chuckles broke out at the lowbrow joke. She was about to disdainfully sneer when . . .

“Drat! I seem to have misplaced my juggling ball. Oh, wait! There it is!”

The astonished unicorn filly couldn’t help it: her jaw dropped, and not even years of unrelenting training could stop that from happening. For Madam Mythic had simply reached up, reached behind her ear . . . and now had a bright red ball on her upturned hoof.

Tossing it up in the air she began arcing the singular ball back and forth between hooves, loudly —and quite tunelessly— humming. After about ten seconds of just “juggling” one ball, Madam Mythic blurted out, “Oops! Knew I was forgetting something!” Beatrix felt her jaw drop again, for where there had been one ball . . . now there were two.

“Let’s play charades,” she said with a teasing grin, as now three balls were now orbiting in a stately cadence.

“Pawn shop!” somepony yelled out, as everypony then laughed.

Now there were four balls. “Let’s spice this up a bit,” Madam Mythic grinned . . . and then the crowd “Oooohed!” as, instead of four balls, there were now four pins.

Beatrix found herself being mesmerized by the methodical revolutions. But, even more so, by the act itself. Deep down inside, the enthralled filly was sensing the complexity of the performance: the mechanics of the act itself, but also the talented —and it was undeniably considerable talent, indeed— way Madam Mythic was not just entertaining, but managing to draw her audience into her act as well.

Pins now became hoops, a much more difficult medium to juggle, but Madam Mythic smoothly kept up a running patter as the hoops spun and flashed in the air. Hoops now became pins again, then . . .

“Oops!” The crowd burst out in laughter as pins turned into . . . fish?? Only for a second or two before becoming balls again, but Beatrix found herself blinking. Those had been fish!

“Look out!” Madam Mythic ‘warned’, as one of the juggling balls zoomed out over the crowd’s head, somehow turning around and zooming back. No few of the ponies had ducked, then sheepishly grinned at having done so. Four balls kept circling up and down, up and down, with a ball now-and-then ‘straying’ out over the crowd’s head. Until . . .

One of the balls arced out just inches above the unicorn filly’s head. Without any conscious thought, Beatrix reached a foreleg up . . . caught the ball on her hoof . . . and effortlessly returned it to Madam Mythic, so smoothly that the juggler almost faltered her cadence.

Almost.

There was a scatter of applause, but Beatrix was only distantly aware of that. Her full focus was on the up-and-down of the balls . . . so much so that she was completely unaware of the burgeoning sensations building inside her.

Madam Mythic grinned, not at all upset. “Ready?” she called out, and before the unicorn filly was truly conscious of the words . . .

A ball was lofted towards Beatrix. Again, with no true thought, she simply cupped it atop a hoof before sending it back . . . as a second ball was sent her way.

Before Beatrix knew it, six balls were being passed back and forth between them. In a way that she could never describe, it was as if she could see not just the path they were taking, but the paths they could take, as well. Bright merry laughter bubbled from her, purple eyes sparkling in delight. All her fears, all her despair and misery . . . for this moment were washed clean of her.

Madam Mythic almost dropped the pin as it tumbled towards her. She hadn’t done that! Her eyes widened as, one after another, a bright red ball was lofted to the unicorn filly . . . and a gaily striped pin was returned in its stead.

A minute later, and Madam Mythic started collecting, one at a time, each pin as it tumbled to her, each one somehow just . . . vanishing. And as the last one vanished, Madam Mythic stepped forward and, in a loud voice, called out, “Fillies and Gentlecolts, I give to you the true star of the show!” At that, she gestured towards the stunned unicorn filly.

The crowd starting applauding; not the genteel, soft ovation of those of good breeding, but the thunderous, hoof-stomping, hoof-clapping, whistling hullabaloo of the masses. That . . . that was . . .

It felt good.

Sudden warmth, like a quickly expanding inner fire, almost had her legs buckle. She felt unaccountably weak and dizzy. It seemed to last forever, yet, at the same time, was over almost before she knew it. Shaking her head most indecorously Beatrix became aware of the silence, the loud applause of just seconds ago now gone. Alarmed, the anxious filly stared at her maid, who had the oddest, softest smile on her face, even though there seemed to be melancholy as well. Before she could become truly anxious, her head whipped back around, staring at Madam Mythic, who had an absolutely dazzling smile.

“Congratulations, soul sister!”

Huh? “Congratulations?” Congratulations for what? And what does she mean, “soul sister”?

She was absolutely stunned when the crowd erupted in cheers again.

“Cutie mark!” “She got her cutie mark!” “Didja see that?” “I don’t believe it!”

Wha? Cutie mark? Who got their cutie ma——

Oh!

Craning her neck, Beatrix could see the cutie mark that now adorned her once-bare flanks. A huge, unseemly grin spread across her face. Mother was going to be so proud!

It was pitch dark, and utterly quiet, in her locked Contemplation Closet, the only sound the occasional soft sniffle. Beatrix had been taught, long ago, that tears were a sign of weakness; they detracted from the meditation required to learn from her errors, her mistakes . . . her failures.

And there had been so very many of those.

Nevertheless, even with the experience gained from harsh, relentless lessons, this time she simply couldn’t stop the sporadic sniffles from breaking free.

She knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she’d seen the last of her maid. Just like the others.

She had been so certain that M-mother would finally be proud of her defective daughter. Being born the only unicorn in a noble family whose pedigree of pure earth pony lineage extended back to The Founding had placed a terrible burden on her family, a stigma of shame. But, at last! Beatrix had finally found her place; had discovered her true talent, and had finally set her hooves firmly on the path of recognition and success —of proving herself worthy of all the sacrifices M-mother had made in behalf of her flawed and deficient offspring.

Beatrix had enjoyed happiness like she’d never, ever before experienced . . . for all of thirty minutes. And she’d been frozen in terror at the absolute blazing fury in M-mother’s eyes. Closing her eyes —not that she sensed any difference in her Contemplation Closet, eyes open or closed— she softly wept herself to sleep.

Had she only known, then, of the grief, the long, non-stop series of dashed hopes and dreams, of pain, loss, and failures, that her cutie mark had heralded . . .

She wouldn’t have wanted to run away . . .

. . . she would have wanted to cut her throat.

Surging awake out of a turmoil of fear, terror, hopelessness and despair, Trixie choked back a cry. Never —never ever ever!— did Trixie awake making any sound. Noises were dangerous.

Sounds drew attention to you.

With the ease of long practice —an ease paid in coin of terror and fear and survival— Trixie instantly banished the groggy cobwebs, tensed as she stretched out her senses, seeking dangers and perils. Who-what-where-when-why-how tumbled through her mind as she analyzed and sorted . . .

. . . and sensed, throbbing deep inside her core, pulsing with life, with purpose . . .

“No!” she screamed in futile denial, struggling to lunge to her hooves, to run off, gallop off, knowing even as that adrenalin surged inside that, no matter how far, how fast . . .

. . . she could never, ever outrun her cutie mark.

“Shhhh . . . shhhh . . . don’t be afraid,” came the wide-awake, and not-at-all groggy —and also very familiar— voice. Trixie stiffened for a moment, startled, then, before that had worn off . . . realized it wasn’t just a blanket covering her.

Trixie “swam” with her hooves, trying to wriggle out from under Twilight’s sheltering wing, when she bumped into a smaller mass behind her.

“Jeez Trixie,” game a mock-grumpy growl, “You don’t hafta squish me yanno!”

Twilight’s horn softly started glowing, just enough to barely dispel the shadows in the room, and in that faint pink duskiness Trixie sensed, more than saw, Twilight and Spike bracketing her, and sounding much more awake than anypony having just been woken up should sound . . . assuming they’d been sleeping to begin with.

Her heart was pounding, her stomach churning with nausea; covering her face with her hooves, she started whimpering.

“We’re not going to pry. We’re not going to talk, or feed you platitudes,” Twilight softly, soothingly murmured, settling her wing over the huddled, trembling cerulean unicorn.

“We’re just going to watch over you,” Spike rumbled.

“And keep you safe,” Twilight gently promised.

A harsh, mocking bark of laughter. “Safe? Safe? How can you protect Trixie from herself?” she bitterly spat before tensing even tighter and starting to weep again.

Twilight had seldom felt so helpless in her entire life. She didn’t know what to do!

“Because . . . you’ll never be alone again,” Spike softly rumbled. “Never.”

“Never,” Twilight softly affirmed.

Her weeping only ceased when she finally fell back to sleep, too exhausted, and too drained, to fight slumber any longer.

There had been quite a few curious stares as, in a tight fireball, the scroll appeared above her head. Supporting it in a light pink aura, Twilight had quickly unrolled it and, even faster, had read it. Her expression had tensed for a moment, but, by now, Twilight had uncomfortably learned that, as a Princess, she was under constant scrutiny. Keeping her expression completely relaxed —not wanting to spawn any rumors or speculations— she simply rerolled it and, with a soft pop and flash, sent it to her bed stand.

Several minutes later, hopefully long enough to disassociate the (past) scroll with her (present) announcement, Twilight started passing the word that Trixie, having overextended herself, was not up to any encore performance or accolades.

Having just seen the prodigious exhibition, and possible profligate display of magicks and energies, that explanation completely satisfied most everypony.

Those with foals, young colts and fillies —Silver Spoon and her parents being the exception— were the first to seek hearth and home . . . and bed. And since it had been a long, jam-packed, fun-filled, eventful day, contagious yawns started breaking out everywhere, spreading like wildfire as yawns always do. In ones and twos, in small groups and in pairs, ponies approached their Princess of Friendship to express their thanks, to request passing on their well-wishes and appreciation to Trixie Lulamoon, and simply to wish Twilight a good night. Within the half-hour of the first departure, the only ponies left were Twilight and Princess Luna, along with Silver Spoon and her parents.

Applejack, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and Fluttershy had stayed until almost everypony else had departed, not exactly hiding, per se, as much as remaining at a discreet remove. However, once Twilight was (reasonably) alone, her friends gravely paced over, stopping several paces away. Lifting a brow at her friends Twilight just waited. Rainbow Dash was fidgeting; Fluttershy was ducking her head, cheeks softly glowing; Rarity looked uncomfortable but determined, as did Applejack; Pinkie Pie simply looked her usual self, if just a bit subdued.

Twilight wasn’t in the mood for “kissing-and-making-up”. Although Spike’s message had smoothed the edge off her anxiety, she was in desperate need to see for herself that her friend was alright. And if her other friends had approached her with the intent of extending an olive branch, well, then . . . they’d better start doing so, for Twilight was not about to just let them off the hook that easily, letting bygones be bygones.

Taking a deep breath, Applejack placed her hat over her chest. “Ain’t no easy way t’ say this,” she started, gazing at the ground. “But,” she lifted her head and gazed at Twilight, eye-to-eye. “Y’all were right, an’ we were wrong. Dead wrong.”

Twilight just stood there, pinions lightly ruffling in a gentle breeze, contemplating each of them, one at a time, in utter silence, her gaze every bit as regal as Their Royal Majesties. Rainbow Dash flushed, looking uncomfortable as she shifted her weight back and forth on her hooves; Rarity sucked her lower lip between her teeth and flushed, too, but she kept her head up and eyes on her friend.

“Yes. You were.”

Those three words cut them like knives, all the worse because Twilight had spoken them in an utterly neutral tone. All but Rainbow Dash winced at that; she bristled. Bristled, feathers ruffling, her chest inflating, then . . .

“Ah, Tartarus,” she gusted, visibly deflating. “I can’t speak for the others Twilight, but I deserved that.”

“Ayup, me too.”

“Indeed. Myself, as well.”

“Me, too,” almost an inaudible whisper.

“Me, too,” Pinkie Pie sadly agreed, shoulders slumping. “It shouldn’t have taken seeing Trixie stand up to bullies, in defense of Berry Pu—, erm, Berry Shine and Ruby Pinch, for me to see what you’d been seeing all this time.”

“Say whut now?”

“Oh!” Pinkie brightly chirped. “Did I forget to tell you about it? See, it was like this . . .”

By the time Pinkie Pie finished her (only slightly embellished) tale, the other four Element Bearers looked even more discomfited and ashamed. Twilight, meanwhile, was astonished; Trixie had never even mentioned anything like this to her!

Everypony was startled when Applejack started softly chuckling. “Mah oh mah!” she chortled. “Chased those two outta town with bees, huh.”

Pinkie Pie grinned ear to ear, as the others —except for Twilight— started chuckling as well.

“Twilight darling,” Rarity finally spoke up. “While we can’t change the past, what’s happened is not just ‘water under the bridge’ as t’were. We don’t want to just simply sweep it under the rug and pretend that nothing had happened.” The other four soberly nodded. “But, while we can’t change the past, we can promise to make sure the future, from this point on, is very different.”

Twilight finally did smile as all five Pinkie Promised that vow. “Thanks girls,” she fervently said, as they all huddled together in a group hug.

After saying their farewells —which took another few minutes— the five finally took their leave, slowly ambling back towards Ponyville and quietly talking about the day’s events . . . with, predictably, Applejack and Rainbow Dash being a bit more, ahh, energetic in rehashing and replaying the competitions in which they’d participated.

“Hey Fluttershy!” Rainbow Dash brightly called out, noticing the pink pegasus had been, not just silent for some time, but also looking a bit pensive and preoccupied. “Feather for your thoughts!”

Rainbow Dash wasn’t the only one of the group to falter in their steps when Fluttershy finally answered, as they were, one-and-all, just expecting their friend’s standard, shy deflection. But that wasn’t at all what they got.

“I was just thinking about what Pinkie Pie had said,” she explained, and, although her voice was the familiar low, slow and soft cadence, there was no trace of reticence in her response. “That it shouldn’t have taken her seeing Trixie stand up to those meanies for her to see Trixie the way Twilight always has. That made me wonder . . .” coming to a stop she paused, then, when her friends had also stopped . . .

“How did we miss seeing, for years, what Twilight has always seen? And why did it take bullies, or fireworks, before we saw the same?”

Unlike that absolutely wonderful, captivating —no pun intended— night ten days ago, this time Twilight allowed herself to sleep sleep. Unfortunately, while she might have allowed herself that freedom, she wasn’t quite able to take advantage of that emancipation. So when Trixie’s respiration started increasing, as her pulse gradually picked up, Twilight was immediately aware of that. Lingering grogginess was blasted into nothingness, unable to withstand the anxious alicorn’s swiftly burgeoning angst.

Once she’d said good night to Princess Luna —each tightly hugging the other before parting— Twilight literally raced for the castle doors, almost colliding with the guards as she skidded to a stop. Before she could say a word, the guards simply gestured, pointing towards a corridor.

Hallway after corridor, there was always a guardpony waiting there to guide her, until, at long last —and much faster than it felt at the time— she stopped at the final intersection, barrel heaving in exertion, having been stopped by another guardpony.

(Much later, it would eventually occur to her that every one of them had been thestrals, and, with the exception of the main doorway guards, all of whom had been off-duty)

“She is down there, Your Highness” the off-duty thestral guard had softly murmured, and then she had gestured to another guard standing in an extremely watchful position just outside one of the doors that lined that corridor. “Spike is with her.”

“Thank you,” she murmured back, before quietly pacing down to the indicated guard before coming to a stop there.

Leaning forward a bit, the self-appointed door sentry murmured just as softly as the previous guard had done, “Your Highness, Spike is inside with Miss Trixie.” He then informed Twilight about what he had seen and heard, including the measures Spike had taken and the supplies he had collected. And then, his expression quite distressed, he told Twilight the last clear thing he’d heard from within: Trixie’s heartrending wail, ‘Trixie . . . Trixie just wants to die!’

It felt as if her heart had plummeted to her hooves, hearing that. What? Why? Unanswered questions furiously churned in her mind. That had been an amazing, astounding, unbelievably marvelous, flawless fireworks exhibition. Twilight simply couldn’t understand what about that could be the trigger for that pitiful, pitiable plaint! How does anypony go from brilliant success to absolute bleakness?

Terror; Fear; Anxiety; Inadequacy; Ineptitude; long-familiar emotions rising to new heights. Nausea churned in her belly. Her ears tightly slanted back. Her pupils pinpointed. Her pulse and respiration rapidly increased. I’m not a therapist! A psychiatrist! This is serious!Real serious! This isn’t a game, this is life-and-death! This is real! She needs help! Real help! But . . .

Twilight’s frenzied thoughts slithered to a halt before a single thread unraveled from that rat’s nest of self-unconfidence and fears. Yes, she probably needs professional help. But they aren’t here, and I am. And I’m her friend.

Between the resources expended in pre-performance anxiety and jitters, the actual performance itself, and finally the post-performance breakdown, by the time Twilight carefully nudged the door open, Trixie was so enervated and out of it that she might as well have been unconscious. She never stirred as Twilight —very gently, very tenderly— swaddled her in an enveloping levitation spell. Then —as Spike followed along, informing Twilight in a low murmur of all that had happened after the guard had pointed out to him where Trixie was— she carried her to the guest suite closest to her own Suite (as big and complex as her sleeping rooms were, they deserved capitalization). Twilight was perfectly happy with ensconcing her friend in her own bed and bedroom, but worried that doing so might do more harm than good; there was the very real possibility that the prideful-self-supporting unicorn would misinterpret Twilight’s doing so as charity, noblesse largesse, or even pity.

In addition to the burden of the emotions Twilight was carrying was the dull, smoldering anger she felt towards, and with, Princess Celestia. My friend is suffering! she silently fumed. You have the answers! You know what’s going on! And you. Won’t. Tell. Me!!

With Spike’s help, they soon had the torpid unicorn tucked into bed. Spike had started tiptaloning out but stopped at a swift, sharp, imperious gesture from Twilight, indicating that she wanted him at one side of Trixie as she took the other. His heart swelled with that honor, grateful to do whatever was in his power to repay his deep debt to Trixie for the honor she had shown him.

Thankfully, he had no idea of what had partially prompted Twilight’s decision. Similar to her concern that Trixie could possibly misinterpret kindness and concern with charity or pity, she was equally concerned over the potential misinterpretation of waking up and discovering Twilight sleeping with her.

Cheeks furiously blushing as Twilight mentally clarified to herself, Sleep sleeping, not, ah . . . “sleep” sleeping.

Although . . .

Once she had her tucked into bed between Spike and herself, Twilight gently covered Trixie with a wing . . . well, covered her as much as possible, that is. Trixie was, after all, a full-grown mare, and Twilight’s wings weren’t exactly substantial.

Trixie had slept like the dead for most of the night, only rousing the one time. For a moment, Twilight truly feared Trixie was going to bolt, but between the two of them, she and Spike somehow had calmed her enough that she was unable to resist the enervation that hauled her back down into the embrace of slumber.

But now she was waking again, and —again— Twilight was quickly panicking. It was bad enough understanding that her friend had suffered some sort of breakdown —and, most likely, would still be swallowed in the depths of that despair when she finally did rouse. But Twilight didn’t, at all, know what had triggered that, or why. If “A-squared plus B-squared equaled C-squared”, and you only had the value of one variable, you couldn’t solve for the actual values for the other two. And since all Twilight had was “(unknown)what-plus-(unknown)why equaled breakdown” . . .

Her pupils dilated, then pinpointed. Her coat started shivering; spasmodically twitching. And then, as Trixie swiftly roused to full consciousness, she started tensing and twitching, her eyes dilated, then pinpointed.

And when they each noticed the others’ expressions and reactions . . .

A very audible, and very exasperated, snort pricked its way through their hypermania, shocking them both partially back into the here-and-now. “Seriously?” Another, semi-disdainful, snort. “Seriously? You know something? You two were made for each other.”

Wide, shocked eyes, —both purple— stared as the small, obviously miffed-yet-also-mildly-amused, dragon standing on the floor at the side of the bed, front paws fisted and at his hips. “You’re like vinegar and baking soda in a closed bottle; you know that?” he declared, as his tail slowly whipped back and forth behind him.

While that simile might have passed over the heads of most other ponies . . . Both Twilight and Trixie were utterly shocked as snorty little giggles bubbled up inside them. Then they both, one at a time, rocked back in shock as Spike stabbed a talon in their direction. “You,” —at Twilight— “and you” —at Trixie— “need to eat. I’ll be bringing breakfast up in thirty minutes. Don’t be late for it.”

“Trixie . . . Trixie is not hungry,” the cerulean unicorn whispered. Her eyes widened as she got immediate —and simultaneous— responses:

Twilight: “Just give in; you’re not going to win this. He’s been around me too long”
Spike: “Doesn’t matter. You’re still going to eat. You expended a lot of resources performing last night, magickal as well as physical and emotional.”

Twilight confirmed, sotto voce, “Told you.”

Now he folded his forearms across his chest, tail lashing, one hind paw metronomically tapping, emerald orbs quite steely as Spike focused his gaze on Twilight. Trixie’s jaw dropped as Twilight seemed to wilt under that stare . . . and then he swiveled his eyes and bored them into hers.

Swallowing hard, Trixie swiped her lips with her tongue, feeling herself wilt. “OK,” she whispered, sounding —unbeknownst to her— a lot like Fluttershy at the moment.

“Thirty minutes,” he repeated, shaking a talon at them, before turning about and departing.

The door closed behind him with a soft click. Eyes still enormously rounded, Trixie turned her head to stare at Twilight. The stunned unicorn just blinked as Twilight sheepishly advised, “Well . . . you heard him.” The bed shifted as she descended to the floor. “The bathroom is this way,” she stated. “We’d better hurry; we don’t want to be late.”

Outside the door, in the hallway, Spike paused, took a deep, deep breath . . . gusted it out as he slumped back against the wall. “Lava and magma!” he fervently whispered, shuddering a moment at his presumptuousness . . . well, sort of “presumptuousness”, at any road. Audacity, perhaps? Cheekiness? A grin spread across his face at the cornucopia of synonyms available. You didn’t grow up with Twilight Sparkle without becoming one erudite little dragon, nosirriebob!

Smothering semi-manic giggles lest he be overheard, and thus ruin the effect he’d so-far inspired, Spike quickly jogged down the hall towards the kitchen.

Manes and tails still slightly droopy from dampness, Twilight and Trixie had just entered the guest suite’s small dining room as the front door opened. Easing his way inside, and carrying a tray far too big for him to have been carrying, Spike grunted with effort as he half-balanced, half-carried, the heaped tray inside.

“Spike,” Twilight softly chided, her voice more tender than scolding, “Here. Let me help.” Moments later, surrounded in a pink aura, the well-laden tray floated over to the dining table before settling there. But that was all Twilight did, extinguishing her horn once the tray was safely on the table. This was Spike's "show", and she wasn't about to go sticking her hoof in where it didn't belong.

Gesturing with her horn for Trixie to take a seat, Twilight followed in kind, seating herself at the table. Had Trixie not been so drained, and across so many levels —physical, mental, emotional, and magickal— she might have gathered wits and determination and beat a hasty, if indecorous, retreat. But, because her resources were virtually nil, she allowed herself to be chivvied about.

Trixie couldn’t have told anypony, afterwards, what, exactly, she’d had for breakfast, for she’d eaten quite mechanically. However, by the time dishes were cleared and coffee mugs topped off, her internal stores had slowly begun reenergizing. And as they did, she gradually became more aware of her surroundings.

Twilight was seated opposite her, and she appeared to be relaxed; calm and tranquil, replete and sated. But Trixie sensed, more than saw, a tenseness about her. And the most obvious reason for that would be . . .

“Stop that!”

Trixie squeaked at the unexpected talon poke to her flank. Head jerking to the side she spotted Spike —the owner of said talon— giving her the gimlet eye before hopping up onto a chair of his own, positioned between the two of them.

Feeling the weight of two pair of eyes upon her, Trixie started tensing.

“Nu-uh,” Spike said, shaking his head and holding up a talon before wagging it in her direction.

For the first time, Twilight sensed something other than bleak despair, utter hopelessness, and self-loathing, bubbling up inside her friend: sulkiness. It wasn’t the most ideal emotion, true, but it beat the others by a long chalk.

“Doesn’t Trixie get a say in anything?” she petulantly complained.

“Normally, yes, you do,” Twilight assured. “But these aren’t normal circumstances.” She took a deep breath, feeling as if poised on the brink of a bottomless chasm . . . teetering on the lip . . . back when she was a unicorn, and didn’t have wings. I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m not a trained counselor! I’m not a licensed psychologist! I could make things worse, actually damage her, by saying the wrong thing! And I’ve promised her I’d never pry; that I’d never pressure her into talking!

That wasn’t even taking into account ‘But you will not pry, pester, or meddle with her. That is not a request, Twilight Sparkle; that is a Royal Command.’

To Tartarus with your “Royal Command”!

“Trixie?” Twilight’s voice was soft, yet for all that softness Trixie’s nerves suddenly vibrated with tension. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” and now her insides felt as if they were knotting up. “I mean that,” and, even through her growing tension, Trixie felt a counterbalancing sense of amazement, perceiving the absolute truth in her avowal. “But it’s obvious to us,” and Twilight indicated herself, and her dragon assistant and best friend, “that something is deeply troubling you. We don’t know what that is, and we don’t even know if we can help even if we did know,” she admitted. “But something I have learned . . . even if I was a slow learner about it” —she sheepishly, lopsidedly grinned for a moment— “is that, sometimes —quite often, actually— just talking to a friend about my fears, or worries, or troubles, helps me understand them better. Helps me deal with them better. Sometimes even helps me solve and dismiss them.”

Trixie had recovered just enough energy to be cognizant of her surroundings, but nowhere near enough to reestablish, let alone fully rebuild, her defenses. Even though everything inside her screamed “Danger!”, she simply didn’t have the resources to fight.

Their hearts broke as Trixie numbly spoke at last, her voice slow and defeated. “Trixie just wanted to be liked. That’s all. Trixie just . . . just wanted to make other ponies smile. To laugh. To find wonder and delight.” Tears filled huge purple orbs, beading up before spilling free, streaming down her cheeks. “B-b-but T-trixie . . . Trixie always failed. Trixie has always been a disappointment. At home. At school. As a performer.”

Her voice just wasn’t numb; it was like listening to somepony dead who was just waiting for burial.

Huge, swimming purple orbs gazed sightlessly into the distance. “Always hope; always disappointment. Until Trixie was so narcissistic, so desperate for success, for self-validation, that she willingly —eagerly— embraced an object Trixie knew was cursed . . . just to prove her worth, her value, her skills.

“After that,” her voice grew even colder, more lifeless, “Trixie finally understood. Everypony had always been right —and Trixie too vain, too arrogant and egotistical, to see the truth. Trixie was never meant to be a performer. Not an illusionist; not a prestidigitator; not an entertainer.

“So Trixie foreswore any and all performing.” It was difficult, but somehow both Spike and Twilight choked back gasps. “That was . . . hard. So hard,” she whispered, and tears filled dragon and alicorn at the terrible, heartrending loss in the unicorn’s quivering voice. “It has never really left Trixie,” she choked back a sob, then her voice turned hateful. “Trixie’s cutie mark; it never stops. It never stops whispering, no matter how hard Trixie tries and tries and tries. Trixie hates her cutie mark!” she bitterly cried out.

That exclamation seemed to drain her, for, once again, her voice turned soft and lifeless. “Trixie should never have agreed to perform again,” her shoulders jerked in silent sobs. “Trixie was so terribly afraid of releasing her demons again.” Her voice lowered so low it was barely audible. “But how could Trixie refuse? Princess Luna . . . she was so sad . . . so terribly, terribly sad . . . she had lost so much, and was now lost herself . . . floundering in a future so foreign to her. Besides . . . Trixie owed Princess Luna.”

As silence continued for long, long seconds, Twilight finally, her throat almost too thick to speak, prompted, “’Owed Princess Luna’? Owed her for what?”

“Trixie’s last name was not always ‘Lulamoon’,” in a broken voice she explained. “Trixie’s last name was taken from her years ago. So when Trixie needed a new name, she searched and searched before creating one. She just changed one letter; one small letter.”

Silence passed again, but before Twilight felt ready to prompt again, Trixie dully continued. “Trixie just changed an ‘L’ for an ‘N’ . . . Lulamoon, instead of Lunamoon.”

The scratching of the quill as it traced its path along the scroll seemed loud in the silence of the dim room. The parchment wasn’t very big; then again, the cypher message (when translated) was very short:

Target active again. Position unknown. Operatives ready to triangulate.

The parchment was tightly rolled, then placed into the tiny tube attached to a messenger pigeon. Moments later, in a flurry of wingbeats, the bird-carried message disappeared into the night.

Author's Note

Portions pre-read by: Dusk Melody Thanks again!

Healing is Such Sweet Sorrow

Healing is Such Sweet Sorrow

“This stays between us, Spike. Understand?”

The small, green-and-purple dragon felt goosebumps crawl beneath his scales, as he resonated within at the unwonted seriousness of Twilight Sparkle’s tone, like a gong struck by a mallet. Honestly, he couldn’t ever recall her being this grimly severe, ever! And all he’d done was innocently ask if, perhaps, maybe they should ask Princess Celestia for help.

The fact that she hadn’t asked him to “Pinkie Promise” spoke volumes, as well. Now, it wasn’t as if Twilight considered Pinkie Promises as merely childish and amusing, because she didn’t, having learned the hard way —alas, how it seemed most of her more intense lessons had been learned— of the utter significance and reality of a Pinkie Promise. However, having said that, yes . . . yes, Twilight did feel that swearing secrecy on a Pinkie Promise was a more juvenile and playful action, compared to, for instance, what would (hypothetically, of course) be expected when forging a peace treaty between Equestria and Queen Chrysalis.

“Understood,” he quietly, yet solemnly, replied, sealing that oath.

Twilight softly exhaled, her expression at Spike’s simple response —and to the vow implied by that— sent a warmth of pride blooming inside him. A warmth that, much to his dismay, was replaced by a flood of ice water as Twilight explained.

“I’ve already spoken to Celestia,” she began, her voice low, so as not to disturb their fitfully-resting guest; low, but also throbbing with barely-suppressed anger. Spike blenched at that tone, and, as well, his eyes rounded as the agitated alicorn bluntly omitted Princess Celestia’s title . . . something she never, ever did. “And she told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to “pry, pester, or meddle with” Trixie. And that that was “not a request” but that it was “a Royal Command”.

By now Twilight’s eyes were fulminating, her posture tight and tense. Spike felt a hollow singing in his belly, as if a void had opened deep inside and he was falling into it. He’d seldom, if ever, seen Twilight this coldly enraged. And that fury was directed at Princess Celestia? Her teacher, her mentor, her very dear friend?

Trixie really does mean a lot to her. Twilight really is deeply attached to her.

Taking a deep breath before huffing it out, Spike matter-of-factly asked, “So . . . where do we go from here?” hoping that, by sounding and acting nonchalant, he might help cool down Twilight before she spiraled even higher.

Gustily exhaling through flared nostrils, Twilight unhappily huffed. “I don’t know,” she dejectedly admitted, tensed shoulders abruptly slumping.

It was mortally painful recalling this morning, as Trixie had finally cracked; when she’d just started talking in that terribly numb, dead tone. Even recalling that induced atavistic shivers racing through her. Worse, though —far worse!— had been what the broken unicorn had said.

It burns. It burns. Trixie tried. She really tried. But it . . . it never went away. No matter how hard she tried. It was always there. Always there. Whispering. Whispering. Oh . . . oh! Trixie should never have performed again. She should never have promised. But . . . but she looked so sad. So sad. How could Trixie not? But now it burns again. Like acid. Like fire.

Trixie . . . Trixie just wants to die!

Spike had told Twilight what he’d heard; very experienced at taking Twilight’s often lightning-fast notes and dictations, the little dragon had somehow developed —most likely for sanity survival’s sake— a specific type of aural eidetic memory. Unlike a parrot, which simply “parroted” snippets of conversation, or sounds, it had heard, Spike could not only exactly remember words spoken, but also remember their cadence and tone, as well as their meaning. So Twilight never even considered that her number one assistant might have misremembered, or misinterpreted, anything that Trixie had said.

Trixie’s cutie mark; it never stops. It never stops whispering, no matter how hard Trixie tries and tries and tries. Trixie hates her cutie mark!

The truly astounding thing was that Twilight hadn’t immediately gone racing to the Library (“L”, remember?) upon hearing that, to conduct in-depth research.

The next, truly astounding thing, was that Twilight still hadn’t sprinted there, after they had cajoled Trixie into “just resting”.

Which didn’t mean her mind was just idling.

Cutie marks appear when a pony discover a unique characteristic about themselves that sets them apart from others. That doesn’t mean that any characteristic, once discovered and obtained, irrevocably invalidates any other pony from, ever again, discovering the same. If that were the case, we’d only ever have had one baker, one florist, one seamstress! There are a multitude of ‘flavors’, of discrete shadings, amongst any singular talent or characteristic.

Now, if we assume that Trixie’s cutie mark represents a hybrid fusion between raw magic ability and talent, she reasoned, along with that of being an entertainer —principally a stage magician; a prestidigitator, an illusionist— then when Trixie said her cutie mark never stops whispering, obviously that meant her unique characteristic is subconsciously urging her to perform, as she so obviously is meant to do. She clearly never gave up using magic —that much I’m absolutely positive about!—so that couldn’t be the wellspring of that ‘whispering’.

And if she, somehow, managed to suppress that urge —that driving need to perform— for months and months —the last two years!— I’m not at all surprised that all that suppressed need feels like fire, as all that pent-up desire suddenly exploded free!

Spike gently bopped her muzzle as she started chewing on her mane, a nervous habit she just couldn’t seem to break. Softly blushing and sheepishly grinning, she started conjecturing again; without additional, hard evidence, conjecturing was all she could do at the moment!

So . . . which came first? Hatred of her cutie mark, or hatred of performing? Trixie had said that she’d foresworn “any and all performing”. That she’d done so shortly after her using the Alicorn Amulet. Damn!she mentally swore; proof positive of her own whipsawed emotions, for, even mentally, Twilight never cursed. I have got to research that blasted thing! I’m sure that’s at the root of all this! Jerking herself back from that tangent, That amulet might have been the final straw, but it seems that a long string of failures and disappointments set the stage for that. She mentally and physically cringed at the unintended, and unwanted, double entendre.

But that doesn’t make any sense! Especially after last night! She’s good! She’s really, really good! Nopony just gets that good just in time to put on a show. And that was just fireworks! Although I’m doing those an enormous injustice by calling that “just” fireworks. What in Equestria can she do, a-la-prestidigitation-and-illusionary-wise, when she focuses her mind on that? I mean, I’ve seen the power of her illusions! Moon and stars! How is it even possible to just always fail?

“Twilight? Hey Twilight?”

Rapidly blinking, the deeply-introspective alicorn shook her head, sharply enough that her ears flapped. “Huh? Wha——?”

Before Spike could answer, there came a light double-tap at the door. Scowling, Twilight got up, glaring at the door as she did. “Darnnit! I left explicit instructions!” Indeed, she had, informing the door sentry (and, yes, this one was on-duty) that she didn’t wish to be disturbed! Ears slanted back, clear indication of her ire, she partially opened the door and glared out. “This better be important!” she gritted out.

Then her jaw dropped, ears pivoted forwards, eyes rounded, as the guard explained the reasons —plural— behind her interruption.

“Trixie? Trixie?” Twilight gently touched her friend’s shoulder, barely rocking. “I really hate to bother you, but . . .,” she took a deep breath, “are you up to receiving company?”

Her unicorn friend just lay there, only the single twitch of an ear betraying that she’d heard.

“If . . . if you aren’t,” Twilight’s voice grew softer, “I can send them all home.”

Burying her head beneath a pillow, the despondent unicorn’s reply was quite muffled. “Why would anypony want to see Trixie?”

“Ah . . . ummm . . .” Twilight ahh-ed and ummm-ed. “Ah . . . I didn’t say ‘anypony’, Trixie. As in singular. “However, I need to decide what to do, since the waiting room is starting to get crowded.”

“Say what?” the flabbergasted alicorn had said to the importunate guardpony, positive she had misunderstood her.

Swiveling her ears halfway back, the pegasus Day Guard had repeated, “Starting about an hour ago, Your Highness, quite a few ponies have started arriving, and asking if Miss Trixie Lulamoon was up to seeing anypony yet.”

“How in the world did anypony know she was here?” Twilight had asked, mystified.

“Well, ahh . . . that is . . . you see . . .”

Taking a deep breath, she’d squared herself before bracing to attention. And, as she’d begun explaining, Twilight had been torn between facehoofing and not-so-mild (and not so semi-, either) hysterical giggles. It seemed that, starting a bit after dawn, some of the earlier risers —bakers and dairyponies, for example— had paid special visits to Trixie’s clearing, carrying small tokens of appreciation (and, churlish as it might be to speculate, quite likely of apology, as well). However . . .

It quickly became obvious to anypony that had “just dropped by” that, not only was Trixie currently not at home, but it appeared she hadn’t been home since yesterday afternoon. And the obvious place —and pony— to take their concerns was Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle . . . and Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Since the Night Guard had been given no specific instructions regarding how, or why, Miss Trixie Lulamoon was staying as a guest, and therefore had no specific instructions to pass along to the Day Guard . . . when concerned citizens began asking about the whereabouts of said Miss Trixie Lulamoon, they honestly answered that she had spent the night, and, at the moment, was still at the Castle.

Within half-an-hour, the first visitors had started showing up . . . a steady procession that was still continuing.

“Hold still,” Spike rumbled, gently but firmly whisking the brush along Trixie’s mane.

“Is this really necessary?” the bone-body-and-spirit weary unicorn sighed.

The brush paused for a moment. “Yeah. Actually it is,” the small dragon stated, as he began brushing again. “I know you’re exhausted, and glad-hoofing admirers is probably one of the very last things you want to do. But you’ve decided to do it anyway, both for them, and to help Twilight out. Well, by ink and quill (one of Twilight’s favorite sayings when she’d been a filly) if you’re going to do that, I’m going to make sure you shine.”

Something . . . chipped, deep inside her. A very tiny chip, but a chip nonetheless. Trixie was no stranger to being primped and preened . . . “being” the quintessential key word. It had always been done to her.

How many untold, uncountable hours had been spent grooming her to within inches of her life? Hooficures; facials; beauty treatments and massages; mane, tail and coat conditioners; mane and tail styling. Lashes had been plucked, the fine inner hairs of her ears had been, too. She’d had a wardrobe twice the size of Rarity’s Carousel Boutique, and an armoire holding jewelry whose value would have bought Ponyville itself. . . although it was more accurate to say they were supplies made available to her maids, stylists, and groomers, rather than personal possessions that belonged to Trixie.

Trixie had never been more than a living model, to be decorated and arranged for display . . . or assessment and appraisal.

But . . . for all that Spike was doing this to her . . . a little shiver rippled her coat at the minor epiphany. . . his actual focus, and intent, was doing it for her.

The rhythmic whisking sound of the brush was actually soothing, for once. Closing her eyes, the tensed cerulean unicorn started mentally bracing, preparing herself to face Twilight’s visitors.

They flew wide open when Spike rumbled, “If you start feeling overwhelmed, or drained, just ask me for a glass of water.” Wha—? Trixie blinked. Oh! she blinked again as the little dragon continued. “That’ll let us know you’re bushed and need to stop, and that way Twilight can call it a day without drawing attention to you.”

Then her brows pensively furrowed, wondering why the concern —touching as it was— seemed necessary. “Spike?” she ventured. “Just how many visitors are there?”

“Ummm . . .” the steady brushing faltered a moment, as Trixie’s composure did a moment later. “It sounds like half of Ponyville.”

“Ready?” Twilight softly murmured to her friend, as they stood side-by-side in the suite’s receiving room. Taking a very long, very slow, and very deep breath —one in a series, to be honest— Trixie slowly exhaled. With the ease of long practice, she first slipped into the twin states of ground and center, then, once those were firmly established . . .

Twice now, Twilight Sparkle had seen Trixie’s demeanor and countenance undergo the transformation she was, once again, witnessing. A sudden image flashed into her mind, that of an experienced thespian completely immersing herself into her character moments before the curtains were drawn . . .

Twilight concealed a disquieting shiver as another image popped up, one both standing separate from, as well as superimposed upon, the former . . .

. . . that of a battle-hardened warrior suiting up in well-worn armor.

Slowly, deeply, exhaling, a (seemingly) composed Trixie replied, “Ready.”

Twilight gave her an encouraging smile before nodding at the inner door servant, having dismissed the guards from the duties of watching over the inside and outside of the receiving room’s door. The beige-colored earth pony, immaculately garbed in the standard Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle servants’ uniform, opened the door then stepped outside, returning within moments and escorting two earth pony mares.

“Miss Roseluck and Miss Lily Valley to see Miss Trixie,” she formally announced. Twilight noticed a tic at the corner of Trixie’s eye, and firmly resolved to keep a close eye on things, assuring that her friend wasn’t overwhelmed.

The two mares entered close behind, looking a bit flustered at the formal announcement. Twilight theatrically sighed, then shared an obvious eye roll towards the two, which instantly broke the ice that had been forming.

Both mares, along with their partner, Daisy —all three flower ponies— ran the Ponyville Flower Shop; their own business, in fact. Roseluck, who was also known as Rose, was a petite, green eyed, light yellow earth pony, with a mane and tail of stunning red-violet and light red-violet, with her cutie mark that of a single, gorgeous red rose. Lily Valley, who also went by Lily, was a slightly sturdier, grayish-gold-eyed, earth pony, whose coat was a pretty, grayish raspberry, a mane and tail mostly light amber but with pale amber highlights, and a cutie mark of three lilies. As usual, tucked into her mane and just behind her ear was an actual lily.

“Daisy wanted to come, too,” Rose said, as Lily nodded in agreement. “But, one of us needed to watch the store, and, well, she drew the short straw. But,” she added, “she did help with this.”

“This”, as Trixie quickly discovered, was a rather large floral arrangement. A fist seemed to grip her heart, though, as she fully took that in.

There had to be a basket, or some sort of container, beneath all that, something that held everything secure, her faltering mind stuttered. Arrayed in a tall, conical shape were verbena and lavender, wild indigo and lilac, purple flowers all, while artfully peeking out were blooms of white cypress, violet spring starflower, and golden dwarf yellow mussaenda . . . all star-shaped flowers.

They had recreated her signature hat with living flowers.

That had been the first token of appreciation she’d received that day, but it was by no means the last. All things considered, it was probably a very good thing that she was at Twilight’s castle, because Trixie’s wagon could never had held all of their gifts!

Mr. and Mrs. Cake had brought a sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bomb (“Pinkie Pie told us how much you love them!") as Twilight, Spike and Trixie all looked on in horrified, fascinated, dread, as if a cockatrice had just been brought in.

Derpy had brought a tray of muffins (“Made them myself!” she’d proudly announced), while Apple Brioche, who had been elected by the Apple family —in recognition of her having being the first to have stepped up to help Trixie— brought along several jugs of their finest cider . . . along with a small bottle of Granny Smith’s finest triple-distilled apple brandy.

Aloe Vera and Lotus Blossom, the spa ponies who owned Ponyville Day Spa, expressed their appreciation for such a delightful fireworks display, and for the clever way she’d honored the Element Bearers, and Princess Luna. “Vor you,” Lotus had said, her accent unusually thick. “A coupon,” Aloe explained, her light, ocean blue eyes twinkling as she extended a small, pasteboard rectangle, “vor you, uhnd a guest.”

Lyra Heartstrings and Sweetie Drops entered next. Lyra was a gold eyed, mint green, unicorn mare, whose cyan mane and tail carried a white streak, and whose cutie mark was a golden lyre. Sweetie Drops —often called Bon Bon, especially by her, erm . . . very close friend, Lyra (who was also fond of her pet name of ‘Bonnie’)— was a trim, fit, light yellow earth pony mare, with aqua eyes, and a blue-and-pink curled mane and tail, whose cutie mark were three, blue and yellow striped, wrapped candies. Bon Bon was the proprietor of her own small, yet well-frequented, candy shop . . . although candy boutique was actually more fitting. “Thank you for the amazing fireworks,” Bon Bon had said, then, softer yet no less sincere, “And thank you for the endorsement, as well. That meant a lot to me.” The discomfited unicorn started to wave that off, but she stopped before she’d even started, not about to appear dismissive. “Trixie appreciated your help,” she said instead. And, indeed she had, for Bon Bon had gone the extra furlong when Trixie had explained what she wanted. The candies and sweets that had ended the fireworks exhibition had been purchased from her store, and Bon Bon, instead of simply filling Trixie’s order, had inveigled the unicorn into explaining what she wanted the candies for. Because of that, Bon Bon had made several suggestions, including the types of sweets, and the best combination of them. And, again, because of that, the encore favors had been a huge success. Trixie had already discerned, based upon Bon Bon’s obvious expertise, coupled with her patient yet detailed explanations, that those balloon-delivered, wicker-basket-held, sweets would be a big hit . . . which is why Trixie had taken the time to glitter-stencil Bon Bon’s candy boutique’s name on the side of every basket.

Trixie needed to fight back tears when Berryshine stopped by “just for a minute”. ‘This is for you,’ she’d said, proffering a small, and empty, bottle to Trixie. Before the baffled unicorn could think of anything to say, she was stunned to her core when the plum-colored earth pony transfixed Trixie with tranquil, yet somehow also steely, eyes. 'Ten weeks now,' she'd stated, not a quiver in her voice; instead, a serene, secure pride. She never explained the empty bottle to Trixie; then again, she didn’t have to, for Trixie intuitively understood that that bottle had been the last one Berryshine had consumed, before this last —and Trixie somehow knew it would, indeed, be the last, and final— vow of sobriety.

Not everypony brought gifts, or tokens, although most did. All came to thank Trixie for such an amazing exhibition, while no few came to apologize, as well. That was rarely, if ever, vocalized. Now, it wasn’t as if Ponyville ponies were reluctant to actually say ‘I’m sorry’, because they quite often did. Nor was it out of shame, or embarrassment. But, given a choice between words, and actions, well . . .

Towards the end, Twilight noticed tightness about Trixie’s eyes. They had been at it for several hours now, so it wasn’t at all surprising that she was, most likely, reaching the end of already-stressed resources.

“Spike?” Trixie rasped, as the most recent visitors were ushered out, “May Trixie please have a glass of water?”

Instantly Twilight straightened, and, just as instantly, Spike hopped up. “Sure thing Trixie!” he piped up as he dashed back to the bathroom. Nodding to the door servant, who then discretely nodded back in response before exiting, Twilight then turned and faced her friend. “Can I do anything?” she asked, concern obvious in her tone.

Shaking her head, wobbling a bit, Trixie let out a gusted sigh of fatigue. “Trixie . . . Trixie is just tired.” Head drooping a bit, eyes closed, she missed seeing Twilight approach, so she jumped a bit when Twilight firmly hugged her.

“You hung on a lot longer than I expected,” Twilight admitted. “I was starting to get worried. I didn’t want to say anything, though; not make your decisions for you. You’re a grown, responsible mare, after all.”

Trixie’s eyes widened at that. Twilight wasn’t sounding at all unctuous or duplicitous. And, even if she hadn’t been completely confident of that conclusion, Twilight’s actions —both now, and those in the past— spoke volumes, and much louder than words. Granted, those experienced in the cold, calculating Great Game of the nobility were past Masters and Mistresses of duplicity and cunning. But Trixie certainly had experienced —and had quietly observed, with all the desperate survival drive of a guppy swimming amidst a lagoon-full of barracuda— interactions between M-mother, and those of her social peers . . . as well as her interactions with those of both higher, and lower, station and status.

Against every instinct, against every hard-won lesson bought by the coin of bitter experience, by sweat and blood, by fears and despair . . . Trixie allowed herself to just . . . lean into Twilight’s embrace.

Twilight’s breath caught; tears sprang to her eyes as she felt her friend just lean into her. No, she hadn’t dropped her defenses, true. But, even so, this little step, this sign of trust . . . Twilight simply didn’t have words to describe the brilliant joy that flared up in her heart.

Spike just stood in the doorway, glass of water in his paw. Yes, it was true that asking for a “glass of water” had been meant as a signal. However, proper hydration was important, and often overlooked. Goodness knows how often Twilight neglected drinking enough fluids to stay hydrated! And Trixie had been pushing herself these last few hours, as well as talking during them, too, so he’d fully intended to, well, nag if he had to, in order to assure Trixie started replenishing her fluids.

But, at the moment, he wasn’t even breathing, unwilling to do anything to disturb the tableau he was currently privy to see. Trixie’s guard was totally down, her heart on her sleeve; so poignant that he had to stifle sniffles that threatened to break free.

So, needless to say, both Twilight and Spike were ready to tear a long, painful stripe off whomever it was that chose that moment to tap on the door.

Please don’t kill me please don’t kill me pleasedon’tkillme.

Princess Twilight’s instructions had been completely, utterly, absolutely clear: once her Highness had signaled —as she unmistakably, unambiguously, had done— the impromptu, informal, audience was over; regrets offered, yes; appreciation for thoughtfulness rendered, certainly. But the audience was done. Concluded. Fini.

Bracing to attention, doing her best to appear cool and collected —crystalline droplets beading on her forehead and trickling down her cheeks screaming otherwise— Onyx Star, lieutenant of the Day Guard morning shift, fought down an absolutely ridiculous (it had to be ridiculous, she tried scolding herself) desire to shiver, as she watched the door slowly (whyohwhy did it have to move that slowly??) open.

As the door gradually swung all the way open, it revealed the quite-clearly livid, alicorn Princess behind it.

A coldly-furious alicorn Princess, whose normally warm and lively purple eyes were currently trying to incinerate the recalcitrant guardpony on the spot. “Did I somehow fail to make my instructions clear . . . private?”

Ouch!

“No, Your Highness. Your instructions were completely clear.”

The Princess of Friendship wasn’t looking at all ‘friendly’ at the moment. Alas, she was, however, looking quite ‘Princess-ey’.

“Then somepony had better have died, or a cataclysm is descending upon us. Is that the case?”

“Ah . . . no, Your Highness. However . . . I believe that you would regret not receiving the two groups that I’d asked to remain behind.”

At the moment, it was a bit difficult to hold a quiet, private conversation. Then again, Twilight wasn’t worried about anything she had to say being private.

“I’ve never liked any apology that contains a “but”,” she explained, just loud enough to be heard over the din. And ‘din’ was a quite apropos description. Standing along the far wall were Spike and Miss Cheerilee, indulgently watching as every schoolpony in her class —with the exception of Diamond Tiara, who was still traveling with her family— swarmed around the somewhat stunned Trixie. For arts and crafts that day they had decided to make a huge poster in honor of Trixie, in thanks for both the fireworks show itself, as well as for her allowing them to play a part in it with their “wands”.

It was a rather large poster, indeed, and, based upon some of the washed-up-yet-still-visible smears and splotches of paints and paste on the foals, fillies and colts, this had been quite a ‘hoofs-on’ project. It had also been a bit of a struggle bringing it all the way from the Ponyville Schoolhouse to Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, but they had somehow managed it.

As soon as the door had been opened to admit them inside, and as soon as they’d all spotted Trixie . . .

The astonished unicorn had literally been swarmed by eager, excited, chattering-like-magpies youngsters, letting out a startled “Eeep!” as she disappeared under the flooding tide. Their teacher, Miss Cheerilee —a rather pretty, green-eyed, magenta-colored earth pony with pink and light pink mane and tail, whose cutie mark was three flowers— had a rather infectious smile, and bright, vibrant personality. Once she had —reasonably— calmed her students down, she’d stepped over to chat with Spike, all the while keeping an eye on the more rambunctious of her pupils.

“So I won’t start now,” Twilight continued, meeting Onyx Star eye-to-eye. “I was wrong to take your head off like that, and I apologize.”

“I really am sorry, your Highness, but——”

She slithered to a stop as Twilight held up a hoof. “I expect an officer of your caliber to show, and use, discretion, as well as initiative,” she firmly stated. “And you did. There is absolutely no need to apologize.”

Onyx Star was quite grateful —relieved, as well— at her Highness’ words and tone. For a moment there, when Princess Twilight had first opened the door and glared at her, the crystal pony guard officer had a sinking feeling that her career had just taken an irrevocable nose-dive. Well, she’d thought, I’ve always wondered what being a merchant marine might be like.

But when she’d quickly —and that had been very quickly, oh yes indeedy!— explained just whom the two parties were . . .

The school students had been the one group, while the two ponies of the second group were quietly setting up in one corner of the room.

Lyra Heartstrings had been by earlier, with her special somepony Bon Bon. This time, however, she was accompanied by a very elegant and exotic, light gray colored, earth pony by the name of Octavia Melody. Purple-eyed, with dark gray mane and tail, her cutie mark was a violet treble clef, and, as she usually did, she was wearing a pink bow-tie with a white collar.

Although Octavia —and deservedly so— was an Equestria-wide renown cellist, Lyra was not, by absolutely any definition, an amateur; in fact, she was an exceptional musician, in some aspects actually superior to that of Octavia. Octavia, however, owed her success, and skill, to pure grit and determination: she was actually the first —and, so far, only— earth pony to play any of the four main orchestral string instruments. Lyra, on the other hoof, was a very competent musician even before her talent of Enchantment blossomed. Two years at Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns simply honed an already enviable skill to rarified heights.

Lyra had her lyre with her, while Octavia —no surprise— had brought her cello. At the moment they were tuning their respective instruments, and even that sounded sublime.

“Children. Children!” Miss Cheerilee called out, her green eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched Trixie trying to follow over twenty individual conversations and gymnastics. “Settle down please. We’re civilized ponies after all, not barbarians,” she teasingly chided. Amidst giggles and grins, they did settle down; rather quickly, too, all their youthful exuberance notwithstanding.

Trixie stared at Twilight, purple eyes wide and pleading for rescue, but when Twilight lifted an interrogatory brow . . . Twilight giggled at her expression, resembling a pony that had eaten most of an apple only to discover half a worm . . . yet still be required to eat the remainder, that expression assuring her that Trixie wasn’t really as desperate as she was pretending to be.

“Thank you again, Lieutenant Star,” Twilight repeated. “I think somepony might need a rescue, however,” she finished with a grin, dismissing the guardpony before pacing over to her friend. “I’m not sure,” she said in a puzzled tone, “but I thought I’d seen a unicorn somewhere in there.”

Giggles burst out, some of the youngest covering muzzles with their hooves as they laughed.

They laughed and giggled even harder when Trixie weakly cried out, waving one hoof as if drowning, “Help?”

The children, escorted by Miss Cheerilee, had left some time ago, but not before Trixie had used a wisp of illusion to create a frame for her poster gift, mounting it —after first silently checking with Twilight for permission— on one wall, a gesture that had the students excitedly squeeing all over again.

The receiving room was tranquil at the moment . . . quiet, save for the soft, melodious sounds of lyre and cello. Twilight couldn’t have told you what they were playing. And, honestly, it didn’t matter. All she knew was that it was soothing without drowsiness; comforting without lulling; refreshing without animating.

Her eyes were lightly closed, her mind simply floating along with the music that seemed to cradle and comfort, envelope and revitalize. She’d started off sitting next to Trixie on the comfortable sectional sofa, but as the music softly played on and on . . .

Trixie’s eyes were just as lightly closed, as she lay on the sofa, legs tucked up under her . . . her cheek resting on Twilight’s barrel as the alicorn’s wing draped over her, the two of them curled up with each other.

“Dammit!” came the snarl, as a hoof slammed down atop the table; coming dangerously close to tipping onto the floor the delicate detection crystal that was the focus of that ire. There had been an almost instantaneous flash of detection, nowhere long enough for the triangulators or seekers to activate, let alone lock onto!

After a drought of almost a year, the agents had become increasingly frustrated. Had it been up to them, they would have called off the hunt months ago. But it wasn’t up to them, and their “employer” had made it very clear to them: the hunt would continue until the target was reacquired. And once successfully reacquired, Plan A was to be reinitiated. And Plan A would continue until the target finally yielded; surrendered to the inevitable and returned. Or, if the target somehow eluded defeat, somehow achieved a modicum of success, no matter how small . . .

Then the agents could return the body, instead.

Eeny Meeny Miny Moe . . .

Eeny Meeny Miny Moe . . .

“Spike?” came the hesitant question. “May Trixie please have another?”; another being the waffles that the little dragon had cooked and been serving as part of this morning’s breakfast.

Wearing a small, tidy white apron embroidered with “Kiss the Cook”, along with a toque jauntily perched atop his head, Spike beamed. “Sure thing Trixie! One, or two?”

“Just one, please? Trixie probably should stop now,” she blushed, ducking her head a bit before shyly smiling, “but these are really good!”

Considering that Spike had been the one to make the entire breakfast —freshly-squeezed orange juice; half a grapefruit (with the appropriate spoon no less) apiece; carafes of icy cold spring water; mugs of steamy, fresh-brewed coffee, along with sugar cubes and honey jar, and a ceramic creamer full of fresh, cold, cream; a bowl apiece of fresh fruit: sliced bananas, whole blueberries, raspberries and blackberries; a small bowl of freshly-made granola, for adding to the fruit; the pièce de résistance: home-made waffles— his chest swelled with fully-justifiable pride at Trixie’s quiet, yet utterly sincere, compliment.

Spike slid a single waffle —stone-ground buckwheat flour, mixed with fresh timothy and alfalfa, along with crushed walnuts and pecans— onto Trixie’s syrup-less plate; another reason Spike was fit to burst. For it was obvious how much Twilight’s friend had enjoyed the waffles as they were, passing up smothering them in a taste-concealing shroud of sweet, sticky, warmed syrup, in favor of simply buttering them so as to not distract from the delicious flavors of the waffle on its own. “Let’s start with just one for now, OK?”

Trixie grinned —Sun and Moon, had actually grinned!— and nodded, not at all feeling as if being controlled or dictated to. Daintily buttering the waffle, watching as the golden yellow butter melted into little square pools, for the first time in a very, very long time, Trixie felt . . . tranquil; carefree and content.

Mostly.

At the very edge of her being, she sensed the ever-present darkness fluttering, seeking and probing; rather like flickering shadows at the periphery of one’s vision. She knew what she was choosing to do was dangerous —potentially fatally so; that by letting even just the tiniest part of her guard down, she might as well just collapse the entire wall.

But, by Sun and Moon, for once in her life she was choosing to do something, all by herself, all on her own. She wasn’t being wheedled or coaxed, pressured or forced, or even deceived and betrayed.

Trixie still could not figure out what Princess Twilight Sparkle —the Princess of Friendship, the Savoir of Equestria, Princess Celestia's personal student and protégé— saw in her. Nor could she figure out why she wanted to be friends.

Well, she objectively knew those answers; Twilight had, by now, several times explained to Trixie why she considered the unicorn as her friend. But, while those made objective sense . . .

. . . Trixie simply couldn’t understand why anypony would want her as a friend.

However, instead of worrying that like a sore tooth, or sinking deeper into a quagmire of self-loathing and hatred, Trixie just let the currents of the presently-obtained situation carry her along instead of fighting that as a rip tide.

She had consciously made that choice two days ago, when she’d drowsily roused from an incredibly-relaxing nap, feeling completely reposed and refreshed. Dimly she’d sensed that the music —that unbelievably amazing, supernal music— had ceased. Ceased or not, those ethereal notes, chords and harmonies had not just relaxed her, but had somehow also cleansed her, too. Healed? No. Alas, not even Lyra and Octavia’s combined powers and talents had the strength and ability to heal the wounds that Trixie carried. But as regards the myriad tiny hurts and injuries? Those spiritual and emotional, as well as physical and mental?

Trixie felt as if all of those had been dust; dust washed away by a cleansing Spring shower.

She had had no desire to stir, or even fully rouse; instead, simply drowsily yawning, giving a little wriggle to get more comfy . . . simply listening to the slow, steady heartbeat beneath her ear . . . enjoying the warmth of the sheltering wing . . .

Whatever consternation the latter two had tried kindling had been smothered at birth, unable to flare past the lyre-and-cello invoked repose still swaddling her. Snuggling like that with Twilight had just . . . felt . . .

. . . Nice.

Somehow Trixie had wound up staying for dinner, and then, after that, staying the night; even Lyra and Octavia’s melodies (no pun intended) could only work so much of a miracle, and Trixie was still quite drained from the critical breakdown just the previous night. Even so, the exhausted unicorn would have likely courteously demurred, except for one thing:

Neither Twilight, nor Spike, had been insistent, let alone demanding. Worried and concerned, that much had been clearly obvious, both in tone and expressions. Solicitous as well, without being wheedling or coaxing, and certainly not coercing. And it wasn’t that they believed they knew what was best for Trixie, either. It had been, she’d been astonished to realize, simply two friends worried about Trixie. Nothing less, and nothing more.

And so Trixie had accepted their hospitality, and, in doing so, had felt an unfamiliar warmth deep inside. This wasn’t accepting charity; this wasn’t pity extended to a pathetic failure.

It was just . . . friendship.

She’d slept until almost lunchtime, and, most likely, could have slept even more, except that Spike, cautiously tentative, had gently roused her. As much as she needed sleep —and she did, no doubt about that— she also needed nourishment, he’d diffidently explained. Except, she’d shockingly realized, that hadn’t been diffidence after all . . . it had been quiet respect.

Respect . . . for Trixie.

Spike hadn’t wanted to appear bossy or demanding; he hadn’t wanted to appear as if treating Trixie as somepony incapable of taking care of herself.

Somehow she’d let herself be “talked into” staying that day, and then that night as well. That was easier to do than might have been imagined, yet, on the other hoof, not as easy as it appeared. For Trixie was still feeling as if her insides had been scraped raw; that bleakness inside still flickered and danced at the edges. Nor had Trixie missed the surreptitious appraising glances Twilight kept shooting her. She couldn’t really remember what had happened between the time she’d ended the performance and magician-exited into the castle, and waking up the next morning. Just another of those inexplicable memory losses she’d always dealt with. However, she’d had a sinking feeling that Twilight remembered what had happened; what had been said, or done, or witnessed. And the researcher extraordinaire was not known for patience, let alone restraint, when it came to satisfying her curiosity!

But, again, neither Twilight nor Spike had pressured Trixie into talking about that night. They’d dropped a hint or three about “shoulders to lean on” and “ears to listen”, but that was all.

Gazing into the steam wreathing the mug held between her hooves, Trixie stifled a sigh. Since that night, her cutie mark seemed to vibrantly throb. Even now, she could feel it beating, pulsing with a demand to perform. Ears slanted back as she felt that pounding surge through her. She’d tried —she’d really, really tried!— to suppress that, with a desperation bordering on fatalistic fanaticism.

That amulet had doomed her, she’d understood once she’d removed it. Had Twilight not managed tricking her into removing it, had she kept wearing it . . . well . . . it wouldn’t have been long —perhaps no more than a year or two, if that— the body might have resembled Trixie, but everything that made Trixie Trixie would have been utterly corrupted and consumed. And the only reason that hadn’t happened had been due to Princess Twilight Sparkle.

And the only reason she’d been in that dire strait to begin with, had been her unreasonable, irrational, senseless, jealousy of Twilight.

Jealousy over which one was not only the more powerful mage . . . but also the superior performer.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it she had. From the moment she’d been branded with that hateful, and hated, cutie mark, her life had been nothing but a long, dreary, wearying line of failure after failure.

It had been finally time, she’d admitted and accepted, feeling her heart and soul mockingly torn into shreds, to give up the pipe dream of performing.

And so she had; because of that realization and acceptance, and because she owed Twilight —not her life, but her soul— and Trixie had vowed to repay that in the only coin she had left: her sworn word.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Trixie then held it as she slowly counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten; slow, steady, exhale. She inhaled again, through her nose . . . held it . . . exhaled through her mouth.

That was all it took to ground and center . . . a process that, unbeknownst to her, even extremely experienced mages usually took just under a minute to successfully accomplish.

Another slow, deep inhale . . . imagining, as she did, a tiny piece of that seething bleakness inside her being condensed into a little ball as she held her breath, then . . .exhaling, picturing that dense sphere being locked away inside.

It . . . wasn’t the most ideal approach —the technique was impeccable, however— ideal would have been expelling it, not internalizing it. But, as long as she still had that hateful cutie mark, how could Trixie ever manage to banish that destructive misery?

Eyes still closed, Trixie took a restorative sip, softly sighing in contentment. However, because her eyes had been closed, she completely missed seeing Twilight and Spike’s expressions quickly turning concerned as Trixie had first grown silent, then worried at her obvious controlled breathing, and then finally relieved as she softly smiled at last.

Propping her chin on a forehoof, Trixie slowly relaxed, muscle by muscle, starting at her neck and working downwards. She wished she could remember Lyra and Octavia’s music. She tried, but the notes seemed elusive, dancing just at the edge of memory.

Several sips of coffee later, feeling replete and sated, Trixie shrug-stretched her shoulders, rolling them twice before sitting upright and opening her eyes. “Twilight?”

“Yes Trixie?”

“May Trixie use your Library today?”

“Of course you may!” Twilight exclaimed, sounding excited, and then struggled to hide disappointment when her unicorn friend politely declined her help.

“Thank you Twilight, but no. Perhaps later? Should Trixie find herself in need of assistance?”

Seeing her disillusionment, Trixie almost relented. However, in no way, shape, or form did Trixie want anypony knowing just what she would be researching.

Because knowing the what, would unquestionably lead to the why.

Even as deeply into the massive reference tomes as Trixie was, her attention was drawn from that intense, studious examination by the audible tocs of hooves. Craning her head over a shoulder, Trixie saw Twilight obviously headed her direction. Just as obvious —and even more deeply appreciated— was the fact that Twilight was making no effort to move quietly. Granted, she wasn’t exaggerating the audible impact of her hooves, but neither was she masking that sound; instead, giving her unicorn friend time to conceal —assuming that was something she wished to do, that is— the object of her studies.

Considering she was researching cutie marks, that was, indeed, something Trixie wished to conceal. So, by the time Twilight had stopped behind her, Trixie had, yes, tucked her notes away, closed the books she’d been reading, and then mixed them with several other —and unrelated— volumes.

Braced for interrogation, no matter how innocuous, Trixie was quite startled when Twilight, instead, just started lightly massaging the back of Trixie’s neck. “Enjoying yourself?” she simply asked.

“Trixie misses research and study,” she noncommittedly replied, the answer both deflective and truthful. It hadn’t been until she had dropped out of Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, and had taken to the road, that Trixie had —far too late, and far too irrevocable— discovered just how much she’d enjoyed academia.

Closing her eyes, then leaning forwards and resting her chin atop crossed forelegs, Trixie let herself relax, and just enjoy, the soothing, and tension-relieving, massage.

“Yeah,” Twilight softly exhaled, sounding wistful. “So do I.” Gazing around, purple eyes brimming with nostalgic longing, “So do I,” she repeated. “Sometimes I feel like I’m desperately hungry, and in a pasture brimming with infinite delicacies . . . and can only ever get a bite or two now and then. Ah . . . speaking of which . . .”

Twilight’s hooves faltered a bit before continuing, this time with a barely-perceived hesitancy. As the seconds passed in silence Trixie started feeling that familiar churning in her belly, tensing as she expected, once again, for that other shoe to drop. Desperately hungry . . . brimming with infinite delicacies . . . and can only ever get a bite or two now and then . . .

Was Twilight unhappy at Trixie having been greedy at breakfast, when she asked for an extra waffle? Had Trixie failed again??

Stifling tears that threatened to spill from brimming eyes, Trixie forced herself to look over her shoulder back at Twilight . . . a quite red-faced, shy and coy Twilight.

Trixie’s own cheeks heated up when Twilight gamely quavered, “I . . . was wondering if . . . perhaps, ah . . . that is . . . wecouldplaysomemoretoday?” she finished in a rushing blurt.

“So . . .,” Twilight gusted, once they’d entered the concealed room within the also-concealed Laboratory, her voice sounding an intriguing mix of shyness and anticipation. “I’ve . . . ah . . . had some time to think about, well . . . things,” she nervously started, scuffing the tip of a forehoof in small circles. “And, well . . .” she peeked at Trixie through lowered lashes, “there are things I want to try with you. If . . . if that’s OK?” she anxiously added.

Her heart was thudding in a rather interesting fashion, Trixie realized. Nor did she remember this room being quite this warm. “W-what sort of . . . things?” she asked. Her pulse started pounding even more when Twilight looked more fully at her.

“I want part of it to be a surprise,” she admitted, her voice sounding a bit . . . raspier? At that Twilight paced over to the center of the room . . . stopping at a very familiar-looking sawpony there. At that Trixie’s tummy started gently flip-flopping, even as her mouth started drying. She . . . she doesn’t mean what Trixie thinks she means . . . does she?

A light lavender glow danced along the alicorn’s horn, and, moments later, a form-fitting sleep mask hovered in front of Trixie’s muzzle. She just stared at it in a semi-transfixed fashion as it floated, wide purple eyes darting back and forth between that and Twilight . . . who had an expression that sent a shudder rippling through her. This . . . this was The Point Of No Return, she understood; agreeing to that meant agreeing, period.

And she still didn’t know what Twilight had in mind! Although . . .

Another tremor lightly shivered through Trixie, fully aware of when —and how, and why— she used her sawpony.

Which is why she was totally shocked when she found her body, as if under a mind of its own, close its eyes and —albeit with a touch of apprehension— nod in acquiescence.

Moments later and she felt the sleep mask settle in place, the small straps then snugged down. Then, without saying a word —and without being able to see at all— Trixie felt Twilight gently nudge her. Nudge by step, one at a time, Twilight wordlessly guided Trixie . . . who softly gasped as she felt herself being guided over the sawpony. For a moment her legs actually trembled; she unsuccessfully licked dry lips as her mouth was feeling parched. As she felt her barrel slide over and atop the leather-covered, padded rail of the sawpony . . . and then her legs extended outwards into a moderate “V” . . .

She couldn’t help the gasp that tremulously escaped as, one after another, each strap was secured about her legs; three per leg, one each at pastern and forelimb, with the third just above the knee. Swallowing a bit hard, for somehow this confinement felt so much more restrictive than all the times she’d done it to herself.

Something touched her lips. Twilight murmured —such an odd, husky murmur it was, too!— “Open,” and, without thinking about it . . . Trixie had opened wide. Before she knew what was happening . . .

She couldn’t help it; she tensed, feeling the unfamiliar sphere as it was slipped between and past her teeth, and entered her mouth . . . well, filled her mouth, to be precise! A little whimper escaped; immediately all motion ceased. “Stop?” she was asked.

Little whuffles gusted past lightly flaring nostrils. Yes! she wanted to cry out. For all that she’d often daydreamed about being gagged, and wondered what that would be like, she wasn’t in control of that. She couldn’t choose how far, how long, how restrictive.

Seconds passed. The gag neither went deeper, nor was it withdrawn any. Slowly at first, then with a bit more confidence (if that didn’t sound incongruous), Trixie worked her jaws around the mostly-inserted ball. She remembered how squishy that had felt (assuming, of course, that this was the same gag) when she’d cleaned it, and how that now felt when inside of her mouth!

Twilight softly inhaled when Trixie shook her head in the response to her question, indicating not to stop. That sound had sent a shiver rippling Trixie's skin. When Twilight had finished completely placing the gag over the helpless unicorn's muzzle —and thus, the internal ball fully inside her mouth— Twilight had literally purred . . . and if Trixie hadn’t been supported by the sawpony . . . she would have collapsed as her wobbly legs gave out.

Trixie’s jury was still out on the gag —not that she had any choice in that matter!; she almost giggled at that thought— when she froze, feeling the enchanted steel dispersion ring slide down her horn.

Somehow, that snapped everything into a deeper, more intense, perspective. Especially when Twilight just slowly, silently paced around and around Trixie, the only way that the captive unicorn could follow her was by the soft tocs of her hoofsteps.

“I want you to listen to what I say,” Twilight murmured in Trixie’s ear, startling her by that unexpectedness, as well as the heat of her breath. “I want you to picture the images that I word paint for you. Understand?”

Well, that was, well, unexpected, Trixie thought. Still, it seemed simple enough, so she nodded . . . then shivered as Twilight lightly nibbled behind her ear.

Several seconds passed in silence, then an odd voice, not Twilight’s, sounding more like an off-stage narrator, began speaking.

It had been a long, exhausting day, and the tired unicorn was looking forward to a nice, relaxing evening at home. Her lips softly curved as she considered exactly how she was going to relax. Oh, if only her friends, or neighbors, knew of her naughty little secret! she smiled, enjoying that thought, as well as the heat that ignited. A heat that flared even higher as she delicately shivered, imagining if ever she was caught! Ooooo!

So eager, so excited, so impatient was she to “relax”, that she didn’t notice her front door had not fully latched. And, once she was fully restrained, gagged and blindfolded, she was more than a bit “distracted” . . .

Behind her blindfold, Trixie’s eyes widened, as she, exactly as instructed, pictured that scenario.

Of course, the “narrator” continued, she couldn’t use an enchanted steel dispersion ring, for, after all, how could she then ever get free? Ah, but a lead one, now . . .

Trixie swallowed . . . or tried to, at any rate, at that. She had, at one time, toyed with the idea of using a lead dispersion ring, for, unlike the enchanted steel version (which both disrupted a unicorn’s magic, and was impossible to remove by the wearer), a lead one simply disrupted a unicorn’s magic (which meant the wearer could remove it). Still, she had felt that to be a bit too risky, so had never used one. However, for the purpose of this daydream . . .

She wasn’t exactly sure of the purpose of Twilight’s presentation, but it was interesting to follow along . . . which abruptly became much more focused and intense when . . .

*knock* *knock* Trixie twitched at the sound of a wooden door being knocked. “Hello?” came a hesitant voice: Twilight’s voice! “Trixie? Are you home? Your front door was open, and, well . . .”

hoofsteps coming closer . . . and closer . . . and closer . . .

Suddenly Twilight’s simple “images that I word paint” became instantly sharp and clear. Trixie had no trouble, no trouble at all! picturing that scene. She started tensing, tugging at the straps that held her helplessly secure. She even tossed her head, trying to dislodge the “lead” dispersion ring, for the moment completely forgetting she was wearing the enchanted steel variety.

“Trixie? Are you—— Oh! Oh my!”

Trixie whined, her face flaming, ears slanted back, feeling herself shrinking.

“Stuck, huh? And I guess you want to be freed?”

Whining again, she vigorously nodded, and then sharply gasped as she felt a strip of fabric wound about her horn . . . covering, and securing, the lead ring there.

“I need to put my groceries away,” came a breathy whisper against her ear. “But when I come back —maybe in an hour or two— if you’re still here,” a throaty chuckle that sent fire coursing through her, “I’ll let you show me how badly you want me to let you go. So if I were you,” another throaty chuckle, “you might want to start planning how to do that!”

At that a hooftip was delicately trailed down her back, from nape to dock; a playful little spank to her flank . . . then hoofsteps walking away . . . then silence.

Trixie could hear her panted breath echoing in the room. How? What? How!? How did Twilight —the studious, bookish, science-focused scholar . . .

About a minute went by, long enough for Trixie to (hypothetically) regain her composure, but nowhere near enough to make her anxious, when . . .

You’re feeling very groggy and disoriented. The last thing you clearly remember is signing some sort of affidavit, agreeing to participate in a science experiment in exchange for an honorarium. As consciousness slowly comes to you, you gradually realize that you’re very firmly restrained, gagged and blindfolded. A few more minutes, and you start fidgeting, fully wide awake now. And then comes the sound of limelights being ignited.

“Esteemed colleagues one and all. Welcome to today’s symposium: ‘Equestrian unicorn mares, and their reactions to erotic stimulus’.”

Trixie couldn’t help it; a little giggle snorted from her. She felt better about that when she heard a matching, albeit slightly sheepish, giggle, from Twilight. Her ears did perk up a bit when, a few seconds later, she caught what sounded very much like Twilight taking a deep breath, licking her lips and swallowing. Hearing that, in turn, made Trixie swallow . . . or try to, at any rate.

About a minute passed, and Trixie was wavering between curiosity and apprehensive concern. Lifting her head up, she began to sightlessly “look” about, stretching her senses to figure out what was what. She gradually became aware of a low background murmur, barely audible, and sounding like many low voices. That continued for about a minute, before, cutting through that susurration, came the sound of a lead crystal glass being struck. That delicate chime brought those voices to a gradual halt.

“Fillies and Gentlecolts,” came a strong yet cultured, feminine voice, “Thank you, one and all, for your patience. As promised, the pièce de résistance of this evening’s festivities, and the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

Trixie stilled, hearing the sound of approaching hoofsteps, then sensed warmth, as if multiple lights were shining on her.

“We have, for your perusal, a most spectacular, and unique, offering.” Trixie flinched as the tip of the unseen pointer touched her flank. “A stunningly beautiful unicorn, the like of such as seldom, if ever, seen. Look at this gorgeous blue coat. Yes, it is as soft as it looks! And the stunning coloration of mane and tail: a cascade of light blue with a streak of lighter blue. Like pure silk; a pleasure to run your hooves through . . . although I’m sure other uses for her will come to mind!”

Low, soft chuckles at that. Trixie swallowed, and hard, her tummy tingling as little jolts of what felt as if electricity flashed along her nerves, especially wherever that pointer tip was tracing. There hadn’t been any “intro” this time, unlike the last two. Not that she needed any such thing, because she’d instantly realized just what “word picture” Twilight was striving for. She softly whined, shaking her head in denial; leather straps creaked as she strained against their unyielding embrace. This was a mistake! An awful, horrible mistake!

But it wasn’t this Trixie thinking, or feeling, that; it was that Trixie.

“She has the most dazzling purple eyes,” that smooth, cultured and utterly detached voice announced. “Alas, you’ll just have to take my word for that!” More low chuckles. “And, as you can see, our pretty little pet is finally figuring out her fate. Mmmm . . . isn’t that lovely?” More chuckles.

Trixie’s breath started coming in snorty little whuffles. Leather creaked as she fidgeted, unable to remain still. At least, not until . . .

“100 bits.”

“200”

“350”

“400”

Every few seconds came another bid, each one sounding as if a bell tolling her inescapable fate.

“1,200”

“1,400”

“1,700”

Some were masculine, some feminine, a few almost impossible to tell. Some sounded bored, some a bit fiery, a few thick with ennui.

“2,200”

“3,000”

Silence.

“Three thousand going once . . .” even with that ball inside, Trixie felt her mouth drying.

“Three thousand going twice . . .” Trixie whined, sounding a lot like a pathetically begging puppy. Leather again creaked as she surged again the straps.

“Twenty thousand.”

Despite themselves, despite the thin veneer of their urbanity, there came a series of swift, shocked inhales followed by low murmurs.

“Did . . . did I hear you say——”

“Yes, you did. Twenty thousand bits,” replied a firm, determined, and very irritated voice . . . and a familiar one at that, although Trixie could be excused for not realizing that at the moment. “Now, get on with it.”

“Twenty thousand once . . . twenty thousand twice . . . sold!” And just like that, with the crisp, sharp strike of a gavel . . . Trixie was sold.

All the background sounds slowly faded, although she’d had a hard time hearing that over the sound of her thudding heart. Hooo! That had been intense!

More than just “intense” . . . she furiously blushed, feeling a slickness below her dock, just beneath her tail. Thank goodness, Twilight hadn’t noticed! Speaking of which . . .

“PHmmnmnghph?” Trixie almost giggled at hearing how ridiculous —and how muffled!— she sounded.

Then yelped, as her flank was sharply swatted.

“Keep quiet,” came the firm command . . . and unmistakably Twilight’s voice!

A voice, Trixie found herself shivering, that sounded . . . odd. Husky, not raspy. Low and deep, throaty.

Vibrant.

The low tocs of hoofsteps slowly circled, around and around, much as they had earlier. This time, however . . .

Warm —nay, hot!— breath tickled her ear, making it twitch. “Aren’t you just the pretty little pet?” Twilight murmured. “Awwww,” she cooed. “Does my little pet not like being tied up? Is that it? Does she want to be freed?”

The captive unicorn was utterly stunned; that sounded like Twilight, but, then again . . . her voice, her tone, the words . . . the heat of her breath against her sensitive inner ear . . . Trixie strained against the bonds, whining.

And when Twilight kept nuzzling behind her ear, and then started nibbling the base of her neck . . .

Twilight had nibbled there once before, the night of The Discovery, but that had been a soothing, comforting gesture.

This time, it was anything but.

About a minute later, and Trixie sensed Twilight moving to in front of her. Seconds later, and, with a gentle tug, the sleep mask blindfold was removed. Blinking a few times, more in reflex than a need to adjust to light, since the room was dimly illuminated, Trixie then turned her eyes to Twilight, and . . .

Oh.

Trixie tried to swallow, as her heart thudded hard, as her tummy really started quivering deep inside. Twilight was just standing there, motionless as a statue, gazing at Trixie with eyes no longer gentle pools of purple, but incredibly fiery and smoky, instead.

Hungry eyes.

. . . Catch a Trixie and Don't Let Go

. . . Catch a Trixie and Don't Let Go

All good-natured teasing aside, Twilight knew she had a fixation (which was putting that mildly, to say the least) bordering on an obsession (there we go) with perfectionism. Even something as simple (or should be, anyway) as purchasing a greeting card would send her into a nervous swivet. If there were a poster pony for “spontaneous” . . . she’d never make the cut, even if she were the last pony on Equestria.

For the last several months now, Twilight had been secretly observing Trixie. Well, more specifically, observing, as well as studying, the oblivious unicorn as Trixie, ummm . . . “stress relieved”. Except . . .

Except that Twilight had, in her past, spent several very intensive months researching the wide variety of the often-erotic practices or roleplaying involving bondage, discipline, dominance and submission, sadomasochism, and other related interponyal dynamics. She’d learned about the difference between kink (an enjoyable indulgence, but not absolutely necessary for sexual fulfillment) and fetish (something integral to that pony’s sexuality), a differentiation that was often misunderstood —and usually talked about in blushing whispers. And so, Twilight understood that more had been going on in some instances than mere "stress relief".

Honestly, if Trixie had had any idea of the empirical knowledge that Twilight possessed regarding matters, she . . .

. . . well, she didn’t have any idea, and so . . .

Because of that exhaustive research, once puberty had hit —and, just as she’d explained to Trixie— Twilight had immediately correlated those new “tingles” being tied up sometimes created with the heading of “arousal”. Those were nice feelings, true, but she’d never felt the need, or desire, to push the intensity further than “warm and glowy”. Her personal preference had always been the Zen-like state she could only achieve once secured in her customized sensory isolation suit.

But —and again, because of that exhaustive research— Twilight sensed that Trixie’s wants and needs —her daydreams, desires and fantasies— seemed a bit more, ah . . . cosmopolitan. Based upon her notes —and charts, and graphs— Trixie seemed evenly divided between simply being restrained (as Twilight had “found” her) to more erotic, if not outright sexual, situations . . . like when she used her sawpony.

All Twilight had originally pictured —planned . . . plotted . . . schemed . . . histogrammed, pie charted— assuming the unconventional introduction had succeeded, was finally having a special somepony (not that kind of special somepony though!) that she could talk with. She’d imagined Trixie and herself sharing secrets, their likes and dislikes . . . their fantasies, even. And, perhaps —just perhaps!— reaching a point where they would take turns tying each other up; maybe even exploring, and expanding, their shared interests.

Yep! That was all Twilight had dreamed about. Nice and neat and complete; utterly and completely satisfactory and satisfying. But . . .

But something had changed that night, and even more so the following morning.

That night, Twilight had been trying to reassure Trixie —honestly; no fooling!— that she knew, really knew, what Trixie was feeling . . . how that was making her feel . . . and want.

It's hard to feel really helpless when you can simply magic everything right off, isn't it.

You'll never feel this helpless ever again, you know. Even if, one day, you find a special somepony you can trust, somepony you entrust a ring like this to them so they can remove that last little bit of control from you . . . You will always have permitted them that control. But . . . not tonight.

You can't get free, can you.

It feels good, doesn't it.

Squirm for me. Mmmm . . . yess . . . like that. More. Squirm for me some more. I want to see just how helpless you really are.

Twilight swiped her lips with a dainty curl of her tongue, fidgeting a bit as she recalled that night. She had started out just wanting to assure, reassure, and comfort Trixie, as she snuggled the helplessly restrained unicorn against her, just as she had been doing for those previous few minutes. But, while it had started out that way . . . it certainly hadn’t ended quite that way.

Twilight? Please let me go now? Trixie had pleaded.

No, had been Twilight’s response . . . and she’d been utterly, and completely serious, too.

Those five minutes had been the catalyst to a surprising change within Twilight, rousing a host of desires from embryonic nascence to unblemished fruition. Sensations and needs that flashed from mere desires to almost cravings.

Unfortunately, Twilight hadn’t been able to fully parse those new feelings that night, what with being in minor agony within an hour of sitting in that awkward position.

(Besides, she hadn’t any quills, inkwells, or parchment, either)

It was barely possible that, like a seed sprouting on hard-packed clay, that those intriguing new sensations might have fallen dormant rather quickly. However, Trixie —completely unknowingly— assured that would never, ever happen, when, the following morning . . .

And Trixie would also like to point out that, as the situation currently obtains, what Twilight plans on doing 'afterwards' is, ah . . . entirely in her own hooves, as Trixie is in no position to gainsay her

. . . entirely in her own hooves, as Trixie is in no position to gainsay her . . .

. . . as Trixie is in no position to gainsay her . . .

. . . no position to gainsay her . . .

Something deep inside Twilight, something fierce, something primal, had roared to life at that.

She had absolutely no idea what might have happened next, had her back not chosen that exact moment to knot up and spasm, striking Twilight with almost crippling pain. And she was absolutely grateful beyond words that she hadn’t found out, too, because, as distressing as it was to admit, Twilight wasn’t sure there had been a “slow” button there, let alone an “off switch”.

That had been something that, for the last almost-two weeks, had troubled and disturbed her . . . well, had been doing more than just “trouble and disturb” if she was honest with herself. However, by now, Twilight wasn’t really sure she’d felt what she’d thought she’d remembered feeling.

However, she was absolutely sure of the feelings she’d felt exactly a week ago, when she’d “suited up” to show Trixie the most special, most favorite way, she had of relaxing. Twilight gently wriggled, clearly remembering the moment she’d felt Trixie slide her ring down her horn . . . the moment she’d, for only the second time in her life, had been rendered utterly and completely helpless. And, since she hadn’t remembered the ring was there . . . again, for the second time in her life, she’d had no warning before being ringed. . . and neither had she given permission nor consent.

Twilight’s nostrils flared as that memory —so strong, so vibrant!— blossomed in her mind once again.

However, as eager as she was to experience that again, she found herself anticipating even more so her next turn with Trixie . . . assuming, of course, that Trixie was willing to agree to another turn, that is. All things considered, Twilight wasn’t at all sure if Trixie would want to do so, or would simply be content with “We’ve each had a go now; let’s just keep it to chatting”.

Having Trixie as a guest the last two days hadn’t made the pressure inside Twilight ease one bit; in fact, it had quite the opposite effect. Even with her deep concern about her friend’s health, over her state of mind and body, all that happened was those insistent-and-intriguing feelings were more simmer-y than boiling.

It is said that timing is everything, and so it was with what finally transpired.

It hadn’t taken very long —once the studious alicorn had gathered sufficient data, that is— for Twilight to discern patterns to Trixie’s “activities”. For instance, data interpretation showed correlations between “stress relief/relaxation” with “straitjacket and wraps”, and between “erotic/sensual arousal” with “sawpony”. There had been a few outliers, but those two combinations dominated the Pareto chart. Unfortunately, without being able to read minds —and, no, alicorns could not do that . . . or so they said, anyway— Twilight had no real idea what particular fantasy —or fantasies— might be the allure.

Having said that, however, Twilight had —once again, plotted, charted, ad nauseam— systematically considered a legion of potential erotic fantasies, including roleplay scenarios. It seemed as if all that prior research years ago was finally going to be put to practical use after all!

Doctor/Nurse/Patient . . . Escort/Client . . . Teacher/Student (that one made Twilight furiously blush). . . Executive/Secretary . . . Handypony/Housemare . . . Master/Slave . . . Photographer/Model . . . Erotic Dancer/Client . . .

And that was just scratching the surface of the potentials and possibilities!

Weeks before Twilight had actually taken the bold step of foalnapping Trixie, she had already prepared a list of the more interesting, and intriguing, scenarios, that, given the chance, she’d like to discuss with Trixie and, should the unicorn desire, explore in addition to discuss. She’d not only prepared a list, but had additionally scripted out settings, narrations, and the like.

Although everypony might twit Twilight over her obsessive behaviors, her adorkable quirks, her unique point-of-view, one thing nopony would accuse Twilight of would be sophistry. Self-deception simply was not part of her nature, and ran completely converse to everything she stood for and believed.

Until now.

It had been exactly a week ago today that Twilight had introduced Trixie to her special room. A week ago since Twilight had reached a new pinnacle of Zen. And as strong as she desired to repeat that . . . she was driven even stronger to have a second opportunity with Trixie; this one, by its very nature, being fully consensual.

Twilight was not noted for patience, although that was mostly associated with research and study. Many a pony would claim to bear the Princess’ hoofprints on their backs, imprinted there from where she’d trampled them on her way to a particular book, encyclopedia, or tome. So waiting a week normally would have wound her up tighter than Pinkie Pie after consuming twenty-four ice cream sundaes . . . one-after-another. However, that internal simmering had been tempered with the intense worry and concern she’d had for her unicorn friend, after she’d had a breakdown.

But that had been three days ago, and if Trixie was feeling well enough to conduct research and study . . .

Twilight had readied a list of six interesting scenarios to test and try out, curious to see which ones registered the greatest interest . . . and, well, the most intense response, too. Since Twilight had, on more than one occasion, idly daydreamed about being caught in extremis (and, well . . . had the interesting incidence of actually experiencing that one time), she was curious to see how Trixie responded to playing that out. Granted, like Twilight, she, too, had experienced the reality of that. But, this time, she could simply relax and “enjoy the show”.

And, in fact, Trixie had enjoyed it. Twilight distantly noted her reactions, her responses, and was quite pleased and happy at that success . . .

. . . for quite a different matter than originally intended.

She’d had to giggle along with Trixie at the second one. That hadn’t had a high probability of success, but, like all experiments, one simply didn’t “stack the deck”.

Twilight had glanced over numbers three, four, and five, which, like the previous two, had been previously scripted, and were ready and waiting in the wings. And then, there was number six.

Number six, which Twilight had dismissed as simply being one among the “most-likely-to-succeed” . . .

Number six, just an innocent scenario possibility, nothing more, and nothing less, than any of the others.

At least, that’s what Twilight kept telling herself . . . studiously ignoring the real reason for her including that. . .

. . . because all those other "reasons", as justifiable as they sounded, weren't anywhere close to the truth.

As the bidding went on, Twilight felt her insides tensing, felt racing little sharp jolts throughout her skin and muscle. There was a tightness in her belly, a glowing warmth in her core, as she watched, as she listened, to the captive unicorn being auctioned off as a slave.

She licked her lips, then her breathing whuffed as Trixie surged against the straps that rendered her helpless, as she pathetically whined in futile denial of her inescapable fate.

. . . no position to gainsay me . . . no position to gainsay me . . . no position to gainsay me . . .

“Twenty thousand,” she growled, right on cue, while, not at all scripted, I would pay that for real, if for real . . .

“Now, get on with it.” There was no acting there; Twilight’s patience was fraying, drawn deep into the scenario . . . which was growing less and less a story line by the heartbeat.

“Twenty thousand once . . . twenty thousand twice . . . sold!” At that “sold”, Twilight’s legs almost buckled, as a fire surged within her. Nostrils flared wide as she slowly paced around her new possession: her toy, her pet. So very helpless (. . . no position to gainsay me . . .); completely defenseless (. . . no position to gainsay me . . . ); impotent and powerless (. . . no position to gainsay me . . .)

Slowly circling, utterly patient, no need to hurry (. . . no position to gainsay me . . . ), Twilight appraised her new possession, her heart suddenly hammering as she spotted the unmistakable sign of arousal glistening beneath the captive unicorn’s tail.

Without thinking, she swatted her flank when her pet tried speaking up. “Keep quiet,” Twilight rasped, and another jolt of delicious fire surged through her upon seeing the shivers her voice invoked.

“Aren’t you just the pretty little pet?” Twilight murmured. “Awwww,” she cooed. “Does my little pet not like being tied up? Is that it? Does she want to be freed?” In a very distant part of her mind was the shock at speaking, and acting, this way.

But it was very distant. Very, very distant.

And when Twilight removed the blindfold, and gazed deeply into her pet’s enormous eyes, pupils so wide and dilated . . .

. . . that voice was no longer heard.

Twilight slowly circled her pet, saying not a word, but it was impossible to mistake what she was doing as she made pass after pass . . .

She was appraising her new possession.

Every few steps she’d pause, reaching out a hoof and gently stroking, lightly caressing. Unlike before, Trixie trembled in realization, when Twilight had done this, during The Discovery, these touches weren’t intended to soothe . . . they were intended to claim. Each stroke, each caress, simply confirmed, and displayed, ownership.

Nostrils flaring, Trixie’s breathing was growing faster, the rhythm jerky and rapid. She desperately needed to swallow, and all the more so because of the saliva pooling around the ball in her mouth. But that same ball made swallowing difficult.

It also muffled her whines and whimpers, which, somehow, just hearing those sounds was simply adding fuel to her internal fire. She’d only called out Twilight’s name one additional time, but the swat she received, coupled with the stern injunction that “if a pet spoke up again, she’ll find out what it’s like being really gagged, and paddled as well” . . .

Leather creaked and she fidgeted and squirmed, tensing against the straps, pulling against them. Against her will —and she truly did try very hard, indeed— her tail started lifting, rising up in presentation, and, as it did, her face flamed in intense embarrassment . . . which, to her immense shock, only stoked the fires of her arousal.

For she was undeniably aroused.

“Does my little pet not like being tied up? Is that it? Does she want to be freed?” Twilight repeated . . . her lips just brushing the fine inner hairs of an ear, her voice a husky, heated murmur . . . heated literally; her breath felt like a furnace.

Piteously whining, Trixie nodded her head up and down. Then whined even harder as she felt, as well as heard, an impishly naughty chuckle right against her ear. “Then all my sexy little pet needs to do is . . . hold completely still.”

A moment later, and all four limbs tensed, as Trixie struggled to hold still, even as sweat rolled down her forehead and cheeks . . . and she trickled elsewhere as well.

The helplessly restrained unicorn’s muscles vibrated like one of Octavia’s strings being plucked, as Twilight returned to her predatory —honestly, that was the only word that fit— circling stalking. Pausing a few moments, she nuzzled behind an ear . . . a few steps, and nuzzled behind the other . . . a few steps, then nuzzled the base of the neck . . . then nibbled. Trixie tensed even tighter, whining again and again, her breathing increasingly staccato.

And when Twilight paused, right behind her . . .

Trixie’s hips rocked as Twilight’s furnace-hot breath caressed between her hind legs; specifically, against the glistening, slick folds her betraying tail had exposed. She whimpered, mortified and humiliated. No, she couldn’t help being seen like this, but, even so . . .oh . . . ooooooh . . .

Twilight exhaled again, followed by a vibrant, deep, rumbling purr. “Mmmmmmm,” she hummed, unquestionably pleased! And, at that moment, humiliation . . . changed; altered. The heat of that still blazed, but instead of that being crippling, it felt . . . good? Yes . . . good. Trixie was helpless, a pet totally controlled by her owner. There was no shame, no guilt; only freedom.

“Mmmm . . . yessss,” another purr. “That’s my good little pet,” she praised, caressing her croup. “Squirm for me.”

Trixie paused, eyes wide and round. B-b-b-ut if she squirmed . . . she couldn’t hold still and squirm after all! How could she earn her freedom if she squirmed?

That . . . was a rather moot point, she realized moments later, for her double-crossing body was no longer paying attention to anything as trivial as freedom. Closing her eyes, Trixie gently squirmed atop the sawpony, and as Twilight kept purring, kept stroking and caressing, both with hooves and with horntip, as she kept encouraging and coaxing . . . consciousness started receding, as long-dormant desires roused . . . stretched . . .

Still squirming, hips started rocking up and down, rhythmically thrusting against the top rail of the sawpony. Her whines grew more desperate as she sought more sensation, more pressure . . . and couldn’t find it.

“Hold still.”

Trixie whined, loud and long, at that order. But, even through the pounding surf of her pulse, even with the snorty, panted gasps . . . even through the mindless need that consumed her . . . she heard the gentleness of that command. Violently shuddering, she struggled to comply, even as her body screamed Don’t stop!

She had no idea how long her owner had been toying with her. It felt like hours, but it couldn’t possibly have been that long.

She’d never have survived hours of this!

She had never been this aroused, not in her entire life. And “aroused” was such a pitifully inadequate word for what she was feeling. Her coat was lathered as if she’d been racing; sweat freely dripped from her, streamed down her legs. As for the rest of her?

Her tail was hiked up and curved, in blatant invitation to mount. She could feel how wet she was; forget wet . . . she was a sopping, soaking mess. She could clearly smell the scent of her arousal and need!

Biting down hard on the ball, she choked back tears and sobs. She wasn’t holding still; she couldn’t hold still. Her body simply wouldn’t let her!

Twilight had read enough “romances” to easily picture “the throes of passion and desire”. This, however, was not print on the page. This was real. This was intense.

Her pet wasn’t holding still. Fair enough; neither was Twilight; her hips were gently circling and rolling as she watched her toy disintegrate into a hot, wet mess of need.

Long enough

With no warning, Twilight slipped her hoof between top rail and unicorn, wedging it between her pet’s wide-spread rear legs . . . and pressed firmly between swollen folds.

“Now!” she growled.

Trixie had a moment to be startled as she felt something pressed against her. Before she could figure out what that might be, she heard her owner command, “Now!”. Immediately she began thrusting . . . then grinding herself against that support.

Within seconds the room echoed with snorty panted breaths, with the creak of leather straps, with wet, rhythmic slapping. Trixie’s consciousness had receded way way back; all that existed was need, was want . . . fire and pressure coiled tighter and tighter inside . . . strained . . . strained . . .

. . . then burst.

Trixie’s head rocked back, her neck corded, veins throbbing. Her body convulsed, straining against the straps as wave after wave after wave of molten sunlight, of honeyed heat, exploded outwards.

And then she collapsed, panting hard, feeling a welcoming blackness envelop her, sweeping her away into unconscious bliss.

Author's Note

Well, I suppose it has taken a while to reach this point. :twilightsheepish: :twilightsmile:

If it isn't too much trouble, I would appreciate your thoughts on the story so far.

A-aaand . . . I think it is safe to say that certain horizons have just been expanded.

Reflections and Revelations

Reflections and Revelations

Well, I thought I knew what being turned on felt like, Twilight Sparkle acerbically thought. Was I ever wrong!

Tears silently rolled down her cheeks, as enormously powerful, and extremely diametrically opposed, emotions roiled within her. At the moment, she was sitting partially upright in the small bed down in her “special room”, propped up by multiple fluffy pillows. Curled up alongside her was Trixie Lulamoon, her head resting atop Twilight’s chest, a dreamy little smile playing on her lips.

Oh, yes; yes, the distraught alicorn had thought she’d understood the feelings of desire, of want and longing, of attraction and concupiscence. She’d read all those books, after all; she’d mediated on their meanings, their descriptions and explanations. And, as she’d grown older, as she’d matured from filly to young mare, from young mare to grown mare, she’d felt certain feelings grow stronger as she’d aged. She’d overheard certain of her friends and acquaintances speak of their longings for another pony, of their intense yearning for a specific somepony —sometimes in shy, hushed whispers, while, other times, in quite blunt, stark terms that brought a fierce heat to Twilight’s cheeks.

Yes, she’d thought she’d understood. But she’d always been so fully immersed in her studies, in her researches. Those times . . . the outside world just retreated, leaving Twilight floating in her own, private little world. Hours and hours could pass, and if Spike hadn’t regularly shaken her back to the here-and-now, she might very well have passed out from inanition. Her earlier researches into sexuality —in all its complexity and variety— had left her with the impression that she understood, and could even identify with, such emotions as drive, desire, and longing. After all, didn’t she experience something similar with her studies?

And she knew that her, umm, “biology” worked, for she didn’t always restrain herself simply for stress relief. So she fully understood what it was like to be turned on; to “get wet”. That was such a pleasant, glowy state!

Seeing Trixie atop the sawpony . . . Twilight then positioning her muzzle scant inches from . . . “there” . . . Twilight discovered that she’d grossly underestimated what “getting wet” actually meant . . . and, along with that, realized that her concept of “being turned on” bore absolutely no relationship to reality.

She gazed down through tear-blurred eyes at the cerulean unicorn snuggled against her side. Even as she watched, Trixie inhaled just a little bit deeper as she wriggled closer, as she slipped a foreleg up to Twilight’s shoulder and gently curved a hoof behind her neck, and then, once snuggled closer, softly exhaled as her lips curved into an even dreamier smile.

Discovering that Trixie also enjoyed self-bondage had added a new dimension to those feelings. But they were just a little bit stronger, just the smallest bit more powerful, especially when she let her daydreams start exploring different horizons.

It had been a long time ago when she’d faced the final test of her entrance exam for Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, but Twilight could clearly recall that moment when Magick bloomed inside her like a supernova. She’d been far too inexperienced with arcana to actually control, let alone utilize, that immense deluge of raw power; instead, she was subsumed by that, was incorporated into that gestalt. But she did remember that, in all its glory and majesty.

Thirteen days ago, she’d had a foreshadowing of a similar effect.

Twilight had thought she’d understood that, too —had understood the pounding of her heart, the catching breaths, the flushed skin, the tightness in her belly— when she’d faced the epiphany that had blazed the moment she’d truly realized how utterly helpless Trixie had been. And when Trixie had coyly murmured, as the situation currently obtains, what Twilight plans on doing 'afterwards' is, ah entirely in her own hooves, as Trixie is in no position to gainsay her . . .

Even just remembering that had Twilight fidget, as her belly tightened, as her pulse throbbed.

Trixie trusted me! And I betrayed her!

How do you figure that?

I lied to her. And to myself.

Really?

Yes! I . . . I kept telling myself it was just an intriguing roleplay. Like those I read about years ago.

And . . . it wasn’t?

No!! It wasn’t!

Then what was it?

I . . . I don’t know.

Why are you scared?

Be . . . because I’m afraid. Afraid of what I’ve become. Of what burns inside me now. Afraid I’ve betrayed my friend.

So . . . how did you betray your friend?

She trusted me. Trusted me to keep her safe. And I tricked her into something that I badly wanted. I didn’t give her a choice. I didn’t tell her what I’d planned, or what I’d intended and wanted. All that kept pulsing inside of me was wanting to feel like I did before; like I did when Trixie had said, that, because she was helpless, whatever happened to, or with, her was entirely my choice. And I was very, very selfish in my choice. I took advantage of my friend.

She doesn’t look unhappy. Does she?

Of course she doesn’t! She’s afterglowing like crazy.

Isn’t that a good thing?

It would be if she’d given me permission to do . . . “that”

“That” being, I presume, turning her on to the point she frantically humped your hoof like the proverbial doorknob?

Stop that! This is serious!

You know, if she was truly unhappy, or fearful, she could always have told you to stop.

Oh, please! And just how was she able to do that? She was helplessly strapped down, and gagged to boot.

Oh? And do you think you could have missed her distress, or attempts to signal you?

. . .

Well?

I’m afraid . . . afraid that, even if I had seen something like that . . . that I still wouldn’t have stopped.

Even as she mentally replayed the scene they’d just enacted a short while ago, Twilight felt the surge of emotions, of feelings, that she’d so innocently believed she’d always understood.

Besides . . . even if she had felt uncomfortable, or squeamish . . . it’s a well-known fact that, the more aroused and turned on a pony becomes, the less and less inhibited they become. By the time we reached that point, Trixie would likely have agreed to anything. I know my inhibitions had gone south by then! So . . . what happens . . . now . . . when she remembers how wicked I was with her, after she’s had time to calm down and recover?

But . . . that’s not really what is bothering you . . . is it?

No.

Well?

. . . I . . . I liked it.

“It”?

I liked being in control. I liked how I felt imagining owning her as my own. I burned inside, knowing that, at that moment, I did own her . . . and I want to feel that again . . . and again . . . and again.

Was that all?

. . . No . . . I liked the power I had over her. I reveled in that! I controlled her freedom, her senses. I even controlled her arousal: how much, how little, how long. And, at the end, I even controlled whether she could, erm, ah . . .

Well, you don’t do things by halves, do you?

Eh?

Leaping from a shy, virginal mare who hasn’t even kissed anypony —well, other than pecks on the cheek, that is— straight into a horny little——

Stop!

That’s part of what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? It’s new; it’s unknown . . . and it’s very, very powerful. Powerful enough to sweep you off your hooves and carry you off.

Yeah. Yeah. That’s it. And I’m terrified of what might happen when I’m that swept up.

I’m afraid control over this is something only experience, and practice, will provide.

Objectively, Twilight could match up those dry, neatly-tidy explanations of years ago with the very new subjective feelings she was experiencing. Subjectively, however . . .

I badly need somepony to talk to about this! I . . . I don’t understand; not what I’m feeling, or what that means, or anything!

Well, she certainly couldn’t talk to Twilight Velvet about this! Even the thought of that had her cringe and furiously blush. And, even when their relationship hadn’t been strained as it currently was, she couldn’t see having approached Princess Celestia, either.

The fact was, Twilight couldn’t see having this talk with any of her friends.

Trixie sleepily murmured, wriggling even closer to Twilight. And suddenly, she knew the only pony she could talk to about all this.

Twilight lightly dozed for a bit, relaxing enough, now that she’d made a decision, to fully consider the warm heaviness partially draped over her. Inner turmoil temporarily calmed, she gazed at Trixie as she slept. This . . . this feels nice, she realized. It felt nice in a way that no other cuddles had made her feel.

Trixie had roused several times, never actually waking, just twilighting (no pun intended) before wriggling closer and drifting off again. Twilight understood the concept of “afterglow”, but somehow she didn’t think that lasted quite this long, which meant that . . .

More emotions slowly unfurled, as if new buds exposed to the sun: a fierce protectiveness intertwined with tender affection. For the second time in Twilight’s memory, she was seeing a side of Trixie that few, if any, ponies ever saw: a sweet vulnerability, her guard completely down. That understanding brought a lump to the teary-eyed alicorn’s throat . . . and a gentle glowy heat to her core.

Tenderly nibbling the base of an ear Twilight indulgently murmured, “Wake up sleepyhead. Rise and shine.”

Trixie lightly stirred, then burrowed even closer. “Do I hafta?” she mumbled, her words partially muffled seeing as her muzzle was tucked under Twilight’s chin.

“Well, you’ve been asleep for about an hour,” Twilight informed. She hesitantly reached out a hoof, her recent “internal debate” still fresh in her mind, then tremulously began stroking Trixie’s mane and neck.

“Are you Twilight-twitching again?” came a slightly grumpy murmur.

“It’s nothing you did,” she instantly reassured. “But, if you don’t mind . . . I’d like to talk while we wash up.”

A muzzy Trixie wasn’t quite sure why the immediate need to wash up was important . . . at least, not until she clambered out of bed and then groggily stretched . . . and felt the residual stickiness between her hind legs, at which point she both turned as red as a sunset . . . and felt a gentle warmth rekindle deep inside her.

When Twilight went to start running the tub Trixie —with the utmost respect and deference— insisted she just relax, and let Trixie take care of things. Feeling a bit, well, selfish, nevertheless Twilight did accede, and simply silently watched as her friend filled the tub and readied the supplies.

Sinking into the water, steam lightly wreathing the surface, Twilight gestured for Trixie to enter as well. The two of them then leaned back, getting comfy and, in Trixie’s case, sinking down until her chin just touched the surface. Several minutes then passed in companionable silence, first while Twilight simply luxuriated in the relaxing heat, and then as she worked up the courage to begin speaking. Before she could begin, however . . .

“Twilight?”

“Yes Trixie?”

“Trixie has a suspicion about what you want to talk to Trixie about. So Trixie must warn you,” and she sounded completely sober and serious, “that if you even try and apologize, that will hurt Trixie very badly.”

Now Twilight sank down into the tub, and, for a moment, was fighting the desire to fully submerge herself. Closing her eyes, she visibly struggled for composure, quivering enough to create ripples. Taking a very deep breath, she committed herself. “I wasn’t playing a role there at the end.”

There was a splash as Trixie jerked, her eyes flying wide open. “Ah . . . no?” she managed to squeak out.

“No,” Twilight confirmed. “I’m not sure if you remember —a lot had happened, and was happening, at the time— but you said something that morning.” Trixie’s heart did a powerful double-thump, not at all mistaking the emphasis, and therefore, not at all misunderstanding what morning Twilight was referencing.

Her heart thudded again, as Twilight peered at her through half-slitted lids . . . and it looked like a banked furnace behind them.

“You’d said to me that you’d like to point out that, as the situation currently obtained, what I’d planned on doing 'afterwards' was entirely in my own hooves, as you were in no position to gainsay me.”

Trixie’s face started flaming; she started sinking deeper, even as her belly started tightening again. But, much to her astonishment, a few moments later an odd sort of serenity descended on her, settling over her like a mantle. “Trixie remembers,” she softly said, her voice firm and steady.

“Something happened to me then,” Twilight admitted, her voice just as low, but with an odd timbre to it. “Something that I’d read about, but never even considered I’d encounter, let alone experience.”

“And what was that?” came the gentle query.

“I wanted to enjoy the power I had over you, as my helpless captive.”

Trixie’s tummy felt jittery, as light little jolts of tingly warmth and electricity raced through her.

“Over the last two weeks, I haven’t stopped thinking about that. It’s sort of dominated my dreams and imagination. I wanted to feel that again. I wanted to be in that position again. So much so, that . . .”

Trailing off for a moment before taking a slow, deep breath, then gusting it out. “For the last couple of months I’ve sort of, well, sort of allowed my imagination to run rampant. Picturing all sorts of scenarios that, hopefully, we could try out and play together. Assuming, that is, that, ummm, my “introduction” and overtures were accepted. You might have noticed by now that spontaneity is not my strong suit,” she astringently admitted, “as well as noticed that I can, and frequently do, get mono-focused to the point of obsession. So, assuming things between us progressed in the direction I’d hoped for, I wanted to be ready with a broad range of scenarios for both of us to explore and try out. So, today when I asked you to let me surprise you, the intention was to try out the six scenarios I’d been eager to explore, and the ones I thought you’d like best.”

Six scenarios? Trixie thought. I wonder what happened? Then her eyes rounded as Twilight continued.

“I kept telling myself that it was all innocent fun; that there were no ulterior motives. And, even three weeks ago, that would have been the absolute truth.”

When Twilight trailed off into silence for more than a few seconds, Trixie softly prompted, “But?”

“But . . . I lied to myself, Trixie. Yes, I was curious —excited, too, at the prospect— to see what it was like, for each of us, to experiment with those scenarios. To play them out. And I really was honestly curious to see which ones —if any— excited you. But . . .,” another deep breath, “but while all that was true, it was also just thinly-masked justification for what I really wanted.”

Behind those partially-lidded eyes no longer glowed a banked furnace . . . but now blazed an intense fire . . . and that fire was focused fully upon Trixie. “And . . . and what was that?” the flustered unicorn squeaked out.

Her ears flickered back and forth, as a rushing roar filled her hearing, as she became lightheaded and dizzy, as Twilight simply replied, “I wanted to have you fully in my power, and helplessly under my control again.”

The Rise and Fall of Hopes and Dreams

The Rise and Fall of Hopes and Dreams

“Afternoon Trixie! How’re things?” “Hey Trixie! Lookin’ good today!” “Yo Trix! Have a pear!”

Ears flicking back and forth as she slowly ambled along, Trixie Lulamoon was feeling a bit disconcerted by all the attention she seemed to be attracting. Granted, for the last four days she’d been staying at Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle instead of her wagon, and, additionally, hadn’t been out-and-about, either, during that time. Even so, an absence like that wasn’t unprecedented; there had been several times in the past few months where Trixie, for one reason or another, hadn’t left her clearing, but she certainly hadn’t been received in this fashion when she finally had shown up again.

One thing she was absolutely positive about: this wasn’t sycophancy; nopony was trying to suck up her her . . . although why on Equestria anypony would want to do that to her was beyond comprehension. Nor was it mockery; nopony was lampooning her. Instead —and to her complete and utter astonishment— they seemed totally sincere!

“Awesome show, dude!” “Never saw anything like that!” “Can I have your autograph?”

Now those? Those . . . hurt. Like dull, rusty daggers thrust into her belly. It took every last iota of equanimity to keep from bursting into tears and galloping off. How long . . . how very, very long! had Trixie yearned for —had desperately craved!— recognition. Adulation. Praise . . .

. . . Validation. Approval. Acceptance.

It was like being an aspiring author, one who had worked decades of her life on her magnum opus. And then, after finally submitting it for publication, was slowly crushed when —not only was it constantly rejected— it was mocked, scorned, and belittled. And then, after finally having conceded defeat, after having tossed her life’s work —the physical embodiment of her failure and foolishness— into a blazing furnace . . . only after then . . . had she started getting multiple offers to be her publisher.

It didn’t help, not one single little bit, that it had been right here, right here in Ponyville, where her final, spiraling descent into ultimate failure, had begun.

Ponyville had been the furnace for Trixie’s magnum opus.

Her smile feeling brittle, she decided on altering her direction, gradually arcing left and taking a more southwest direction, skirting the shops and stores that lay more centralized in the track she had initially been headed. The original purpose for her stroll was still valid, after all: she’d been researching since breakfast, and was not only growing increasingly frustrated, but also feeling cooped up.

Twilight had left right after breakfast; some minor business in Canterlot, she’d claimed. She was still dancing on tiphooves, as if afraid of her own shadow. Oddly enough, instead of Trixie withdrawing, afraid that it was something she had done, this time she was curiously relaxed, finding her alicorn friend’s antics almost endearing. Her lips softly curved as a thought struck: in a way, it was something Trixie had done, after all! That smile grew a bit wider, her eyes turned a bit dreamy, as she recalled, once again, why that was so.

I wanted to have you fully in my power, and helplessly under my control again.

Trixie had been astonished that the bath water wasn’t boiling around her, for she certainly felt quite heated as Twilight, her eyes glowing with a fire of their own, bluntly admitted what had driven her that afternoon. That, on its own, would have been breathtaking. But Trixie was well aware —both from indirect experience and, more recently, direct interaction— of the difficulties Twilight had when speaking of matters of the heart. So she’d known —not guessed, but known— that that entire “confession” must have been enormously challenging for her to actually verbalize . . . but she had.

She hadn’t stuttered or stammered. She hadn’t hedged about with scores of prefatory remarks. She hadn’t ducked her head, or looked everywhere else but at Trixie.

No. No, Twilight had just kept her eyes on Trixie, and just . . . talked. Yes, there had been one or two spots where she’d trailed off for a moment, but that hadn’t been somepony trying to decide the best —or safest— way of stating something; it had simply been somepony marshalling their thoughts in the proper order, to more accurately convey what was in their heart into spoken words.

I wanted to have you fully in my power, and helplessly under my control again.

And, along with that, what hadn’t been articulated: And I want that again.

Unlike Twilight, Trixie hadn’t exhaustively researched certain, specific interpersonal dynamics. However —and, again unlike Twilight— Trixie had something that she didn’t have: years of experience.

Oh, not practical experience, no. But while the studious Twilight had thought she’d understood the erotic, the sensual if not outright sexual, aspects of their mutually shared interest in self-bondage . . . Trixie did have a much better understanding. While both alicorn and unicorn could —and did— find pleasure, relief and relaxation in simply being bound, Trixie sometimes enjoyed “kicking it up a notch” by crossing over into the more sensual and erotic realms; hence her special sawpony.

It had been obvious to the quietly listening —and gently wriggling— unicorn that Twilight had been feeling . . . overwhelmed? Out of control? Wicked?

Overriding all of that had been the very clear worry —no, not worry; fear— that she had allowed her abruptly-burgeoning desires to gallop off with her, and, in doing so, had taken advantage of Trixie.

Before Twilight could backslide into Sparkle-spazzing, second-guessing herself, and things, into an infinite loop, Trixie had simply touched Twilight’s lips with her hoof. “Trixie makes no promises about the future,” she’d begun, “for these are still early days. However, Trixie would be perfectly fine with the understanding that,” and at that point her cheeks, throat, muzzle, and ears had turned a vibrant crimson, “once Trixie has entered through that door,” as she’d gestured to the concealed entrance, “and into this room . . .,” she’d taken a deep breath, “for as long as she remains in this room . . . she is the same pony that you had bought.”

Smothering impatience —somewhat unsuccessfully— Twilight paced in slow circles in the anteroom leading to the Royal Vault for Dangerous Magicks. Oddly enough, as Princess Celestia’s personal student, Twilight had never needed permission to access the vault. But, now that she was no longer Celestia’s student and protégée, but was a Princess herself? Snorting in frustration, at both the delay and the bureaucratic idiocy, Twilight mentally reviewed the avenues of research she’d planned on pursuing.

As per Princess Celestia’s decree, that Twilight must understand, and accept, that any research on the Alicorn Amulet would have to be at second hoof —which, in all seriousness, Twilight couldn’t fault the reasoning behind that . . . and, besides, she had no desire to experiment with, or on, it. Twilight could indirectly research the amulet; she would not be permitted to experiment with the amulet itself.

She was fine with that. What she hadn’t been fine with was discovering that she now needed permission before she could enter!

Finally, after a seeming eternity, a Royal Guardpony entered, bearing a pass for the Princess of Friendship. Part of Twilight was hurt that her former teacher didn’t personally show up with that, but another part of her was more than accepting of the evidence of the estrangement that now existed between them.

Entering the Royal Vault for Dangerous Magicks, the determined alicorn headed straight to where the Alicorn Amulet was ensconced, uncharacteristically refusing to be distracted from her grim purpose by all the other tantalizing items protectively housed here.

Standing in front of the amulet —securely stored behind a magically-reinforced bell jar of transparent quartz— she was, once again, taken aback by the seeming innocence of the amulet when first looked at. Meant to be worn around the neck, the amulet bore the effigy of a red-and-gray winged unicorn (which, by definition, was an alicorn) rising up from behind a lighter gray escutcheon, on whose face was a massive, blood-red gem. But, within seconds of examining it, Twilight felt herself growing . . . uneasy. Unsettled. And it wasn’t because she knew —not guessed, or conjectured, but knew— its sinister purpose. It was the eyes, she abruptly realized. Well, eye. There was a brooding hostility behind that half-lidded, crimson orb.

Although intended to be worn around the neck, it wasn’t a necklace, per se. There was no chain, or lace, or thong, to encircle a neck and be securely attached behind. Instead, curving like a pair of horns, was a wound helix fashioned from a flat strip of some unknown, dull-gray metal, forming a semi-flexible “spring”, the two ends slipping around the throat of the wearer. The design, Twilight was stunned to discern, was an intentional mockery. It looked like it would be so easy to pull off the wearer, as it was nowhere near as securely held in place as a proper necklace would do. But security wasn’t really an issue, after all, as the magic of the Amulet made removal by anypony other than the wearer flat-out impossible.

Thus the mockery behind the design.

Slowly, one step at a time, Twilight circled the Alicorn Amulet, All she was doing was visually examining it, and with normal sight, not Mage sight. Unless it became absolutely necessary, the unconditional last resort, Twilight was not, in any way, shape or form, going to allow any of her personal energies to contact that cursed item.

Time slowly passed, although the utterly focused alicorn was oblivious to such a mundane matter as the stately progression of seconds and minutes. It might seem silly to spend several hours just looking at an object, especially one locked behind a quartz crystal jar. But Twilight Sparkle, for all of her modesty and self-effacement, was the premier Mage of her generation; and, quite possibly, in Equestria history —barring, of course, the Diarchs themselves. And while she hadn’t had much personal, hoof-on experience with cursed items, that didn’t mean she wasn’t versed in their construction, booby-traps, and energization. Something as simple as a seeming scratch, blemish, or other imperfection, could actually be the key behind the Construct.

I think I’ve gone as far as I can with just a visual examination, she gustily sighed. She’d always intended, of course, to immerse herself in the Library (Canterlot’s deserved capitalization, too) doing intense, objective research, but it was worth the time invested on the off-chance that the Amulet concealed some sort of clue, especially if that gave her a substantial starting point.

Well, no research, no experiment, is ever wasted, she reminded herself. Besides, maybe something I read will trig—— Hold on a moment!

Nose almost pressed against the crystal of the jar, Twilight intently peered inside. There had been something, something so very peripheral . . . There!

Purple eyes slowly widened as she intensely focused on the horn of the red-and-gray alicorn; the easily-recognizable, gently-spiraled horn that all unicorns —and alicorns— possessed. Except . . .

Except the circumvoluted edges of that weren’t simple, graven lines in the metal creating the appearance of a horn spiral. . . or, more accurately, weren’t just engravings.

Twilight’s eyes rounded, even as the pit of her belly heaved, as her blood turned to ice. That simple-seeming engraved line was actually formed by miniscule, almost-imperceptible glyphs, so tightly interlocked with each other as to form a seemingly single line.

Tiny little glyphs Twilight sickening remembered seeing before.

Morganti glyphs.

Necromancers.

“Buck Buck Buck-awww! Look, it’s a big chicken. Oh, wait . . . even chickens can fly, so that can’t be you.”

Trixie’s head snapped up, shocked out of her reverie by the mean, hateful words. She’d been distantly aware of a growing stridency of shrill voices, but they hadn’t really registered as anything other than just bickering youngsters . . . until that voice.

Diamond Tiara.

“Shut up! Just shut up, you!”

“Scootaloo, don’t let her git in yer britches laik thet.”

“Yeah Scootaloo, she ain’t worth getting all riled up.”

“Oh look . . . it’s the Fruity Lark Degraders! With their pet turkey!”

“That’s it! I’ve had it!”

“Scoots, don’t!”

Stepping around the hedgerow, Trixie found herself several yards away from the squabbling fillies. On one side was, yes indeed, Diamond Tiara, along with her best (and, as some ponies had said, only) friend Silver Spoon. On the other side were three other fillies: Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo. At the moment Scootaloo was struggling to break free from her fellow Crusaders, murder in her tear-streaked eyes as she lunged towards her antagonist.

There was a vicious glint of satisfaction in Diamond Tiara’s light blue eyes, as she mockingly brayed at the small orange pegasus. Standing next to her, and looking rather uncomfortable, was Silver Spoon. Diamond Tiara was about to launch a fresh round of taunts to the Crusaders, but at that moment spotted Trixie out of the corner of her eye. “What do you want?” she sneered. “What?” she asked, suddenly confused as the other four fillies just froze. “It’s just the Late and Pitiful Blowhard.”

Trixie just stood there, an imposing statue, purple eyes just unblinkingly observing . . . as if weighing the obnoxious filly and finding her wanting. Diamond Tiara suddenly flushed under the intensity of that gaze, then flushed darker in embarrassment at reacting to that loser pony looking at her. Fury bubbled up inside her; she opened her mouth to issue scathing imprecations at Trixie. How dare that . . . that vagabond tramp look at her like that! Didn’t she know who Diamond Dazzle Tiara was? But before she could say a word . . .

Her head whipped to the side, staring at Silver Spoon who had just whispered something to her, and then her eyes darted sideways at Trixie for a moment before looking back at her friend. She murmured something too low to head, and then her face went white with shock as Silver Spoon, a look of tragic regret on her face, just shook her head . . . and stepped back several paces from Diamond Tiara. Rage flared in her eyes as she savagely stamped the ground with a forehoof . . . and then she went white a second time as Silver Spoon, after exchanging a look with the still silent-and-motionless Trixie, turned her back on her friend and started solemnly walking away.

“Silver Spoon!” Diamond Tiara’s voice was an odd mix of anger and trepidation. Shooting Trixie a poisonous yet fearful look, she turned and trotted after her friend. “Silver Spoon!” she called out again.

“Get. Off. Me!”

Turning her head, Trixie saw Scootaloo violently thrash, jerking herself free from her friends’ grasp.

“Scootaloo, Aih’m——“

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Scootaloo shrilly screamed, and then, before anypony could say or do anything. “And just leave me alone!” she yelled, her voice breaking as sobs finally broke free, tears streaming down her face as she wheeled about and then galloped, bawling as she raced off.

Sweetie Belle, a rather cute and delicate, white unicorn, and Apple Bloom, a sturdy little, yellow Earth pony, both sadly sighed, visibly deflating in their sorrow, Apple Bloom’s huge bow seeming to wilt as well. “Thank you, Miss Trixie,” Apple Bloom finally said.

“Yes,” Sweetie Belle piped up. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything Trixie can do?” she asked.

“Naw, but thanks fer askin’,” replied Apple Bloom.

Sweetie Belle’s eyes looked like shimmering emerald pools, as tears threatened to spill free. “I don’t think there’s anything anypony can do to help,” she said, her voice trembly with suppressed emotion. “She just wants to fly,” she said, so very softly, as she gazed off into the distance where her hurting friend had run.

Twilight sat at a carrel in the Restricted section of the Canterlot Library. Either the word had been passed, or her permission had never been rescinded, for nopony intercepted her as she purposefully strode through the corridors and through the door there. Her saddlebag glowed light pink; the flap opened, and then a small, pink-limned, scroll floated up and out before settling on the desk top.

Nausea still churned inside as she unrolled the scroll alongside a very old and dusty tome. The chirography left much to be desired; then again, it had been quite some time since Twilight had mouthwritten instead of using her magic. But she wasn’t about to use magic anywhere near that cursed thing, and so, one laborious glyph at a time, Twilight had copied the engraved symbols, followed by, just as laboriously, comparing her copy with that of the Amulet.

It took less than a minute to verify her suspicions: those glyphs were those used by the Morganti, and by nopony else.

By any definition of the word, the Morganti were a malignant aberration. They had been a small, close-knit cabal of Earth ponies that had predated the Founding.

As had been typical of the times back then, there had been quite a bit of factional strife between the three pony tribes. Actually, “factional strife” was putting it mildly: the three tribes were divided by hatred, and cared only for the welfare of their own kind.

The Morganti took that to extremes.

Somehow —nopony knew how, exactly . . . or, if they did, weren’t telling a soul— the Morganti, through the power of their Earth pony heritage, discovered within themselves an arcane connection to nature that went a bit further beyond the pale than your typical Earth pony.

Much further.

Much much further.

Life springs from the ground . . . and returns there, as well.

The Morganti discovered the ability to manipulate the latter.

They were innate necromancers.

And they were finished being the scorn of the unicorns and pegasi that looked down their long muzzles at the common, good-for-nothing-but-scut-labor Earth ponies.

Standing in front of the desk in the carrel Twilight had graciously assigned for her personal use, Trixie’s eyes sightlessly wandered over the stacked reference books there. One and all, they dealt with, and delved into, cutie marks: facts, speculations, philosophy, history . . .

She just wants to fly

Closing her eyes, Trixie could feel the throbbing call of her cutie mark. That had never stopped, not even when she’d tried her hardest to keep the vow she’d made: to eschew performing, absolutely and completely. From the moment her cutie mark had appeared, an already-miserable life had achieved an even worse nadir. Oh, not at first. Oh no! That would have been too easy! Instead . . . her cutie mark had held out hope . . . making the falls that followed ever the worse due to the heights that guileful prospect had treacherously transported her.

She just wants to fly

Trixie had had such bright hopes, such wonderful dreams. What had hurt the worst is that she had achieved those dreams. For a moment in her life, like a flash in the pan, she had been a successful stage magician, using a combination of prestidigitation, sleight-of-hoof, and illusions, to delight, astound and entertain. For just that brief moment of time, she’d lived the excitement, the wonder and joy, that she’d felt so many years ago with Madam Mythic.

She just wants to fly

Yes. Yes, that bright hope, that utter, intense longing, had flared up like a dying star before collapsing into ash. But . . .

Trixie had, even if for such a very brief time, lived her dream.

Scootaloo . . . hadn’t. And wouldn’t ever.

She just wants to fly

Soft lavender coruscated about the books and tomes on her desk. Levitating them, Trixie took them back out into the Library before carefully reshelving them . . . or trying to, anyway.

“Here. Let me.”

“Thank you Spike, but Trixie can do this. She doesn’t wish to be a burden.”

“Heh,” Spike chuckled. “For one, it’s not a burden. For another —and meaning no offense at all— this way I make sure it gets filed correctly. You have no idea how stroppy Twilight can get when she —which usually means me— can’t find a book. So consider this a selfish, self-survival tactic.”

Spike’s grin was infectious, so much so that Trixie found herself grinning back. Her expression blanked a bit when Spike asked her if she was done her research, as she hoped the little dragon wasn’t paying close attention to what books she had been looking through, for she didn’t wish Twilight —or anypony else, for that matter— to wonder why it was that Trixie had this sudden interest in cutie marks.

“Can I help you find anything?” he asked, grunting as he heaved a huge tome up unto its place in the shelves.

She just wants to fly

“Are there any reference books, or materials, that focus on pegasi, and pegasi magic? Particularly pegasus flight.”

Yes, Trixie had a brief moment to live her dream. Scootaloo never would live hers.

Without help, anyway.

Trixie had lived with her cutie mark this long. She could tolerate, and endure it, for a while longer.

Tears streaked her cheeks as Twilight numbly stared at the translation she’d so laboriously deciphered. Suddenly it became too much for her. Jerking to her hooves, she abruptly staggered towards the door, seeking . . . she wasn’t at all sure what she was seeking, and within seconds, it didn’t matter. Her tongue felt thick; her mouth filled with saliva. Dropping her head she heaved; heaved again, and then spewed all over the floor, legs spread and violently trembling. Taking a couple of side steps she just slumped, collapsing into a huddled ball on the chill stone floor, silently sobbing as the words she’d so arduously translated kept uncaringly scrolling through her mind.

Wear me you choose,
Power I give,
More Power you use,
In you I live

Earth become strong
Ten times or more
To pegasi belong
The skies own lore
To unicorns I give
Power untold
But for me you will live
As within I unfold

No one can take
Only you can give
Discard me you could

But what a mistake
For within you I live
It will do you no good

Keep me or not
It is one and the same
For until your bones rot
T’will be you only in name

Like a Phoenix

Like a Phoenix

“You need to eat.”

Trixie jumped, startled at the low murmur alongside her. Head turning to the side, she saw Spike standing there, looking a bit concerned.

“If you don’t like that,” he poked a talon towards her plate; specifically the meal, which, now that Trixie thought about it, she’d been picking at, mostly just sliding the same forkful around and around. “I can make you something else.”

Drawing her head down, Trixie turtled in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing; they glowed even brighter when Spike, his voice understanding, confided, “She’s stayed overnight at Canterlot before. It’s nothing you did, OK?

Now she really hunched up, her ears now matching the crimson hue of her cheeks. Spike felt his insides twist at her expression. She was so frail, so vulnerable; nothing at all like the overly self-confident, brash, and audacious pony she’d once been . . . or he’d always believed she’d been. In many ways, he was realizing, Trixie had a great deal in common with Twilight Sparkle herself.

Then his heart swelled, as Trixie straightened a bit before sheepishly smiling at him. “Was Trixie that obvious?” she softly asked.

“We-ell,” he grinned back at her, before holding up a forepaw, two talontips barely touching . . . before spreading his arms as wide as possible. “Maybe this much.”

When Trixie softly giggled, Spike felt fit to burst. “Honestly, though,” he continued, growing serious, “if you really don’t like that, I can whip something else up for you.”

“Thank you, Spike, but Trixie doesn’t want to be a burden,” then, before Spike could respond —and remembering how the little dragon had reacted earlier when she’d said the very same thing— “Besides, it is very delicious. It is just that, well . . .” she turned back to pushing the forkful back and forth, “It’s just that Trixie has a lot on her mind.”

“Been there, seen that before,” he replied, grinning as he did. Growing serious again, he gently urged, “But, you really do need to eat.” Before Trixie could react, he bluntly stated, “Yep. I’m nagging. And I nag Twilight, too. So don’t think I’m just singling you out for “special treatment”. Like I said: seen that before. You and Twilight both,” he good-naturedly snorted. “Once you get your head into researching something . . .” he mock-sadly shook his head, eyes twinkling as Trixie flushed again, but, this time, with a little grin, to which Spike responded with one of his own.

That grin faded, however, replaced by somberness, as a small paw reached up and gently clasped the pouch at his neck. “I’ve been meaning to say something to you, Trixie,” he began, his voice soft yet determined. “Well, two things, actually. And I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long to say them. Part of it’s because it’s been a bit, well . . . busy, lately. And the other is . . .” Spike trailed off, complex and intense emotions flicked across his face as he paused.

As he looked directly into her eyes, Trixie felt a wash of astonishment at Spike’s expression, for it belonged to a much older dragon than the little one before her. “The other is,” he repeated, his voice thick and rasping, “that just saying ‘Thank you’,” he gripped the pouch holding the blue star diamond even tighter, “just seems, well, lame. But I . . . I don’t know what else to say. Part of me wants to say ‘Thank you Trixie. You don’t know how much this —and the fireworks for me— means to me’. The thing is, though,” and his eyes gleamed even brighter, “you had, and have, to know that. Otherwise, you couldn’t have chosen to do them.”

Trixie felt her face grow warm. She started ducking her head again, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on his, not wishing to appear dismissive or unappreciative.

“The other is,” he continued, “that I’m sorry. For everything. And, again, that seems so lame just saying that. But it’s still true. I can’t change the past, but I hope you can forgive me. And I hope to prove worthy of being your friend.”

Trixie’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. Her throat felt thick as a lump formed. Then she giggled as Spike, still in that solemn voice, “And if you clean your plate, you can have dessert.”

The doorknob softly gleamed light blue for a moment, as the knob turned and the door opened. “How may I hel——,” Twilight Velvet gasped. “Twilight! This was unexpected! How have you been?” Stepping outside, Mrs. Sparkle fiercely hugged her daughter. “What a wonderful surprise!” she gushed. “Come on in, come on in!” she broadly smiled, suiting actions to words, leading the way back inside. “I’m afraid your father isn’t home at the moment, but he should . . . be . . . Twilight? What’s wrong?” Mrs. Sparkle closed the door behind them as they paced into the foyer, abruptly concerned upon spying the tell-tale signs —she was Twilight’s mother, after all— on her daughter’s face.

Her look of concern flashed into instant dread and alarm as Twilight stood there, legs starting to tremble as her composure crumpled. “Oh Mom!” she cried out, flinging herself into her mother’s embrace as she burst into wordless sobs.

Quite a few hoofkerchiefs later, along with a large mug of chamomile —which definitely indicated the depths of her daughter’s distress, as Twilight normally loathed chamomile tea— Twilight finally was down to just sniffling now and then, sitting curled up on the couch and leaning into her embrace. Mrs. Sparkle just held her daughter, not saying a word, just holding her close and tight, stroking her mane and gently rocking her.

Although she was hiding it well, Twilight’s mother was seriously worried. She’d never seen her daughter this deeply grieving. Had something happened to Spike? To one of her friends? She hadn’t a clue, but, as concerned as she was, she was willing to sit there in silence for as long as it took for her daughter to regain her composure and begin getting whatever-it-was off of her chest.

Tremulously smiling up at her mother, Twilight’s lower lip quivered as she asked, “Mom? Could . . . could I have something other than . . . this? Please?”, “This” being the tea she was drinking, wrinkling her nose as she, for emphasis, outlined her mug in a pink aura.

“Oh course, sweetheart,” Mrs. Sparkle smiled. “Do you have a particular preference?”

“Coffee? If that isn’t too much trouble?”

“Not at all. I just need to brew a pot. Will you be alright if I leave you here for a few minutes?” she asked as she rose up, pacing into the kitchen once Twilight had silently nodded.

Pouring the steamy, fragrant brew into the mugs on the coffee table in front of the couch, Mrs. Sparkle then set the pot down before reseating herself. The next few minutes were spent in companionable silence as each mare fixed their coffee to suit their individual preferences. Leaning back into the couch once finished, their mugs floated just in front of them as they sipped. Another few minutes passed, and then, with a deep, composing sigh . . .

“I . . . I have this . . . this friend,” Twilight began.

Mrs. Sparkle perked up, marefully keeping her ears from swiveling forwards. As any confidant could tell you, “I have ‘a friend’” almost always meant “I”. For instance, I have a friend at school, who has this crush on somepony usually meant I have a crush on somepony at school. And so, her first, near-instantaneous reaction, was thinking the same thing. But, a heartbeat later, Mrs. Sparkle instinctively sensed that, no, this time, her daughter wasn’t speaking about some hypothetical acquaintance; she was talking about a real pony.

“I met her a couple of years ago. It . . . it didn’t go well. It’s not that anything bad happened between us. Just the circumstances at the time didn’t go well for her.”

Mrs. Sparkle’s brows rose for just an instant at that particular personal pronoun.

“Life . . . well, life hasn’t been really fair to her.” Mrs. Sparkle was surprised at the flash of true anger that flared in her daughter’s expression at that. “Most everypony took a dislike to her, and I’ve never understood why. But she’s somepony I’ve always found intriguing. Somepony I’ve always wanted to get to know better. She’s strong and courageous and brave. Smart and clever and witty. She’s somepony I can just be relaxed with. You know?” Twilight took another sip of coffee, her gaze unfocused as she stared into the depths of the dark brew, so she didn’t see the look of dawning wonderment on her mother’s face.

Twilight Velvet loved her daughter. For a while there, when she was away at school, her daughter’s devotion may have transferred from parents to Princess Celestia, but Night Light and Twilight Velvet’s heart had never dimmed towards their daughter. So she was amazed at her daughter’s behavior: Twilight had never sounded this . . . intense, about anypony else. Now, academia? Oh stars above, yes! But anything intimate, like a friend?

Her expression, Mrs. Sparkle realized, was tender; wistfully so, her heart worn on her sleeve for the world to see. She concealed a soft smile behind her mug as she sipped. If only Cadance could see this! she mentally grinned. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza would be squeeing in delight, clapping forehooves together in glee. Oh, how Twilight’s dear friend, and former foalsitter, had always despaired of her charge ever finding love!

For, although her daughter hadn’t come right out and said so, Mrs. Sparkle had the feeling that Twilight’s friendship was a bit more affectionate than were any of her other relationships. Perhaps not quite true love, true enough. But, after a famine, any meal would seem a feast!

However, any desire to smile, mentally or otherwise, faded as Twilight continued.

“She . . . she’s made a few poor choices in her life. Understandable ones, I think, given what I know about things. But poor choices nonetheless.” Mrs. Sparkle’s heart started dropping as her daughter’s face began to crumple, as her voice started quavering. “One of those times, she . . . she used something. Something bad. And . . . and . . .” Tears filled her eyes, then beaded up . . . then started spilling down her cheeks. Her throat tightened so badly that her voice rasped, difficult to understand, then closed up to the point that she couldn’t even speak. Her shoulders started jerking as she struggled to suppress sobs.

And, when her mother just scooped her against her chest, cradling her between her forelegs, Twilight started sobbing again, burying her face against the comfort of her mother.

“So, even though she willingly removed it, and even later, shunned and regretted using it, the magic is still within her?”

It was a good two hours later, and the two of them were now sitting at the dining room table, a small plate containing the crumbs of what remained of several, small, hoof sandwiches between them. A fresh pot of coffee had been brewed, and several hoofkerchiefs had been necessary for “damage repair”. Her daughter’s emotions were still raw and tumultuous, but, for now, the erosion of racking sobs had smoothed the worst edges.

“It’s even worse than that, Mom,” Twilight clarified. “If I understand it right” —which, as far as Mrs. Sparkle was concerned, meant it was absolute fact— “it’s not a matter of the wearer utilizing the magic of an object, like how almost all artifacts operate. Instead, it’s almost like a pact: putting the Alicorn Amulet on is, in and of itself, perfectly harmless and safe. But the moment the wearer uses it, it’s as if they’ve signed a binding contract, as if they’ve consented to have the Amulet’s magic possess them.”

Mrs. Sparkle shuddered. “Possess?” she repeated; not questioning, simply seeking assurance that she’d heard, and understood, correctly.

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” Twilight numbly admitted. “It’s not strong enough to do so right out of the gate. Which is why, I believe, that it’s always been described as “corrupting”: because it’s taken time to, well, metamorphose, its wearer.” Taking a swallow of coffee, she continued. “But it’s not so much corrupting, as much as it is replacing. It seems to, little bits at a time, thread tendrils of itself into its wearer, each and every time it is used, dissolving and destroying as it goes. Until, if it is used often enough, and long enough, that its power becomes a permanent part of its user . . . whether or not the user is still wearing it or not anymore.”

“Permanent?” Mrs. Sparkle again repeated. “Can’t it be dispelled? Expelled? Reversed?”

Sadly shaking her head, “I don’t think so Mom. That corrupting part? It’s as if the Amulet etches into the innate magics of its wearer, and then moves itself into there. And once it does, it’s become a natural part of their being. As natural as breathing. Yeah . . . yeah, it probably could be excised . . . but what it corrupted and replaced is just . . . gone. Imagine if half your body was destroyed, one cell at a time, and instantly replaced by . . . that. What would happen when those cursed cells were removed? The old ones are just, well, gone. There’s nothing left to replace them with.”

Wiping her nose with the back of a hoof, Twilight sniffled. “And if that’s not bad enough, once a user reaches a certain threshold, it’s too late. Even casting the Amulet aside won’t change anything. Once it’s taken a deep enough hold, it just keeps spreading and growing, consuming more and more.”

Tears started flowing thick and fast again. “Trixie’s not going to just die, Mom,” she softly sobbed. “It’s going to consume and destroy her soul, too.”

She missed her wagon.

That might sound astonishing. The guest suite Twilight had assigned her maintained a consistent, and comfortable, temperature. There were no drafts, no wind whistling in past small cracks; no creaks as boards shifted as the temperatures changed. Her bathroom was, well, a bathroom, and one with all the amenities anypony could desire —well, most anypony, anyway; there would always be those decadent and hedonistic enough that nothing would truly satisfy them. And considering it was already, ah . . . brisk outside, and would soon be frigid as the seasons progressed, not having to make mad dashes in the middle of the night outside and over to the shrubbery when nature called was an undeniable plus. Even so . . .

It was her wagon. However . . .

Beneath the thick, downy comforter, Trixie softly sighed. Perhaps it is time that Trixie gave up her wagon. Trixie had always intended using her wagon —she mentally winced and stifled a sniffle, as she recalled the tragic, heartrending loss of her original wagon— for her performances, and she teared up, recalling how her current one had come into her possession. Trixie had never even learned his name, she wretchedly remembered, wallowing so deeply in misery at the time, that something as kind and courteous as asking that old prospector his name had never even occurred to her. Did Trixie even thank him? She couldn’t remember. There were so many things she couldn’t remember. Her life, at times, felt like a moth-eaten old book, with spots after spots of consumed holes.

But, if Trixie no longer performs . . . does she really need a traveling wagon?

Like her detested, despised cutie mark, her wagon —her sanctuary, her home— was a constant reminder of her bitter loss, albeit to a much lesser degree. Trixie hadn’t, after all, ever performed her acts while in possession of this wagon. In many ways, her wagon was a physical embodiment of her hopes and dreams: much promise, but shabby and run-down, and with no fulfillment.

“I wanted to have you fully in my power, and helplessly under my control again.”

Already struggling to fall asleep, remembering Twilight’s words —and, not just her words, but also the fiery, hungry eyes that had transfixed Trixie— had Trixie feeling just as lightheaded, just as dizzy, as it had yesterday afternoon. She restlessly kicked the heavy comforter off; as warm as she was now feeling, she certainly didn’t need a comforter!

Sleep was a long time coming for her that night.

Stretched out on his back, Night Light slid a foreleg behind his wife, who lay tucked up against his side, her head resting on his chest. “Is she going to be alright?” he softly murmured, gently lipping her mane as he cuddled her.

“Honestly?” she just-as-softly murmured back. “I don’t know.” Softly sighing, she burrowed closer, relaxing in her husband’s warmth and scent. “I think she’s finally fallen for somepony —maybe even her special somepony— only to learn, within a week or two of that, that her friend is living on borrowed time. And there isn’t a single thing anypony can do about it.”

“Not even Princess Celestia?” His brows beetled, feeling Twilight Velvet grow still and tensed. As curious —and concerned, too— as he was, he patiently waited while his love sorted out her thoughts. Besides . . . he softly smiled, lipping her mane again . . . it’s not as if he minded snuggling her as he waited!

Nibbling her lower lip, thoughtfully worrying it as part of this afternoon’s conversation replayed in her mind, Twilight Velvet considered the best way of answering her husband. Hiding anything from him never even entered her mind. “Twilight’s upset, for some reason, with Princess Celestia,” she finally said. “I think they might even have had a falling out.”

That . . . might very well be an understatement, she thought, clearly recalling the fury in her daughter’s eyes when she’d asked the very same question of her. Anger had smoked off her daughter as she’d answered what had seemed like a logical, and innocent, question, each word venomously spit as if Twilight had been biting nails off an iron bar. Celestia has ordered me —as in issuing a Royal Command— to not, and I quote, ‘pry, pester, or meddle with her. That is not a request, Twilight Sparkle; that is a Royal Command’, unquote. ‘Her’, being Trixie. My friend. Mind you, if I thought Celestia could actually do something to help her . . . Her daughter had actually growled at that point!

Night Light’s eyes widened at that. Never, in his entire life, would he have ever imagined his daughter quarrelling with Princess Celestia! But, while he might not be able to imagine that, he also wasn’t about to question what his wife had perceived. Feeling helpless —a feeling that devastated any true, loving parent— he quietly asked, “Is there anything we can do?”

Shifting her head, Twilight Velvet tenderly nuzzled the side of her husband’s neck. Deeply sighing, she wriggled closer, feeling him tighten his embrace as she did. “Just be there for her,” she murmured. “Just . . . be there for her.”

Twilight gazed out the open window, chin resting on forelegs crossed atop the open sill. At the moment, she had no more tears to spill. She badly wanted to be home, back in Ponyville. (As much as she —once more— loved her parents, she’d been away from their home far more years than she’d lived there; she always felt more of a guest whenever she visited, so their home never really felt like home to Twilight) But if she went home as she was, with her emotions raw and bleeding, everypony would know something was terribly wrong.

That would include Trixie.

Rubbing swollen eyes with the back of her hoof, Twilight mentally acknowledged being awful at dissembling, let alone outright lying. Granted, that didn’t always dissuade her from the attempt. But, on those rare times she’d tried —and miserably failed— at fibbing, her friends generally just twitted her about it later on.

That wouldn’t work with Trixie, she knew. Trixie was too fragile, too brittle. There was no way she’d miss seeing that something was badly bothering Twilight. So either she wouldn’t ask, resulting in her sinking deeper into despair and self-loathing, absolutely positive that, somehow, she’d just failed again, or she would ask, resulting in the same conclusion, with Twilight’s attempts at prevarication serving as proof.

Su—— Moon and Stars! she vowed. I am not giving up! No, there might not be an answer; she made herself face that painful, unpalatable truth. But I am not giving up! Not until—— she choked back a sob, unable to deny, or forget, how that train of thought had concluded: Not until she dies.

I hurt so bad!she cried out, deep inside. And the pony she had always counted on for support, had betrayed her. Betrayed her trust; crushed her hopes.

The thick, overhead, cloud cover parted a moment, and Twilight blinked as an argent shaft glinted down from above. Breath catching in her throat, Twilight closed her eyes, braced her legs, took a deep breath . . .

Sister! I . . . hurt. Please . . . help me?

“Eeep!”

Trixie jumped as a talon poked her flank. “Wha——?”

Catching sight of Spike’s eyes —well, his whole expression— Trixie found herself swallowing, especially when the little dragon —who, at the moment, was looking quite imposingly stern— flicked his snout at the plate and cup sitting atop one of the two desks. It didn’t help any when her stomach suddenly, and quite audibly, rumbled.

“I probably shouldn’t have —no, scratch that,” he amended, “I definitely shouldn’t have let you skip lunch . . . which, I’d like to point out, had been sitting there,” a talon helpfully pointed out where dinner now sat, “for the last few hours. Don’t make me drag out the big guns to make you eat,” he warned.

Giving her a couple of seconds to be puzzled, Spike then dropped to his knees, clasped forepaws together against his chest and under his chin, then just . . . stared up at Trixie, his eyes suddenly huge, actually glistening with unshed tears as his lower lip quivered. “Won’t you please eat?” His voice sounded weak, quivering with forlorn pleading.

Trixie fell out of her chair.

She laughed. Laughed as she hadn’t done in . . . she really and truly couldn’t ever remember laughing like this! She laughed until tears streamed down her face, until she wheezed, clutching her ribs. “S-s-stop!” she sputtered. “T-t-trixie . . . T-trixie s-s-surrenders!”

An enormous grin spread across Spike’s face. Rising up onto one knee, he fist-pumped. “Score!”

That only set Trixie back off again, as she wound up on her back, legs gleefully kicking.

“OK, OK. Spike the Merciful shall relent.”

“Hooooo!” Trixie finally gusted, feebly getting to her hooves . . . then freezing as Spike tapped a toe talon. “A-hem!”

Weakly smiling, Trixie turned away from her study desk —where she had been headed— and sat down where her dinner was waiting.

“Just peckish, huh.”

Cheeks softly blushing, Trixie shyly ducked her head a little. There may have been a crumb on her plate; there certainly weren’t two. Once she’d started, after that first bite, it was like stoking a furnace.

“I’m sorry, Spike.”

“Sorry?” As he started cleaning up, Spike gave her a puzzled look. “Sorry for what?

“Trixie was very hungry, after all,” she admitted.

“What’s to apologize about that?”

“Trixie sort of just shoveled it in,” she quietly admitted. “She didn’t take the time to appreciate your hard work, or how delicious it was.”

Tipping his head to the side, Spike gravely regarded her. That seemed to be an odd thing to apologize for, he thought, but, then again, it felt good to have somepony feel that strongly about his cooking . . . or the work involved in that. Meals just didn’t make themselves, after all! And, while it was true that Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle had its own kitchen, and kitchen staff . . . Spike still enjoyed cooking for Twilight.

And now, for Trixie, as well.

“We-ell,” he drawled, at first alarming, then amusing her. “I suppose somepony’s been good enough to earn dessert!”

“Trixie is going to get a pot belly if she keeps eating like this,” she groused . . . even as she spooned out another bite of the hot fudge sundae.

Chuckling, Spike started neatening Trixie’s work area as she worked her way through the rich dessert. “Well, if you do,” he grinned, “I understand we do have a nice gym here . . . somewhere,” he grumbled. They were still discovering odd, little —and not always so “little”, either— rooms here and there. Spike sometimes wondered if the Castle simply sprouted them as needed! “Whatcha working on?” he asked as he worked, simply curious. Whatever it was, Trixie had started at the crack of dawn, trotting off as soon as she’d finished breakfast, and had been working all day without a break . . . or lunch.

“Trixie is researching pegasi,” she mumbled around a mouthful of vanilla bean ice cream.

“Anything in particular? This is a pretty big Library. I’ll admit Twilight knows where everything is shelved, but I’m no slouch at that. It’s easy to overlook publications, especially with the odd way Twilight has of cataloguing things.”

“Trixie isn’t sure there exists a book that covers her exact question,” she confided. “But, if you could help, Trixie would be indebted.”

“So what is the “exact question?”

“How do pegasi fly?”

Spike stilled, feeling a spurt of dread. “Ah . . . I’m guessing the obvious answer of “with wings” isn’t it?”

Setting her spoon down, Trixie shifted in her chair before gazing at Spike. He sensed the wheels inside her head spinning and whirring, an expression he was very used to seeing with Twilight. Finally, she gave a tiny, almost unseen, nod.

“Trixie has absolutely no doubt that wiser and smarter, more talented and skilled, minds than hers has already exhausted every possibility,” she quietly remarked. “So she doesn’t expect to —if you’ll pardon the expression— “pull a rabbit out of her hat”.” For a moment a look of utter longing, and tragedy, flickered across her face. “But Trixie also could not live with herself if she didn’t, at least, try.”

“Try . . . what?” he softly asked, not that he really needed to do so, he realized.

“Try and figure out why Scootaloo cannot fly . . . and what, if anything, can be done about that.”

Even with Princess Luna’s help, Twilight had had a very restless and unrefreshing night. Had Luna not silently ghosted inside her room, had she not spent an hour with her sister-in-all-but-birth, Twilight doubted she would have slept at all. Her presence there had somewhat eased Twilight’s grief, but it was what she had said at the end, before she —with regrets, but duty still called— returned to Canterlot Castle, that had truly helped her.

Gazing very deeply into Twilight’s eyes, Luna had just stood there for about a minute, as Twilight felt the oddest sense of . . . weight. And then . . .

“Twilight Sparkle: my sister never gave up hope, not for one thousand years. You have but, as yet, born your sorrow for a day. Have faith, dear sib. For with faith there is hope. And as Celestia had you . . . so does Trixie Lulamoon.”

She relented enough the next morning to have breakfast with her parents, but that was all the time she was willing to yield. Minutes after hugging them goodbye, Twilight was back, once again, at the Canterlot Library.

Morning to noon, noon to afternoon, afternoon to evening; without a pause or break Twilight diligently tore through volume after tome, encyclopedia after monograph. It was only when she’d thumped her head on the floor because she’d fallen asleep and slid out of her chair that she’d, with extreme reluctance, called it a day.

She wisely chose trot back to her parents’ home, instead of flying there. Her old quarters in the Royal Wing were, of course, much closer.

And so was Princess Celestia; much closer, that is, had she chosen to crash there.

Quietly creeping inside, Twilight tried tiphoofing to her room, but was so sleepy her vision was blurred and her balance wobbly. Somehow making it to her old room, she closed the door before just flopping onto the bed.

Before she actually sprawled, she peripherally noticed something. Lighting up her horn, Twilight’s heart gave a thump.

Sitting on her night stand, protected by a preservation spell . . . was a plate of chocolate-chip and pine nut cookies, and a glass of milk.

Feeling as if every eye was upon her, Trixie slow-trotted south, skirting the edge of Ponyville, a small wicker basket hovering over her croup. The basket was just big enough to hold her cloak and hat, the bundled fabric noticeable but not obviously so.

Which was rather important.

Last evening had been . . . interesting. No sooner had Trixie explained what she was researching, and why, Spike had looked as if he’d just swallowed a toad . . . and it was swimming back upstream. But, that expression had been fleeting. He’d looked very intently at her, but in the end had only quietly asked her if she’d said anything to Scootaloo.

There was no way Trixie would say anything to Scootaloo. How cruel that would be to get her hopes up once again, only to have that come crashing down around her ears. Trixie certainly knew how that felt!

Besides, she’d explained, who was she to compare herself to the likes of Princess Twilight? If she couldn’t find an answer, what chance did Trixie have? So when Spike asked her, in complete seriousness and clear curiosity, why she was willing to spends hours, or days, wearing herself threadbare for a hopeless cause, Trixie had, once again, simply said, Trixie has to, Spike. Here she exists, and she can do no other.

Although Spike had, once again, offered Trixie the hospitality of Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, her earlier thoughts about her wagon had stoked a sense of nostalgia inside her. Trixie had never been this long away from her wagon, and while she didn’t think it had spontaneously combusted . . .

Luna’s moon had been high overhead, and the air chill enough that her breath frosted out in twin plumes, by the time she had arrived at her clearing. And, as she had, yes, Trixie had felt a small lump in her throat as the sensation of “home” had throbbed inside.

It had been as brisk inside as out, so the first thing Trixie had done was fire up, then stoke, her small ceramic stove. While that had been busily —and slowly!— radiating warmth, Trixie had lit a few of the interior lanterns before slowly looking around. She’d never “repaired” the interior after dispelling everything during that brunch——was it just ten days ago? Slowly, so slowly, she’d paced back and forth, lightly touching a torn curtain there, peeling paint here. Beneath her hooves the wagon had creaked with the shifting of her weight.

The hour had been late, and it had been too chilly, for her to have wasted any time doing anything other than quickly climbing into bed and pulling the covers over her. Shabby it might be, yes, but it was her home. Her breath might have still been pluming, and as the wagon had slowly warmed the boards might have been groaning, but she’d just contentedly wriggled, feeling a gentle peace embrace her.

Trixie had had a lot to think about, and so quite a few thoughts had drifted in and out of her drowsy mind as she’d started drifting away.

A lot to think about.

A lot to——

Trixie’s eyes had flown wide open as several particular thoughts had suddenly condensed into a whole. Suddenly she had felt as if her little ceramic stove was a roaring kiln, because she’d gotten very warm and flushed.

Sleep was a bit more difficult to achieve after that.

And so, here she was, wending her way through the early morning dew, balancing a fine act between staying far enough to the outskirts as to run into as few ponies as possible, without being obvious about that. Sometimes trying to be surreptitious and discreet wound up doing the exact opposite!

It didn’t help, not one little bit, that her destination lay about as far south as it was possible to travel and still remain in Ponyville!

All too soon —or far too fast— Trixie found herself at the front door of Carousel Boutique. Her insides were jittery, jumping as if she’d eaten a toad similar to the one that Spike had consumed last evening. It wasn’t simply because of what she would be inquiring about . . .

. . . as much as it was whom Carousel Boutique’s proprietor was.

Rarity.

To say that Trixie and Rarity had a “history” would be a humongous understatement. It had started several years ago, during Trixie’s first visit to Ponyville. As part of her show, Trixie had proclaimed herself as “the most magical unicorn in all of Equestria”. Needless to say, Twilight’s friends —who truly knew the most magical— had openly scoffed and sneered, whereupon Trixie had issued the challenge of seeing who was better. Rarity, along with Rainbow Dash and Applejack, had taken up Trixie’s challenge, and, well . . .

Trixie cringed, wincing in recollection. Yes, it was true that she had bested those three —at their own game, and at their best strengths, too. But she’d done so by humiliating them in the process . . .

. . . exactly as M-mother would have done.

Standing outside the diamond-windowed double doors of Carousel Boutique, forehoof rose as if to knock, Trixie froze. What was Trixie thinking? Rarity will slam the door in Trixie’s face as soon as she sees who it is! Or she will scream and yell, and everypony will just stare at and sneer at Trixie. Or she will laugh at Trixie’s request. Or . . . Or . . . Or . . .

“You are planning on knocking at some point today, aren’t you, darling?”

Trixie’s eyes were enormous saucers, as, standing behind the now-opened upper door, an amused-looking unicorn gazed out at her.

Rarity.

“Now, that wasn’t hard at all, was it?” Rarity smiled as she ushered a trembling Trixie inside. “I’m not going to bite, you know,” she softly said, more seriously, finally realizing just how distressed Trixie was. Trixie started to say something, but, before she could, Rarity held up an expertly-hooficured hoof.

“Before we go any further, darling, there’s something I need to say.” Rarity was shocked, seeing Trixie cringe, almost folding in on herself. Gracious goodness! she thought. I don’t ever remember seeing her like this! Howsoever did I miss seeing this?

“Actually, before I say what I need to say . . . has Twilight ever told you what she said to us, after your first visit?” When Trixie, hesitantly and guardedly, nodded, Rarity much more firmly and decisively, then nodded as well. “Good! Because, you know . . .” Reaching out, Rarity gently rested a forehoof on Trixie’s shoulder as she gazed openly and warmly into her eyes, “She was absolutely right.”

As Trixie’s eyes rounded, Rarity continued, “Now, as for what I need to say,” and there was no pause, no hesitation, “it is the same thing I told Twilight several nights ago: while I can’t change the past, it’s also not water under the bridge. I can’t, and won’t, pretend it never happened and just sweep it under the rug. And by “it”,” she hastily clarified, seeing Trixie start tensing all over again, “I mean how I treated you. Which was badly. Very badly, in fact. Applejack and Rainbow Dash feel the same way. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t hear from them soon.”

Gently ushering Trixie over towards the coffee table, Rarity glanced at the wicker basket still hovering over Trixie’s croup. “Window dressing, I presume?”

Blinking in confusion at the apparent non sequitur, suddenly Trixie blushed. “Was Trixie that obvious?” she softly asked.

Elegantly waving a forehoof, Rarity airily dismissed that notion. “Only to me, darling. But, after all, fashion is my life,” she warmly smiled. “Those,” she motioned to the bundled cloak and hat, “are clearly clean, and well-maintained. And, most likely, made by you. Yes?”

When Trixie simply nodded, Rarity smiled and continued. “So. Since there’s no real reason to bring those to me, then they must have served a different purpose. Thus the “window dressing”. Or would “Smoke and Mirrors” be more apropos?”

Shyly smiling, Trixie slowly started relaxing, watching and listening as Rarity quietly fussed about, making tea and serving it while just making small talk. There was no comparison between here, and any shop M-mother would have frequented.

Carousel Boutique was ever so much better.

“So,” Rarity set her teacup down on its saucer. “Down to business I suppose. How may I be of help?”

She felt her brows lift as Trixie’s face abruptly flamed, as her tongue nervously swiped her lips, as ears flicked back and forth, unable to settle.

“Tr-Trixie does not have the bits to purchase anything right this minute,” she nervously got out. “A-and she . . . she doesn’t even know if you can make anything like t-this . . . or would want to,” she got out, as she nervously washed forehooves together up next to her chest. “S-so t-this is more of an inquiry?”

Her curiosity rising by the second, Rarity’s mind started already imagining what had so obviously piqued Trixie’s desire. “Very well, darling. But,” she smiled, to assure Trixie that she was teasing and not chiding, “it would be helpful if I knew what it was you were interested in.”

She was so very obviously bracing herself. What in the world? Rarity wondered. Then her eyes rounded, as Trixie leaned forward . . . and whispered in Rarity’s ear. And then, once having done so, Trixie slumped back in her chair, looking for all the world as if she fully expected to be mocked and humiliated.

Oh! Oh my! Rarity’s eyes sparkled and gleamed, so taken by the concept that she totally overlooked certain aspects of the request. But, then suddenly some things clicked, with an almost audible sound, Scrutinizing Trixie, almost appraising, she watched as her blush slowly spread from cheeks, to ears and throat as well.

Rising, Rarity held down a forehoof, making a “come along” gesture. “Come with me, darling, to my studio. I’ve a few more questions that need answering, and, ah . . . some “refinements” you might wish to consider.”

“B-b-but Trixie doesn’t have the bits for anything!”

“It’s an interesting enough, and intriguing enough, project, that I’m willing to do it at cost. Not free, mind you,” she cautioned. For almost anypony else, she would have freely offered it, but Rarity knew about —and completely empathized with— Trixie’s resistance to outright charity. “And if you do agree to the sum, I’m quite willing to extend you credit for the cost. Which,” she teasingly chided, nudging the balking unicorn towards the studio, “I can’t begin to calculate until I properly measure and model you, darling”

New Horizons

New Horizons

It was almost noon before Trixie managed to escape Rarity’s “clutches”. Try as she might —and Trixie had valiantly struggled— the fashionista simply wouldn’t take “No” for an answer.

Considering the bounce in her step as she headed home, it couldn’t have been that bad . . . and, truly, it really hadn’t been. Granted, the moment the studio door had closed behind them, Rarity had started winding up like a dynamo, and it hadn’t taken very long at all before she’d hit her stride. Within a few minutes, measuring tapes had been encircling Trixie, while a clipboard and pencil had floated just off to one side of Rarity —whom had yet another measuring tape draped over her shoulders, and half-moon glasses perched on her nose. A light blue aura had outlined all of them as Rarity had briskly, and efficiently, taken multiple measurements; had nudged Trixie into a variety of poses; had held swatches of fabrics up to the stunned cerulean unicorn, appraising colors, textures and materials— as well as a variety of . . . well, you get the point.

Nor had it been simply appraising and analyzing from the perspective of an experienced couturier. If only it had been that easy!

Mane and tail styles. Jewelry. Accessories. Cosmetics.

At times, all of that had come very close to triggering . . . bad things. Trixie’s eyes had tightened, her belly had knotted, bile had surged. It had been as if the years had rolled away, and she was once more a young, helpless and impotent, filly, forced to stand there as a legion of servants groomed and garbed her within an inch of her life . . . with nary a thought nor concern as to the feelings or preferences of the little one placed in their charge.

But, this time . . . this time, it had been Trixie who had sought out the help of an expert clothier. And, although Rarity might be —strike that: she most definitely was— “brisk and efficient”, she was also chatty (never gossipy, perish the thought!) and affable, easily mixing the necessity of duty with the opportunity to share companionship.

Somehow, “test swatches” had turned into “sample patterns”, which, inexplicably, had turned into a “prototype”. Chalk had swiped lines, pins had tucked, pleated, and hemmed, scissors had snipped and sheared, needles had flashed like darting minnows trailing thread as if colorful streamers. Every time Trixie had tried demurring, Rarity had parried with a quip, joke, or anecdote in riposte.

Darling, be a dear, please, and lend me a hoof? I’ve been simply dying to try this pattern.

My my! I had no idea how well that would contrast. I simply must experiment a bit. You don’t mind, do you?

These have been laying around forever. I’ve never found the right opportunity to properly use them where they would shine. I just want to see how they look . . . goodness gracious, darling! Simply marvelous!

Towards the end, Trixie had felt as if her eyes had crossed; she would have sworn any oath chosen that, somehow, Rarity had multiplied.

Have some tea, darling. I’m just about finished. You’ve been such a help!

“Just about finished” had meant about fifteen minutes of final tucks and hems, along with mane and tail brushings. By then Trixie had been very happy to have a cup of restorative tea. She had only visited there to inquire about possibilities and pricing, but . . .

As she trotted along, hooves almost skipping, Trixie was torn between euphoria, anxiety, shyness, and breathlessness. Rarity had loaned her dual saddlebags for carrying the multiple packages that —somehow!— Trixie had wound up possessing. Trixie had “B-bbut, b-bbut-b-bbut”-ed, but Rarity had merely “Tut-tut-tut”-ed as she had bundled, then wrapped, and then finally stowed the packages in both of the saddlebag pouches.

It hadn’t been until Rarity had levitated the saddlebags in place, just in front of Trixie’s croup, that the overwhelmed unicorn had finally shaken off her enthrallment. “Rarity!” she’d spluttered. “Trixie told you that she hadn’t the bits for something like this! She——”

Trixie had slithered to a stop, her budding sense of aggrievement and indignity neatly nipped as Rarity had genteelly held up a placating hoof. “Is that rather what you’d been picturing?” she’d asked.

“Well . . . yes,” she’d replied, feeling her cheeks heat a bit.

“Is that what you’d wanted?” Rarity had pressed.

“Well . . . yes,” she’d admitted, and then her face had grown even warmer, as she’d ducked her head a bit while circling the tip of a forehoof against the floor, as if digging a hole, confessing, “It . . . it’s even better than anything Trixie had pictured.”

“And do you really want to wait?” Rarity didn’t need an answer, for by then Trixie’s face was glowing quite nicely as she’d started fidgeting a bit.

Hers lips softly curving, Rarity had moved until she had been in front of Trixie, gazing at her face-to-face. “I could say I’d just gotten carried away,” she’d quietly said, “Which, as anypony who knows me well, would certainly find believable. And, in all honesty, there is a touch of truth to that. I could also say that I found this to be a very enjoyable challenge. And, again in all honesty, there is quite a bit of truth to that, as well,” she’d warmly smiled at that admission.

Then she’d grown serious. “I admire your determination to be independent and self-sufficient. In fact, I respect that a great deal. Therefore, if you truly insist on reimbursing me for cost, or, for that matter, insist on full payment, I won’t force the issue. But, before you decide,” she’d raised a forehoof a second time, forestalling any immediate reply from Trixie. “I’d like to say three things. If I may?”

That hadn’t been feigned courtesy, Trixie had realized. Rarity had truly been asking permission, and, had she refused, Trixie understood that Rarity, at that very instant, would have ceased and desisted. Not trusting her voice, Trixie had simply nodded.

“Thank you, darling,” Rarity had warmly smiled, and, Trixie had been stunned to understand, once again, that hadn’t been disingenuous. “Well, as I’d said, there are three things; the first being that fashion is my purpose and focus. My life. This morning, with you, was simply exhilarating, darling. It filled me with joie de vivre. Which leads to the second: I enjoy being a couturier to my friends, to the point of sometimes, ah . . .” she’d sheepishly trailed off for a moment, “Well, let’s just say that I’ve sometimes been accused of “going overboard” as ‘twere. And, finally,” she’d gazed quite steadily at Trixie, “I do, after all, represent the element of Generosity. So I would consider it a great honor if you would allow me to exercise that on your behalf today.”

Trixie was halfway between Carousel Boutique and home when she suddenly paused in mid-step. She’d been planning to go home —it was her home, after all; she’d only been an invited guest of Princess Twilight’s at the Castle of Friendship. But, what to do about the packages? Yes, she could store them in her wagon, true enough. However, as for their intended purpose . . .

“Drat,” she muttered, nibbling her lower lip as she considered all the ramifications. She simply didn’t feel comfortable assuming she was welcome to stay at the Castle of Friendship anytime she chose. That would just be very arrogant and presumptuous, even as she strongly suspected —lightly blushing as she did— that Twilight wouldn’t mind at all should Trixie decide to temporarily relocate to her castle.

The sudden image of just where Twilight might decide to “house” Trixie —or would that be “store”?—brought an even deeper flush to her face, as she felt shivery tingles radiating outwards from her belly.

Sheepishly grinning at the preposterousness of that little daydream —darn it!—Trixie had just decided on her wagon as her destination when she spotted Flitter and Sassaflash ambling along, and headed in Trixie’s direction. Flitter, a grayish-lilac pegasus mare, was sporting the usual pink bow in her mane; Sassaflash, her companion, was a pale turquoise pegasus mare. Both were members of the Ponyville Weather Team, and both considered above-average fliers.

Fliers . . . above-average fliers.

Pegasi.

“Excuse me? Flitter and Sassaflash? May Trixie have a word with you? She has a request to make.”

“Hey there Trixie!” Flitter chirped. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, feeling better?” Sassaflash chimed in. “I understand you kinda overdid it?”

Sidestepping that, Trixie artfully replied, “It had been a while since Trixie had last performed.”

“Well, everypony’s still talking about it,” Flitter observed, as Sassaflash nodded in agreement. “It was awesomely amazing! So . . . what did you want to ask?”

While not wishing to deceive, neither did she desire openly stating her reasons for asking. “There is a research project Trixie is working on,” she began. “It is comparing and contrasting the various pony tribe talents.”

The two pegasi glanced at each other, then back at Trixie. “What would you want from us?” Flitter asked.

“Simply to examine each of you, using specific spells to do so, to gather information to help establish where the three pony tribes are similar, and where they diverge. It should take no more than an hour, and quite likely less than that.”

“Ummm . . . spells?” Sassaflash asked.

“Spells, yes. And completely harmless; similar in nature to an in-depth medical examination. All you would need to do is just sit, and relax.”

“Harmless,” Flitter repeated.

“Harmless,” Trixie confirmed. “Trixie will Pinkie Promise if you wish.”

Both mares grinned at that. “If you promise, that’s good enough for me,” Flitter claimed.

“Me, too,” assured Sassaflash.

All three jumped at hearing an out-of-thin-air voice —and very familiar one, at that— pout, “Awwww.”

Trixie needed to make two stops on her way home, to replenish supplies she would need later that afternoon. Well, “replenish” wasn’t quite accurate; “rebuild”, however, fit the bill quite nicely. Her original thaumaturgy arcanum supplies had been destroyed along with her first wagon, and Trixie had never bothered replacing them. She most likely didn’t need them today, for what she’d intended. However, it certainly wouldn’t hurt having, and using, them, and it might, quite possibly, even help.

During her travels, Trixie had a minor inspiration. Since she was already going to be examining the pegasus aspect this afternoon, perhaps it would be a good idea to include, as well, representatives from the other two tribes. As taught at Princess Celestia’s school, no accumulation of knowledge, no collection of information, was ever pointless or wasted. And so, on her way home, she’d first asked Caramel Apple, an earth pony mare belonging to the ubiquitous Apple family, and then Diamond Mint, a unicorn mare, for their assistance with her research project.

For some reason, Caramel Apple had simply agreed, asking no questions, an action that had deeply touched Trixie. Diamond Mint, on the other hoof, had been a bit, well . . . not suspicious, exactly, more just a tad uncertain, but she had finally agreed once Trixie had sufficiently reassured her.

Arriving at her wagon around noon, Trixie carefully stored her non-purchases/gifts away, before sitting down to a quick lunch. Spike was right: regular meals were important for everypony, but even more so for Mages. Moreover, since Trixie was going to be expending a great deal of resources today . . .

She hadn’t done anything this involved since dropping out of the School for Gifted Unicorns. She started by first cleansing a generous area in her clearing, scouring a thirty-hooflength circular area down to bare soil, before leveling it perfectly flat while simultaneously compacting it. Once that was complete, Trixie then Purified the circle, using some of the just-purchased items as necessary components. After that, she then inscribed three Circles, using powdered chalks and gemstones to outline both the Circles themselves, along with several sigils that formed part of the circumference.

Those preparations, and their purpose, were entirely passive: Purification would remove any potential energies that might interfere with, or muddle, the readings Trixie was intending to detect from the two mares, while the Circles themselves were simply to help Trixie focus both her mind and her energies during the examination.

She was just finishing when Flitter and Sassaflash strolled into the clearing, their low conversation, as well as their motion, coming to an abrupt halt upon seeing Trixie’s handiwork. Although being rather familiar, albeit indirectly, with magic —they did live in Ponyville, after all— they’d never seen ritual, ceremonial spellcasting before. So, needless to say, and quite understandingly, they were a bit taken aback by the rather imposing, and utterly unfamiliar, Circles.

“Trixie thanks you for coming,” she greeted with a grateful smile. Seeing their suddenly-anxious expressions, she explained, “These,” she pointed at the Circles, “are simply to help Trixie focus, and to help block out external interference. They have no other purpose than that; Trixie promises.”

Lopsidedly smiling, Sassaflash muttered to Flitter, her voice intentionally loud enough to carry, “If we get turned into toads I am so calling a lawyer.”

Trixie quickly turned her head to the side, and, just as quickly, brushed a hoof over her eyes, wiping away the tears that suddenly welled. They were joking with her! she realized. Not laughing at her, not mocking her. They were simply good-naturedly teasing. Even more poignant, although they were clearly a bit apprehensive —and, once again, quite understandingly— they were trusting Trixie.

“Hey, Trixie. You OK?”

Turning back and facing them, both mares looking concerned, Trixie nodded. “This . . . this just means a lot to Trixie, your helping her,” she hedged; not that that wasn’t also the truth, because it was.

“Eh,” Flitter waved a forehoof in a brushing-off gesture. “Happy to help.”

“Me, too,” Sassaflash agreed. “So . . . how does this work? What do you want us to do?”

“If you will carefully step over the line there,” Trixie pointed at Sassaflash, then indicated one Circle, “and into the center, and if you,” she then pointed to Flitter before gesturing to a second Circle, “will do the same there . . .”

Trixie then stepped over and into the remaining one, faced the common center of the three, and then lowered herself down until lying atop folded legs. “Then just turn and face the center as Trixie has done, and then settle down and get comfortable.”

“Toads,” Sassaflash murmured sotto voce. “I’m tellin’ ya, Flitter; it’s gonna be toads.” Flitter just grinned back as she carefully lowered herself down.

Once properly positioned, lying down as Trixie was, it was time to begin. “Close your eyes,” she started. “Close your eyes, and just relax. Empty your minds of thoughts. Of worries. Of concerns. Focus on your breathing. Hear it. Sense it. Your world becomes just that slow, and steady, in-and-out. A slow inhale . . . hold a moment . . . another moment . . . a slow exhale, feeling tenseness, worry, concern leaving with that exhale.”

As Trixie spoke, her voice gradually took on a dreamy, mesmerizing tone. “Inhale . . . hold . . . exhale. Inhale . . . hold . . . exhale. Inhale . . . hold . . . exhale. Each time you exhale, you start feeling lighter. The outside slowly recedes, as you slowly grow lighter. All you hear now is the sound of your breathing, and the sound of my voice. That is all that matters; that is all you hear. One . . . you feel even lighter, as everything else recedes. Inhale . . . hold . . . exhale. Two . . . even lighter, as if starting to float. Inhale . . . hold . . . exhale. Three . . . even deeper now, into that floating drowsiness. Inhale . . . hold . . . exhale. Four . . . deeper yet. Inhale . . . hold . . . exhale. Five . . . completely deep.”

Watching the two mares for a moment, Trixie readied herself for the next step. Both Sassaflash and Flitter were entranced, and in a semi-suggestive state. Trixie could have taken them deeper, but, for now, she didn’t think that was necessary. Taking several calming breaths, she quickly grounded and centered, and then shielded. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to affect Trixie unless and until she permitted it.

Starting with Sassaflash, Trixie rested eyes on her somnolent form, quietly observing with normal sight; watching, as if at a distant remove, the slow, rhythmic rise-and-fall of her breathing. Closing her eyes for a moment, Trixie then cast an actual spell. True to her word, the spell affected, not Sassaflash, but Trixie herself. Opening her eyes again, Trixie could now sense, and see, inside the pegasus. Muscles; bones; heart and circulatory system . . . everything.

She wasn’t searching for anything in particular, because, frankly, she’d no idea what to look for. At the moment, she was simply building a database, garnering information on healthy, and functioning, pegasi, in order to have something to compare against if and when she ever examined Scootaloo.

“Sassaflash: imagine yourself flying,” she softly murmured to the mare. “Feel the air passing over your wings. See the air currents.” A lump formed in her throat as Sassaflash’s expression changed, a transcendental look of such wonder and awe, of joy and elation.

If it is within Trixie’s power and ability, she will do whatever it takes for Scootaloo to fly

Instructing the pegasus to relax, Trixie then shifted to Mage sight before repeating the same: outside, then inside, then inside-while-imagining-flying. Then she shifted to, first, Inner Sight, followed by Performance Sight.

At least that’s what she called them, having never been taught either at Princess Celestia’s school. “Performance Sight” is what Trixie called the unusual double-sight she experienced during certain performances, and what she’d experienced the very first time when she’d juggled with Madam Mythic. “Inner Sight” was similar, but much harder to explain. Trixie used that one, for instance, when (hopefully-properly) making her Magician’s Exit, and she also used that when casting her special illusions.

Once finished with Sassaflash, she then turned to Flitter, repeating the entire battery of exams and tests all over again. By the time she was finished, Trixie was feeling like a limp dishrag.

“Five,” she murmured, “and you feel yourself still so completely deep. Four . . . gently rising from that deepness, feeling a bit heavier. Three . . . even heavier yet, as that drowsiness recedes even more. Two . . . the drowsiness is gone; you feel and hear the steadiness of your breathing. Peace and relaxation fill you; gentle, glowy energy restores you. One . . . feel your weight. Feel the ground beneath you. Feel the throb of your pulse, feel the rejuvenation as you——

Loudly clopping forehooves together, Trixie firmly commanded, “Awake!”

With a jolt, Flitter and Sassaflash jerked awake. “Wow!” Flitter sighed in wonder. Sassaflash nodded in agreement.

Rising up to her hooves, Trixie carefully stretched. “Trixie thanks you for your help.”

Flitter snorted. “Trixie, we should probably thank you. Fog and clouds, but I feel like a million bits!”

Nodding in agreement, Sassaflash also stretched, a happy little groan of bliss as she did. “Did it work?” she asked Trixie.

Carefully stepping out of her Circle, Trixie nodded. “Yes, it did, and Trixie is very much in your debt.”

Twin, dismissive snorts surprised her. “The way I feel?” Sassaflash countered. “Would’a been worth being turned into a toad.”

Trixie was shocked to hear herself reply —absolutely deadpanned at that— “Well, it’s not too late, you know.”

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Trixie found herself bursting into laughter, Flitter doing the same thing, for Sassaflash’s expression was priceless!: jaw dropped, mouth opening and closing like a land-stranded fish.

Lightly punching Trixie in the shoulder, Sassaflash grinned. “Got me! Got me good, too!”

“Was there anything else we could help with?” Flitter asked.

“No, but Trixie thanks you for asking.”

“OK. We’ll be off then. Take care!” Each shoulder-bumping Trixie in farewell, they started leaping into the air to fly off, but, much to Trixie’s shock and amazement, they stopped before even getting started. Instead, they paced a short distance away before doing so, and suddenly Trixie understood, her jaw dropping much as Sassaflash’s had done.

They hadn’t wanted the gusts from their wing strokes to disturb Trixie’s Circles.

Trixie was a bit wobbly as she watched Caramel Apple and Diamond Mint departing. It was late afternoon, almost early evening, and although Trixie hadn’t invested much energy in actual spellcasting, she had, nonetheless, expended a great deal in purely mundane observations. She needed to record those observations, too, before they became all muddled in her mind.

She was terribly hungry, but had absolutely no appetite, no interest in food. She couldn’t help but smile, imagining Spike giving her “The Look” for having not eaten. With almost the last of her resources, Trixie cast a preservation spell over the three Circles. It wouldn’t help at all if a storm struck, or a strong breeze gusted, but it would keep little things like falling twigs and leaves, or scurrying creatures, from disturbing her hard work.

Trying to scrape up any enthusiasm from the bottom of her apathy barrel, Trixie had a moment to spot a shadow cross overhead before, with the lightest of back-winging, Princess Twilight landed at the edge of the clearing. Daintily folding her wings, she looked about, lively curiosity in her eyes as she spotted the Circles . . . and undoubtedly, Trixie mentally winced, sensing the residual spell eddies as well.

Her knees almost buckled when Twilight, as she paced over, softly yet warmly murmured, “I’ve missed you.”

It was a long glide from Canterlot to Ponyville, but Twilight Sparkle needed the time. It had only been two days since she’d discovered the terrible tragedy awaiting her friend, and her emotions were still raw and exposed. And, while she’d been away from her castle home before, Twilight was anxious, this time, to return; yet, at the same time, was anxious about returning home.

For home now meant Trixie, as well.

Diamond doggone it! Luna is right. Celestia never gave up hope, not for a thousand years. I’ve only learned about this two days ago. And, while I might know, for now, what the inevitable conclusion is, I’ve no idea how far away that is. Yes, it could be only weeks. But, it also could be months, even years! Get your act together, Princess. Suppose it is years? Do you want Trixie to learn about her fate, and suffer that knowledge for years?

Her glide grew jerky for a moment as her thoughts continued. Do you want to spoil what you already have with her? Potentially ruin how much further we could grow together?

No. No, she absolutely didn’t want either.

And, it’s not as if I haven’t felt in dire straits before, she considered. So . . . instead of trying to pretend nothing is wrong —like that’d work!— let’s just come up with something logical that’d explain things. Yeah. Yeah! That’s the ticket!

Well, she might have figured out the general solution, but she hadn’t quite decided on the specific answer by the time she’d landed in the middle of the aerial arrival courtyard. A wave of exhaustion swept over her for a moment, then, with a twitch of her coat and a gentle shiver of pinions, Twilight paced inside, nodding to the two Guardponies standing watch.

“I’m sorry, Twilight,” Spike apologized. “But I haven’t seen her since last evening. She’d had dinner, and then excused herself, saying she just wanted to check up on her wagon. I haven’t seen her since.” He had to start jog-trotting then, for Twilight had just done a rapid half-turn and was now heading back out the way she came in. “Twilight. Twilight. TWILIGHT!”

Slowing up —somewhat— she turned her head around to look at Spike. “What?”

Spike just came to an abrupt halt, arms crossed over his chest, looking both frustrated and offended. “I’m not running after you, like Winona after Applejack. I’m not your dog, you know.”

Locking her legs up so fast that hooves skidded a full three hooflengths, Twilight’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry, Spike,” she whispered, voice thick and clogged, her abrupt change in demeanor alarming the little dragon.

Scurrying forward, he quickly hugged Twilight. “Hey, it’s OK. I’m not upset or hurt or anything.”

Lowering her head, she gently rubbed her cheek against his. “Yes, you were,” she corrected. “And understandingly, and deservedly, so. You’re not just my Number One Assistant, Spike,” she softly murmured, her voice still a bit thick. “You’ve, also, always have been my best friend, and I treated you poorly.”

It . . . didn’t hurt as badly as he’d always feared it would. Actually, he wondrously understood, it wasn’t really hurting at all. “You know, don’t you, that it’s OK if you’ve found somepony else you feel closer to?”

Head rocking back, eyes wide as she gazed down at Spike, Twilight was speechless for a moment. “Spike!” she blurted. “Nopony can ever replace you!”

“Not even Trixie?”

As the seconds slowly rolled by, as Twilight did an excellent imitation of a marble statue, Spike slowly smiled, a mischievous yet understanding gleam to his eyes. “Thought so,” he finally rumbled. “C’mon Twilight,” he finally sighed. “I think we both understood that, one day, something like this might happen. We might have played “ostrich” about it, but . . . you know? And it’s not like you went looking to replace me, or we’d had a falling out. And, if, one day, it means I’m not your best friend . . . I’ll always be a very close, and very dear, friend. Won’t I.”

Drawing him against her chest, Twilight hugged him tight. Tears welling in her eyes she whispered, “Always, Spike. Always and forever.”

After Spike had “bossily” shooed her on her way, Twilight had taken to the air, flying towards Trixie’s home. Already having a lot on her mind, the last ten minutes was adding a new wrinkle to an already messy morass.

It normally was less than a minute’s flight time from the castle to Trixie’s wagon, an interval that, today, felt both ridiculously short and absurdly long. Banking over the clearing, her heart soared —while her belly knotted and quivered— seeing Trixie just below. Coming in for a landing, she was startled at seeing three Circles there. Without conscious thought, she banked a bit tighter, coming to a landing farther away, so as not to disturb them. Folding her wings, she slowly paced over, feeling a lightness to her steps. “I’ve missed you.”

“You haven’t said anything to her, have you?” Twilight asked Trixie, as they slowly ambled along the trail.

A look of exasperation flashed across her face. “No, Trixie has not,” she then snorted. “And while she supposes the question is an understandable one, frankly, Trixie is getting annoyed at that being the immediate first question to ask.”

Twilight smothered a grin at that, actually relieved at seeing, and hearing, an emotion from her friend that wasn’t despairing and despondent.

After greeting her with a hug —a rather firm, if not crushing, embrace— and asking how Trixie had been doing, Twilight —surprising Trixie not at all— asked about the Circles, and the residual magicks, she could sense. Again, surprising Trixie not at all, Twilight had immediately discerned the limitations of, as well as the benefits behind, such constructions.

Unlike as she’d done to everypony else —except for Spike, that is— Trixie had not just explained what she had been doing —which, in absolute truth and honesty, had been collecting information to determine the similarities, as well as differences, between the three pony tribes— but why she had been doing so . . . at which point Twilight had asked “The Question”.

However, when Trixie had attempted to self-efface her researching as something “quite likely to be pointless and unsuccessful, as undoubtedly ‘wiser and smarter, more talented and skilled, minds than hers had already exhausted every possibility’”, she wound up feeling like a naughty foal being scolded, as Twilight gave Trixie her version of “The Look”.

And, not just “The Look”, either. “I’ve told you once before that I don't like hearing my friends put themselves down, that it hurts me inside when they do that,” she’d quietly reminded Trixie. Then she’d stilled, nostrils flared a moment as her eyes widened a bit. A soft blush touched her cheeks as she’d swiped her lips with the tip of her tongue.

That blush was nothing at all compared to Trixie’s when Twilight, in utter and absolute seriousness and sincerity, locked her eyes onto Trixie’s and declared, “Do it again . . . and I’ll spank you.”

Maid To Order

Maid To Order

Twilight and Trixie silently stood there, side-by-side, hanging their heads as Spike roundly scolded and lectured them both. “A snack,” he snorted. “I walk into the kitchen and see the two of you ‘just looking for a snack’. Lemme guess why you didn’t ask me to ‘rustle you up a snack’. Let’s see . . . let’s see . . .” he gazed up at the ceiling as he thoughtfully tapped a talon against the side of his muzzle. “Now, that couldn’t possibly be because—,” the little dragon abruptly focused a very sharp, very keen, glare at the two recalcitrant mares, “neither of you have even had dinner yet. Could it.”

His lips twitched as he fought so very hard not to grin. Both of them looked about four years old at the moment, looking everywhere but at him, actually scuffing circles on the floor with the tip of their forehooves. Crossing his arms in front of him, he started tapping a toetalon on the floor. “We-ell?”

Twilight opened her mouth to speak; however, what she intended to say remained forever unknown, as . . .

“Busted,” Trixie whispered, sotto voce, out of the corner of her mouth to Twilight.

“OK; next question: Do you have a personal key, or do you remember yours from school?” Trixie blinked at the unexpected question.

As they had been finishing their snack —well, dinner (no matter the hour) by the time Spike had finished “rustling them up a snack”— Twilight had asked if Trixie had wanted any help transcribing the observations from her earlier, experimental examinations. She’d then added that, if Trixie wished to do so, they could head down to the Laboratory and do that there.

For a moment, Trixie’s pulse had accelerated, thinking that Twilight had been hinting at something more than “transcribing notes”, but a single look at her expression had deflated that notion, for Twilight had appeared calm and collected, with a hint of that “bookish scholar” expression. Her ears had flicked back and forth, as she had wavered between disappointment and sheepishness.

Still, she did need to record everything, and she wouldn’t mind the help . . . especially if that meant spending time with Twilight. Not to mention that, as a sounding board, Trixie couldn’t think of anypony better than Twilight. So, after finishing their meals, Twilight escorted Trixie down to the Laboratory. Once there, pausing where Trixie thought the door would be, Twilight had then asked her if she could find the way down there on her own. When Trixie had drolly replied, ‘That depends; is that with, or without, using breadcrumbs?’ she had been rewarded with a soft giggle from Twilight. After reassuring her that, yes, Trixie felt sure she could do so, she was then taken aback by the next question.

“Ah . . .” Trixie grew very thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, Trixie does, and she does. Have one, and remember hers, that is. Actually,” she admitted, “they are one and the same. May Trixie ask why?”

“Because I’d like to add your key to the entrance spell. That way you won’t need me when, and if, you’d like to use the lab.”

Trixie’s eyes rounded like saucers. “Is . . . isn’t this your personal lab?”

“Well . . . yes. Personal inasmuch as I also have a personal bedroom, a personal bathroom . . . It’s not personal as in “mega-off-limits, ultra-secret, have-to-kill-you-if-I-show-you” personal,” she grinned. “I’ll admit it is somewhat my sanctum sanctorum,” she conceded. “So it’s not as if I’d want half of Ponyville traipsing in-and-out all day, like they do in the Library. But!” she held up a hoof. “But the Library, as much as I’d love it being my personal Library, is actually a public Library.” A fleeting look of sadness flashed across her face. “It’s meant to replace Ponyville’s Golden Oak Library.” Gazing at Trixie, her expression wistful, she softly affirmed, “If anypony would understand how I felt at losing my home, you would.”

Gentle warmth slowly expanded inside Trixie at that, a sensation of wonderment at the realization Twilight was sharing such a deeply personal feeling with her. Words failing her, she simply nodded in mingled understanding and commiseration.

Taking a deep breath, Twilight gusted out, and then smiled. “Well!” she briskly continued. “As I was saying: I’d like to offer you the freedom to use the lab. I’m not forcing, or requiring,” she clarified, “you to do so. Neither am I suggesting you don’t have the intellect, or maturity, to make your own decisions. Yes, I do happen to think it’d be a good idea, but just because I think it’s a good idea doesn’t mean you do.”

From anypony else, that sort of involved explanation would have the entirely opposite effect on Trixie: the harder somepony would sugarcoat their motive, the more Trixie would interpret that as subtle, manipulative machination. However, with Twilight . . . it was rather endearing, actually; Trixie understood that Twilight was striving very hard to be respectful of Trixie’s dignity and feelings, but, as they were feelings, Twilight was still floundering.

“Trixie will be quite honored to accept,” she finally replied. “It will be a privilege that she will not take lightly, or abuse,” she vowed. “And, should you also wish to critique her research, or offer suggestions and advice, Trixie would also be grateful and indebted.”

Twilight’s face spread into a warm smile. “OK then. I’m going to invoke the keying spell. When I tell you, go ahead and use your personal key.” Suiting actions to words, Twilight’s horn was surrounded by a pink aura. Unlike before, however, the door itself did not glow, nor did any sigils gleam. “OK, go ahead now.”

It wasn’t at all difficult remembering her personal key; after all, it was the one that set the master pattern on her “special locker” back home in her wagon. Trixie’s horn was outlined in pink for a moment, as she linked her key to the door spell.

“OK,” Twilight nodded to her friend. “Go ahead and open it.”

Licking suddenly dry lips, Trixie felt her heart pound, fully aware of the energies she felt both in, and behind, that door. At least Trixie doesn’t have to worry about booby traps! she nervously giggled, then swallowed. She hopes!

Her horn lightly coruscated, a moment only, as she sent a trickle of magic whispering towards the door. Immediately the door became clearly visible, as previously-invisible sigils brightly glowed.

“Nicely done!” Trixie felt a rush of warmth at the obviously sincere praise. That warmth quickly faded, replaced by dread chill, when Twilight cheerily announced, “Let’s go!” Bracing herself, Trixie swallowed once, quickly licked her lips . . . and then plunged through the seemingly-solid stone door.

Once on the other side, she violently shuddered, then sheepishly grinned when she heard Twilight understandingly murmur, “Takes some getting used to, huh.” Instead of feeling mortally humiliated at her fear having being noticed — as she would have, had anypony other than Twilight made that comment— Trixie merely felt commiseration and understanding.

“Trixie is actually doing it to herself,” she softly admitted, flushing as she did.

“How so?” Twilight asked, simply curious.

“It is not as if it is uncomfortable, discomfiting, or disquieting. To be honest, if Trixie’s eyes were closed and you led her through that, Trixie is not sure she would even notice. It is just that Trixie keeps imagining getting stuck halfway through.”

Once again, she was astonished by Twilight’s reaction. “Heh,” she softly snorted. “Been there, done that. Not with that, specifically,” she clarified. “But I’m usually my own worst enemy.”

Sharing a grin with Trixie, with a slow, mock-grandiose sweep of a forehoof, Twilight then gestured to the lab. “Well, this is it,” she announced. “Pretty sure you haven’t gotten a really good look yet, as I sorta, well . . .” she trailed off, blushing quite a bit. “As I sorta rushed you through the last two times,” she admitted. “I was sort of eager,” she confessed, cheeks quite rosy.

Within heartbeats, Trixie’s cheeks were fit to match Twilight’s own, and both of them were scuffing the tip of a forehoof along the floor, looking everywhere but at each other. Wide grins slowly spread across their faces when, at the same time, they peeped at each other. “Ummm . . .” Twilight started, hesitant and timid once again. Taking a deep breath, she suddenly fixed Trixie with an intense gaze. “I would like to spend some time with you again tomorrow.”

My, but it got very warm in here all of a sudden! “Ah . . .” Trixie faltered, taken by surprise at that. Coat twitching, ears flicking back and forth, Trixie knew, based upon how hot her face felt, that Twilight probably didn’t need a verbal answer. Besides . . .

Shyly smiling at Twilight, Trixie’s expression, and words, had Twilight’s legs feel weak and wobbly. “Actually, Trixie would like that very much,” she boldly —for her— stated. “Especially since she . . . she has . . . something she wishes to show you.”

Twilight slowly glided her tongue across lips, as her eyes widened and heart accelerated. Closing her eyes, she then visibly shuddered, drawing several very deep breaths before opening her eyes again. “G-good. G-good then. It . . . it’s a plan.” Another deep shudder, then a lopsided and coy smile. “Well!” she gusted. “Back to business then!”

Trixie had a slightly more difficult time returning back to “business”, but the moment she remembered exactly why —and, more importantly, precisely for whom— they were there, she rapidly sobered.

Pacing over to one of the distinct partitions, Twilight gestured to it. “This is the Biology section,” she explained. “Basically anything to do with life, life sciences, and living organisms. I think this is the most applicable for what you’re researching. The important question is: Do you? Think that, I mean.”

Trixie nodded. “Yes, Trixie does. If she had to pick a particular area, this would be it.”

“OK. Next question then: Would you like to have a personal work space here? A place to store supplies, like ink, parchment, and quills for note keeping, for instance. Also books that you’d like to keep on hoof for easy referencing. And Trixie?” she looked at her friend. “These are just questions. Not passive-aggressive manipulations, not machinations, or anything of the like. OK?”

Tipping her head a bit to one side, Trixie watched Twilight for a few moments before asking, “This is not the first time you have said that, or something similar, to Trixie. Is there a reason you keep doing so?”

“Because, well, to be honest, my social, and interpersonal skills, aren’t so hot,” came the immediate reply. “Great IQ,” she muttered, “but not-so-hot EQ.” Taking a slow, deep breath, “Because I’m afraid of hurting you. Hurting your feelings,”

Trixie just kept watching Twilight, who simply unabashedly returned her gaze. Inside, however, gentle, simmering warmth expanded inside Trixie. Twilight was being utterly sincere, hiding no ulterior motive. Twilight knew her weaknesses, and worked hard to surmount them, but was also aware that was a long, hard struggle for her, and she simply didn’t want to accidentally hurt Trixie because of her own shortcomings.

Stepping forward, closing the distance, Trixie —very lightly, very delicately— pecked Twilight on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered in Twilight’s ear, then marefully struggled not to laugh as Twilight’s face turned a vibrant scarlet, at the same time her knees almost buckled. “You have difficulty with social skills,” she quietly said. “Trixie admits to having difficulties with self-confidence —not that she really needs to tell you that,” she said, completely serious. “Instead of working so hard so as to not hurt the other, suppose we just trust each other, and, in doing so, learn to conquer our weaknesses?”

The low, soft scritch of quill against parchment sounded quite loud in the near-total silence of the lab. “Was there anything else?” Twilight asked.

“No. That was all.”

Capping the inkbottle and storing the quill with the others, Twilight lightly blew across the wet ink, to hasten its drying. “I’ll admit that that seemed quite thorough,” she said. “But, honestly? It seemed more along the lines of a physical exam, or, maybe, an anatomy lesson. Was that the intention?”

“Honestly?” Trixie mused. “Honestly, Trixie really had no specific idea, or avenue of research. She expected to, after acquiring quite a bit of data, to narrow things down to something specific at that point.”

Nodding, Twilight replied, “Makes sense. Especially since you’re coming into this cold. Actually,” she pondered, “that’s probably a very good thing; you won’t be having any preconceptions, subconscious or otherwise.” Rolling the now-dry scroll, she floated it over to a storage cubby and slipped it inside. “I do have a couple of quick questions though. If you don’t mind?”

Uh-oh, Trixie thought, easily detecting Twilight’s sudden burst of energy and focus. Trixie wonders what has fired up her hunger and thirst this time. It was only then that Trixie noticed that Twilight had been jotting notes on a completely separate scroll.

“It was far more important to record your notes,” she said, excitement clearly building in her voice, “than it was to satisfy my curiosity. But, now that you’re finished?” her voice rising at the end.

Before she could go further, the door abruptly shimmered, in a rather disquieting fashion . . . as Spike, carrying a tea service, stepped into the room. “You two do know how late it is, right?” he asked as he padded over. “Sleep is just as important as food,” he reminded them, as, with no obvious motion, a set of legs unfolded from the tray.

Seeing Trixie’s stunned surprise, Twilight flushed. “Forgot to mention: Spike also has access here.”

“Now,” he grumbled, a little wisp of flame curling up from a nostril, as Twilight flushed even darker, actually hunching! “So,” pouring two cups as he spoke, “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that by ‘Spike also has access’, that means G&P now does, too?”

Twilight sharply inhaled at that, shooting a horrified look at Spike before darting an anxious look at her friend, who, at the moment, had grown very still.

Fixing each cup the way each of them liked, Spike sat their cups in front of them. “No coffee; sorry. Coffee’ll keep you awake . . . assuming you ever get to bed, that is. Speaking of which . . .” he trailed off, fixing each of them with an intense, glittering gaze. “You have fifteen minutes. Tops. If I have to chase you out of here with a pointy stick, I will,” he promised, and somehow Trixie sensed he wasn’t at all joking.

Once Spike had left, Twilight took a cautious sip of her tea, blinking in pleased surprise, all the more so since it wasn’t chamomile. “I forgot to mention that I’d physically keyed Spike into the locking matrix,” she apologized. “He, ah, he . . .”

Suddenly Trixie giggled, surprising herself. “How badly did he scold, that first time?”

Closing her eyes and visibly shuddering —a reaction Trixie wasn’t at all sure was feigned— Twilight replied, “Pretty bad, actually. And since I could tell he’d been scared as well as upset, well . . . you know?” She sighed in recollection. “I knew it was pretty bad when he’d threatened to send messages to Celestia and Luna . . . and Cadance, and Shiney, and my parents.”

Trixie sympathetically winced.

“He was absolutely right, though,” she admitted. “On both counts. For one, as he’d pointed out, if anything had ever happened to me here,” she gestured to the lab in general, “like, for instance, a spell backfiring, nopony could help me, since nopony could enter. As for the other . . .” Twilight furiously blushed as she trailed off, looking deeply into her teacup as she sipped.

She snorted tea as Trixie drolly said, “It is hard to be nagged, and mother-henned, when Spike cannot reach you.”

Shaking a forehoof at Trixie in mock-threatening manner, Twilight tried glaring, as well; an effect spoiled by the twinkle in the depths of her eyes. Sighing in resignation, she nodded in acquiescence. “I try —really!— to take care of myself. Like regularly eating, and getting enough sleep. And I am doing better at that . . .” again she trailed off, her expression growing distant and melancholic.

“Twilight?” Trixie softly murmured, concerned at her abrupt silence and withdrawal.

“I’m sorry, Trixie,” she quietly replied, her voice sounding a bit thick. “I was just woolgathering, is all.”

Twilight’s eyes widened at Trixie’s sharp tone. “No. No, you were not ‘just woolgathering’. You are hurting, and Trixie would like to know why. And please, do not lie to her,” she warned, before Twilight could say a word. “Either tell Trixie it is personal, and you do not wish to discuss it, or tell her why you are hurting. But do not lie to her.”

Bracing for an argument, or a scold, or a furious, enraged counter, Trixie mentally hunkered as she watched and waited. The last thing she truly expected was . . .

“I miss this,” Twilight wistfully sighed, gesturing to the lab. “I miss studying, and tests, and exams, and research. It feels as if, as these last few years have rolled by, instead of my horizons being broadened, that more and more doorways have, instead, been closed.” Scrunching shoulders, and hunching in on herself, “I feel . . . confined. Restricted. Everypony is so thrilled for me. I’m an alicorn now! A Princess! A Princess with her own, honest-to-gosh castle, and staff, and a freaking title, too!” Angrily swiping a forehoof across her eyes, she stifled a sniffle. “It’s not that I’ve gotten better at taking care of myself, it’s that I have less and less opportunities to get lost in the joys and wonders of research and learning.” She gazed around her lab with yearning eyes; eyes filled with a hunger that no longer could be fed.

A sniffle did break free, as she then took a swallow of tea. “I know I’m doing something important, and something that nopony else can do. And it’s not as if that makes me unhappy, because it doesn’t. But, all my life, my cutie mark was telling me magic was my destiny. And it’s all I ever wanted. I didn’t want wealth, or power, or fame. I just wanted to learn. To get better. To just make magic my life.”

“Trixie understands.”

For an instant, rage flashed across Twilight’s face, a reaction very disproportionate to the low, soft murmured statement. Throttling that kneejerk reaction at birth, Twilight sternly called her emotions to heel. How in Tartarus could you understand? What makes you think we share anything like that in common? Since when did you become a psychology expert? Those were the questions that had immediately popped into her mind. However, the one she actually asked was, “How so?”

Recoiling a bit at the visible flare of fury that her innocent statement had ignited, Trixie’s heart still was frantically pumping when Twilight responded. Closing her eyes, feeling tears welling up behind closed lids, Trixie confessed her terribly weakness, the defect of her personality and person . . . and did so to the only pony Trixie had ever felt close.

“Trixie’s cutie mark . . . it never stops whispering to her. Never. When . . . when Twilight saved Trixie, that last time,” and it was a very good thing that her eyes were closed, for she never saw the look of pain and anguish that flashed across Twilight’s face at those words, “she tried, she really, really tried! Trixie really tried to be just a simple performer. It was, after all, everything she’d ever wanted to be. And it was what her cutie mark kept saying was her destiny. But,” she swallowed, throat growing tight but gamely forging on, “but, everywhere Trixie went, she was mocked. Scorned and belittled. Chased —literally chased!— out of towns. Until . . . until, finally, Trixie admitted to herself what everypony had always told her: she was a pitiful failure. So . . . so Trixie swore —swore!— to give up performing. Trixie had apologized to you for having been so full of jealousy and vengeance that she had willingly used such an evil object as the Alicorn Amulet,” and now tears freely flowed down Twilight’s face, “and you had accepted her apology. So Trixie had made a vow to herself, you see, that she would not squander your apology. That she would prove herself worthy of your forgiveness. But as long as she persevered in futile ambitions, Trixie risked falling victim, once again, to the resentment of failed hopes. And so . . . Trixie swore, over a year ago, to stop performing. But . . . but it didn’t matter.”

Blinking back tears, Twilight opened her eyes as Trixie’s voice faded, then stopped. All the bitterness still inside herself abruptly vanished, as Trixie’s words actually registered, and at the tears silently streaming down the unicorn’s cheeks.

“Trixie’s cutie mark . . . it never stops whispering to her,” she finally repeated. “No matter how hard she tries and tries.” Wiping her eyes with the back of a hoof she finally looked at Twilight. “So, yes: Trixie understands. The only difference between us is that Trixie does not want to listen to her cutie mark; does not want to “follow her destiny”,” she actually spit, “but nothing prevents her from doing so but herself. While you want to follow your destiny . . . but are denied the opportunities to do so.”

“You do not —I repeat: do not!— want to fall asleep on your pancakes . . . again,” Spike mock-growled. Both Twilight and Trixie were unsuccessfully battling yawns, being quite a bit short on sleep. As it had turned out, Spike did have to chivvy them off to bed (just without a pointed stick). However, he could sense a great deal of emotional turmoil in each of them, so he’d simply sighed in silent resignation as he escorted them to one of the well-appointed parlors.

He’d returned a few minutes later with a fresh tea service, along with some fresh-squeezed orange juice, a carafe of chilled spring water, and two glasses. It was obvious they were too wound up to sleep, and besides, Spike had long ago learned that it was one thing to shelve a line of research until morning, and quite another to (try) shutting down emotions just to meet a bedtime.

Sliding a plate of pancakes before Twilight, then one of waffles before Trixie, Spike piped, “There you go! Made to order”

“Thanks, Spike.” “Thank you, Spike.”

Whatever it was that had both of them overwrought last night seemed to have either run its course, or, at least, been temporarily dealt with, he thought. Yeah, they were drowsy and groggy, but they were also clearly forging their way back to consciousness. When he’d gone to wake them this morning, something had him decide to check the parlor first, which is where he’d found the both of them . . . curled up together on the couch. It hadn’t looked the most comfortable of positions, he’d thought, but, based on their expressions, they’d seemed to think it had been.

“Trixie . . . could use some advice. If you wouldn’t mind?”

As Twilight was, at the moment, chewing a heroic mouthful of her favorite pancakes, Spike spoke up. “From Twilight, or me?”

“Either. Both, actually.”

“OK. Shoot.”

“Well, Trixie has started her research,” she didn’t bother to explain what research, since she knew both dragon and alicorn were aware of her project. “And, for now, has had no difficulty with finding willing ponies to assist by being examined. However . . .” she trailed off for a moment, “However, they are also adults. Trixie would also like to have colts and fillies, as well. But Trixie does not think it is proper, or responsible, to ask any without getting prior parental consent.”

Swallowing her mouthful, Twilight nodded as she took a swallow of water. “I agree. Out of curiosity, though, what is your line of reasoning wanting colts and fillies vis-a-vis mares and stallions as part of your data?”

“Actually, Trixie is not expecting to find any differences. However, if there are any, she wishes to discern any possible changes that maturation might trigger. That serves two purposes,” she stated. “One is to identify what, if any, do occur. The other is to have data on fillies Scootaloo’s age, to serve as a comparative reference. There is also an ancillary purpose: when it becomes time to examine Scootaloo herself, she will have no reason to suspect anything.”

Nodding at each point as Trixie stated them, Twilight thoughtfully chewed another forkful. “Well, you’re right about it being irresponsible to conduct examinations on children without parental knowledge and consent. Might I make a suggestion?”

“Trixie would welcome that.”

“I was thinking about printing up permission slips, requesting volunteers to help assist with a research project, that we would furnish Miss Cheerilee to distribute to her students to take home.”

“You have additional thoughts on that, yes?”

Softly blushing, Twilight nodded. “How would you feel if the slips were phrased that suggested that you were assisting me with the project?”

Taking another bite of delicious waffle, Trixie simply shrugged. Once she’d swallowed, “Trixie doesn’t mind at all. She is certainly not offended. The important matter is not which one of us accomplishes anything, after all. The important matter is purely seeing to it that, if at all equinely possible, Scootaloo flies.”

“Trixie may assume that others have already examined, poked and prodded, and tested Scootaloo already?”

“Good assumption, yes,” Twilight nodded, setting several massive tomes down on the desk. “At first, I think everypony simply assumed she was a late bloomer. That does happen, after all.”

Trixie nodded, not that she had any practical experience with such a thing. However, even with the short amount of researching she’d already conducted, it was readily apparent that outliers in foal development existed in both directions: some early, and some late, bloomers, so she could easily see why Scootaloo’s inability to fly hadn’t been obvious to anypony.

“However, as she got older, there was a growing concern when it became clear she couldn’t even get off the ground, let alone hover, let alone actually fly. So, at that point, yes, a lot of “poking and prodding” started.”

“But nothing was discerned?”

Deeply sighing, Twilight shook her head. “No. Not a thing. I’ve even examined her. Wait . . . not like I think that—— Hey!”

As the sugar cube bounced off Twilight’s head, Trixie just frowned at her. When the remaining sugar cubes in the bowl menacingly hovered in silent threat, Twilight smothered a giggle behind a forehoof. “OK, OK. Je cède.”

With multiple plops, the sugar cubes settled back in their bowl. “So . . . where were we?”

“A pot belly,” Trixie grumbled. “Trixie is going to have a pot belly very soon.”

“Tell me about it,” Twilight groused. “I already have a pudge,” she pouted, as she rubbed her slightly-rounded belly.

“We~have~a~gy~ymn!” Spike sing-songed as he cleaned up from lunch.

“It’s the “Scholar’s Curse”, Spike,” Twilight nobly proclaimed. “Yes?” she prompted, turning to face Trixie, sensing she wanted to say something.

“Tr-Trixie should exercise more,” she confessed. “But she . . . she does not like doing it by herself.”

“Huh,” Twilight grew thoughtful, then touched. “I suppose I could join you, then. If that would he-hey-hey-hey!” she stuttered to a halt, beetling her brows at Trixie. “Were you just hornswoggling me?”

With a sniff and elevated muzzle worthy of the Canterlot elite, Trixie dismissed, “Trixie has no idea what you are talking about.” It might have even worked, too, except for the twinkle in her eyes.

Gazing down at her belly, lightly touching it again with her hoof, Twilight drew a deep breath before gusting it out. “I’ve always been a pudge,” she murmured, so softly that Spike and Trixie were sure that Twilight hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud.

Another deep breath, and she looked up at them both, a forlorn little smile playing on her lips. “At first it was “foal fat”,” she softly murmured. “And then “filly fat”. But even as I grew older, it never disappeared. Never disappeared,” she wistfully sighed.

“Twilight?”

“Hmmm? Yes, Trixie?”

“Trixie does not think you look at all a pudge. Trixie thinks you look quite fine as you are,” she stated with absolute guilelessness. “And while Trixie was teasing before, she was also partly serious. It . . . it is not that she does not like exercising by herself, it is because she . . . she does not like the memories doing so evokes.”

Both Spike and Twilight were alarmed at the way Trixie’s face had paled, and the way her voice had tremulously trailed to silence.

“However . . .” taking a slow deep breath, she slowly, yet sincerely, smiled. “However,” she said, briskness to her tone, “Trixie does have a great deal of experience with flexibility, endurance, and balance exercises. So if you would be willing, Trixie would enjoy, she thinks, in exercising with you.”

Trixie had no idea how she wasn’t bursting into flames. Her heart was racing, she felt flushed and lightheaded, and the tingles! Hooo!

After lunch, Spike, Twilight, and Trixie had headed to the Library, where they’d worked on the permission slip phrasing before settling on the final version. Once they had, Twilight had Replicated a stack of forty slips (not that we need that many, but, just in case), had written a note to Miss Cheerilee, explaining what the slips were for, and then had passed them over to Spike, asking him to deliver them to Miss Cheerilee, for distribution to her students after the weekend break.

Once Spike had scurried off, Twilight had turned to Trixie, her eyes quickly growing fiery, an expression that had Trixie’s heart start racing. Although there was a soft blush to Twilight’s cheeks, she seemed much more . . . composed, much more controlled, than ever before. Rather like somepony who knew what she wanted —or whom she wanted— knew exactly where to find that . . . and wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Let’s go to the Laboratory, shall we?”

A little detour was needed first; Trixie almost stuttering when she asked if she could bring her saddlebags along. Twilight was obviously curious, and was just as obviously tempted to ask, but marefully resisted that urge . . . somehow.

When Twilight had opened the concealed door into her “special room”, that temptation increased by leaps and bounds when Trixie, again stammering, asked for fifteen minutes before Twilight entered.

Once inside, Trixie entered the bathroom area, and then started unloading the saddlebags, carefully sitting each package on the counter. Her heart was racing so fast she felt dizzy, so flushed she felt wobbly. She stifled a low moan, feeling the signs of arousal, and nothing had even happened yet!

Carefully unpacking everything, and neatly organizing the items in the order as needed, she came across a small, folded packet that she didn’t remember. Puzzled and curious, she opened it up. Inside was a small brooch she'd never seen before, and tears sprang to her eyes as she read the little note that was included:

I might be wrong, darling, but I don’t think so. Best wishes! ~Rarity

Pacing back and forth, Twilight started chuckling at herself. I can’t ever remember being this impatient before! And she truly couldn’t recall any instance where she was virtually prowling with impatience! I suppose that’s what happens when you throw emotion into the mix! she twitted herself. Well . . . that, and lust.

She had absolutely no desire to chuckle at that, since it was categorically true. Maybe it had taken her a few days to come to that realization —she had been, no pun intended, in all aspects utterly virginal— but, once she had, she’d fully accepted the understanding that her biology had finally ignited.

Hasn’t it been fifteen minutes yet? she groused. It was bad enough that it’d been four whole days! since they’d been together . . . well, four whole days since she’d “bought” her little pet . . . four whole days to daydream about all the wickedly naughty things she could, and wanted, to do, to and with, her pet.

Now, add to that mix her intense curiosity about whatever surprise her little pet was preparing . . .

As her Mage clock wound down to the last few seconds, Twilight was vibrating with impatience and passion. The instant that the fifteen minutes were up, the exact second . . .

Lurching through the concealed doorway, Twilight almost stumbled inside. Blushing at her fillyish impatience and clumsiness, Twilight regained her balance then looked about. She didn’t have to look very far, as Trixie was just in front of her. Trixie was . . .

. . . was . . .

. . . was . . .

Trixie was standing there, a mere fifteen hooflengths away, her head demurely tipped downwards. She was . . . was . . .

Twilight just stood there, as frozen as if having just stared at a cockatrice. However, that was the only thing “frozen” about her. Fire surged through her veins, her belly tightened into a tight, throbbing knot, her skin felt like lava.

Trixie was wearing a perfectly fitted, black, cotton dress, trimmed at the hem, ends of foreleg sleeves, and throat with white ruffled fabric. The sleeves were short sleeves, only at the forelegs, halfway between shoulder and knee, while the skirt was pleated, and seemed somewhat . . . short. In front was a tidy, white half-apron, secured around the waist by a fabric belt colored the same pink hue as the central star of Twilight’s cutie mark, and tied in a wide bow in back. Perched atop her head was a small black cap, trimmed in white ruffled lace. Her forehooves were covered in elegant, small-heeled, black shoes that just covered her hooves. Kneehigh black fishnet stockings covered rear legs up to her knees, and held in place by dainty black garters, trimmed top and bottom with white ruffles, the outsides decorated with delicate pink bows the same color of the apron belt. The rear shoes were identical to the fore shoes, except these had tiny pink bows at their throat. About her neck was a wide, white fabric choker, and she was holding a feather duster in her teeth.

Something glittered at the front of the choker . . . a wide, oval brooch . . . consisting of a single pink tourmaline surrounded by five white topaz.

Twilight just stood there, stunned, eyes round as saucers. And then Trixie . . .

Slowly sinking into an exquisite curtsy, and with barely a tremor to her voice, Twilight’s exquisitely-garbed Prench maid murmured, “How may your little pet serve you?”

Unexpected Company

Unexpected Company

It was that time of year when the air was cool and crisp, with just the lightest touch of bite that foreshadowed the upcoming months ahead. It was drawing towards dusk, and overhead a few wispy clouds still glowed in rich purple-salmon hues from the sun now low on the horizon, Princess Celestia as yet not having lowered it.

It was already rather dark in the clearing, which was located in the middle of one of the rare stands of pine (the White Tail Wood being primarily deciduous), and sat just off the path that traveled roughly northeast away from Ponyville. As clearings went this one was of generous size, more than sufficient for the wagon that was neatly parked in its middle. Pine needles carpeted the ground so thickly that there were no signs of tracks from the wagon having entered. Nor were there any ruts in the lane the clearing sat adjacent, for this truly was off the beaten path.

Most everypony in Ponyville knew about the path, of course. But it was so very seldom used. Its heyday had been back during Ponyville's founding, used as a route to a good stand of oak trees, many of whose lumber still existed as timber in homes and houses. But as the village grew into a town, better roads had been built and so this one had fallen into disuse.

This particular clearing lay roughly three miles just outside Ponyville's unofficial border, no more than a fifteen minute leisurely trot, giving it enough distance for reasonable privacy yet remaining within easy travel back and forth . . . which was a very practical, and very attractive, consideration for its current resident.

Also of practical and appealing consideration was the small stream that merrily babbled just feet outside of the clearing itself. Granted, during very cold weather it had a distressing tendency to ice up, but it was such a vigorously-flowing brook that it took several days of extreme cold for that to happen.

Although few residents were truly aware of the path's historical significance, virtually everypony knew of the clearing's current residence.

After all, The Great and Powerful Trixie had quite the reputation, especially in Ponyville!

This wagon was not, of course, her former traveling one. That one had been destroyed during her first visit to Ponyville and, in many ways, that destruction had broken her heart. Nopony really knew (or, as far as Trixie had ever been able to tell, had cared to understand) just how precious that wagon had been to her. It had been far more to her than a home; it had represented far more than a stage.

It had been her life.

After her second —and even more disastrous, humiliating and shameful— visit there, a pony might have thought that Ponyville would be the very last place in Equestria that Trixie would have chosen to put down stakes. The truth was, though . . .

Trixie had nowhere else to go.

As painful as it had been to admit it to herself, Trixie had finally accepted the reality that after her first loss to Twilight Sparkle she hadn't learned anything from that lesson. Instead, she'd harbored a grudge so deep, a resentment so powerful, that she'd done everything in her ability —as unethical and immoral as that might have been . . . and had wound up being— to garner power of such a magnitude to make her next confrontation with that goody four-shoes unicorn foal's play.

Instead, Twilight Sparkle had tricked her into giving up that immense power; she'd conned her out of the Alicorn Amulet and, in doing so, had saved Trixie.

This time there had been no rancour, no ill-will or malice. Within minutes of her having removed and exchanged that amulet for a gaudy knickknack doorstop Trixie realized, with a horror she'd never felt before, just how close she'd come to being consumed by that evil power. She truly had been contrite; her apology really had been sincere. And miracle of miracles . . .

Twilight Sparkle had accepted that apology.

And Trixie truly had done her best to turn over a new leaf. But no matter where she'd traveled —and she'd gone from one extreme of Equestria to the other— she'd been ostracized; mocked, scorned and belittled. She'd tried; she'd really, really tried! But virtually every time she hadn't even been given the chance to prove she'd reformed. In fact, on more than a few occasions she'd been pelted with rotten fruits and vegetables before taking more than a few hoofsteps into town!

When Trixie found herself on the border between Equestria and Griffonia, actually contemplating crossing over and emigrating there on her search for a place of acceptance she'd realized she'd finally hit rock-bottom, yet had a kindly border guard not stopped her, she would have done just that, having nothing else left to lose.

The only reasons that kept her from doing so afterwards had been two things. One had been that they'd been willing to trade a night's shelter, plus dinner and breakfast, in exchange for a performance, for Trixie had told the guard of her intentions: to be a traveling entertainer. The second, however . . .

The second reason had been her remembrance of Twilight Sparkle's expression and voice at their last meeting.

And so Trixie had begun the long, wearying way back to Ponyville, fully prepared to humbly approach Twilight Sparkle, hat in hoof.

Just north of Galloping Gorge she'd stopped by an old prospector's camp for the night. He was actually on the way to Galloping Gorge itself for this last time because, as he'd said, he was “just too plumb old t' keep diggin' up dang rocks” anymore. The next day, before he broke camp, the elderly earth pony invited Trixie to come with him to the town. Since it was on the way she didn't see the harm so she humored him, accompanying him the entire day and listening to his rambling stories.

Just outside the town, however, he shocked Trixie; coming to a halt he shook off the traces of the good-sized traveling wagon he'd been pulling, then stepped out of the harness before motioning for her to approach.

“She's a good ol' girl,” he wheezed, gently rapping the side of the wagon. “Nothing fancy, true, but she's lasted me through thick 'n' thin. Jes' doesn't feel right t' jes' let her go t' waste. So . . . here,” he finished, gesturing with a creaky foreleg to the harness. “Take her. She's yours now.”

And so, just like that, Trixie had a wagon again.

In some ways it was superior to her original traveling stage/performance wagon. For one thing it was a third as long as well as a third as wide. For another, the wider wheels and superior suspension made for easier pulling. For yet another, it was meant to truly live out of: it had a kitchen, sink, bed and closet space. And last but not least, it was also meant to work from: both sides had fold-down awnings which revealed areas where one could perform tinkering work, and either one of those could, with some work, be modified into a performance stage.

But although it had been scrupulously maintained, it was also very old. Paint was bubbling and peeling in places, and the paint itself was strictly functional, nothing at all bright, cheery or appealing like her old wagon had been painted. The curtains and other fabrics were clean, yet they were also threadbare in spots. Pots and pans were of good cast iron, but the dishes and other cooking items had seen better days.

She certainly wasn't complaining though! Not at all! It was just . . .

. . . just that, no matter how hard she tried —and lately, she'd been trying very hard— at heart she was, pure and simple, a showpony.

It was all she'd ever wanted to do.

And it seemed all it had ever done for her was ruin her life.

It had estranged her from her parents.

It had caused problems for her at Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, to the point she had left before graduating.

It had finally resulted in her parents formally disowning her, because of her lifestyle choice.

And there, at the very end, Trixie still felt the throbbing call deep inside her, a pulse beat she couldn't ignore no matter how hard she valiantly strove nor no matter what the ultimate cost might be.

Her arrival this time in Ponyville had not started auspiciously. Trixie had been entering the town from the west, having departed Appleloosa some time ago. This, however, had taken her just north of Sweet Apple Acres, and she hadn't passed by unnoticed. As she was heading towards Ponyville a smaller wagon, drawn by a slender mare, had been approaching, traveling in the opposite direction. Once it had drawn to within several feet, though, the mare had stopped and, with a quite noticeable —and recognizable— familial accent had drawled, “Well, they do say th' third time's th' charm. Come back t' try yer luck again?”

Trixie had no idea what she must have looked like upon hearing that. She did, however, know how she'd felt at those words: utter and complete hopelessness. She'd just stood there, feeling her legs quivering as the last tiny particle of desperate hope she'd despairingly clung to evaporated into nonexistence. Her chest grew tight; it was hard, almost impossible, to breathe. Her vision swam as tears filled them.

“Whoa now! Y'all OK thar?” the mare —Apple Brioche was her name, as Trixie later found out— urgently asked.

All Trixie could do was numbly shake her head in negation. No. No, she certainly wasn't “OK”, and probably would never be so again.

“No . . . nopony else will have Trixie,” she'd managed, somehow, to have choked out. “Trixie . . . Trixie just wants someplace to stay. She . . . she won't cause any trouble.”

There were some ponies that looked scornfully down their long, aristocratic muzzles at the Apple family, considering them rustic hicks and rubes. But nopony that truly knew the Apples would have been surprised at Apple Brioche's actions. She'd ducked out of her harness before you could say “peach cobbler” and had held Trixie, gently patting her back and telling her that everything would be all right, and had kept holding her until the broken sobs had eased.

It had been Apple Brioche who had helped Trixie out of her wagon harness and had taken that up onto her own shoulders.

And it had been Apple Brioche who had suggested the isolated clearing to Trixie, and then had hauled her wagon-home there, helping her guide it into the clearing and getting it properly stabilized and secured.

It had also been Apple Brioche who had explained to the bemused and befuddled unicorn just why there was this huge palace just north of Ponyville . . . and just whom the Princess residing there was.

Twilight Sparkle, naturally. Who else would it be?

Except, of course, it was actually Princess Twilight Sparkle.

All Trixie had wanted to do once her wagon had been positioned and the very helpful farm pony had departed was to just collapse, have a good cry, and offer thanksgiving to whichever deities had deigned to finally smile down on her, and then crawl into bed and pass out for, oh, a week or two. Unfortunately that hadn't happened.

She did manage the first three on that agenda, but before she'd stumbled off into blessed unconsciousness she'd had several visitors, one right after the other.

First off had been Applejack, with Apple Brioche tagging along. Oddly enough the farm mare seemed more concerned about any immediate needs Trixie might have than whatever nefarious plots might have precipitated her return. Having said that, however, it was also quite clear that Applejack was seeking assurance that everything was on the up-and-up.

While they were still there Rainbow Dash dropped in . . . quite literally, backwinging her way through the clear sky above the tall pines that surrounded the clearing. Thank Celestia Applejack had still been there, because Rainbow Dash had no sooner realized that the strange unicorn she'd spotted from above was actually a quite familiar, infamous one she knew, than she'd ruffled her feathers and gotten very aggressive.

She'd also gotten very flustered when both farm mares turned on her and scolded.

They might still have kept bickering except for the last of the visitors that late afternoon and, like Rainbow Dash she, too, descended from above.

Trixie just closed her eyes and fought the emotions roiling within her at seeing Twilight Sparkle. Princess Twilight Sparkle. Not even a unicorn as the prior two times, but an alicorn instead.

She didn't remember much about that visit. She'd been physically exhausted and emotionally drained, and topping off all that had been the extremely difficult struggle to throttle the furious burst of jealousy that had exploded inside her upon seeing an alicorn princess before her. Trixie hadn't come back to Ponyville for yet another round of competition between the two of them but, if she had . . .

It wasn't even a matter of trying to stay within shouting distance anymore. Twilight had surpassed Trixie by a margin so huge . . .

Since the clearing was located on public land it was decided that Trixie could remain encamped there for as long as she wished . . . what was left diplomatically unsaid was “and for as long as she behaved”. It was also understood, without actually having been formally declared, that Trixie deserved privacy the same as anypony else, and that while dropping by for a visit was one thing gawking would be quite another.

Since she didn't have a magic purse brimming with bits Trixie needed to work. Often that was for bits, while at other times for barter. She never complained, no matter what task she'd accepted. She was trying, really trying, to fit in. But it was hard, so very hard. For no matter how hard she tried denying it, deep inside her pulsed the need to perform, to prove herself the best.

Now and then she'd introspectively gaze into the mirror fastened over the sink in her wagon, just peering intensely into the reflected depths and asking herself, I'm still the Great and Powerful Trixie . . . aren't I?

Her parents had certainly never thought so.

Her teachers had certainly never thought so.

Twilight Sparkle had certainly proved she wasn't.

There were times when the strain of responsibility, the need for decision making, the necessities of duty and restraint, weighed heavily upon the Great and Powerful Trixie. Times when she wished things were simpler, less complicated. And sometimes . . .

. . . sometimes when she wished somepony else were making all the decisions. A somepony that wanted Trixie very, very badly for themself.

Tonight was one of those times.

The sun was fully down now, and the clearing was pitch dark, the thick stand of pines working like heavy drapes to block out the dim light from the thin crescent moon Princess Luna had recently ascended into the heavens. The trees not only screened light but blocked wind as well. In fact, unless it was an unusually strong and heavy storm the clearing was an oasis of calm amidst tempests.

They also had the salubrious effect of virtually eliminating outside noise; between the distance to Ponyville, the muffling properties of the needled branches and the dampening effect of the thick layer of shed ones the clearing about the wagon was surprisingly silent. Because of how chill it was, and due to the lateness of the season, there weren't even the faint chirps of crickets.

Even as quiet as the clearing was, anypony standing just outside the wagon would have had an extremely difficult time hearing anything from inside; the wagon might have been old, but it was sturdily-built and quite rugged.

Unfortunately . . . the reverse was quite true: it would take a ruckus —or perhaps a fracas— outside to be heard inside.

A thin curl of smoke threaded its way upwards from the ceramic chimney at the front of the wagon. That was the only sign of occupancy to be seen from outside; should there have been anypony sneaking about outside, that is.

Trixie had double- and triple-checked the immediate area before retiring inside. That had been about half an hour ago. Between then and now she'd been a very busy unicorn indeed.

After making one last (and admittedly semi-paranoid) inspection round outside, Trixie had entered the wagon and carefully secured and locked the entrance door. After that she'd assured the drapes were completely covering the windows, then added a bit of coal to the stove so that the interior would remain warm. Taking a last sip of water she then magically unlocked with her horn a special locker.

A very special locker indeed.

Quite a few thick, fat rolls of apparent fabric were levitated out and sat on the floor in front of the chair she'd shifted to the far front of the interior aisle before Trixie lifted out her most special garment:

A straitjacket.

Already her mouth was feeling a bit dry as her pulse accelerated, just as it always did during preparations . . . and, quite often, afterwards, too!

Unfortunately this wasn't her original. That had been lost, along with everything else, when her first traveling wagon had been destroyed. However, she mostly missed that one for sentimentality's sake, as that had been the one that had opened up a very wide, quite new and exciting world to her.

Back when the Great and Powerful Trixie had first taken to the road she'd still been experimenting with various kinds and styles of performances. One of those she'd debated including were feats of escape.

That had sounded quite intriguing in theory but had been something else in practice. For one thing, in order to properly perform such acts a pony needed at least one assistant, and possibly two. For another, there was no mistaking the Great and Powerful Trixie for anything other than what she was: an extremely talented and formidable unicorn mage.

Regarding the former issue, she had no desire to share the limelight, no matter how peripheral, with anypony else, so that meant no assistants, while regarding the latter, well . . . if she could get into things without help then obviously she could get out of them just as hoofily, too.

So Trixie had shelved the notion of adding escape artistry to her repertoire. She'd also shelved, quite literally, the straitjacket, too, tossing it into a storage trunk half-filled with odds and ends.

What hadn't been so easily tucked away was how wearing that had made her feel.

Several nights later had seen Trixie removing it from the trunk. Her tummy had been feeling fluttery the moment she'd contemplated doing so, and simply toying with it had made those flutters even worse.

Slipping it back over and on, then securing the straps and lacings before finishing up with folding her forelegs across her chest and securing those straps behind her, well . . .

She'd spent at least an hour wearing it that first time, simply exploring the wealth of complex sensations and feelings that had evoked as she shifted and pulled, tugged and squirmed, learning beyond any shadow of any doubt there really was no way at all of shrugging it off without using her magic to remove it.

On and off over the next several weeks Trixie found herself, again and again, being drawn to that garment . . . and to the feelings (and, later, daydreams) that simply wearing it kindled.

Soon she'd found herself wishing that there was a similar garment, one made for the hind legs and torso. Since Trixie wasn't at all sure there wasn't such a thing she'd made several, quite cautious and discreet (and completely flamingly blushing as well) inquiries into the matter.

One of those inquiries (which had also produced the most spectacular blushing one of them all) resulted in a quite sober-faced earth pony clerk at a medical supply store suggesting that “perhaps the Lady might wish to try these, instead?”. Considering that Trixie was positive the mare had realized what the true purpose behind the asking for such an item really was she was surprised she hadn't self-incinerated from embarrassment on the spot.

“These” wound up being twelve-inch wide elastic bandages, the sort used for sprains and strains. They were not only stretchy but clingy as well, sticking to itself but not to anything else.

Trixie almost bolted when the clerk inquired whether any demonstrations were needed as to the proper use, especially when she'd detected the light twinkle in the otherwise serious eyes. But she'd ponyfully swallowed that urge, and eventually had walked out with a round dozen of the bandages.

That clerk had not steered Trixie falsely. They might not be quite as fascinating to use as the straitjacket, but they were definitely much more versatile!

Over the years Trixie had sought —with a surprising rapidity, to be honest— more and more sensation, more and more restriction. Losing her traveling wagon had been a more terrible blow than anypony could, or would, have realized. It had not only shattered her destiny but had also destroyed her sole means of stress relief, and the focus of her dreams and desires.

These last few months had done wonders for her stability, even if she did continue suffering from bleak periods of depression because of her crushed ambitions; aspirations that continued haunting her whether awake or asleep.

She took a moment to lay out on the floor a worn yet serviceable wool blanket, both to insulate her from the chill of the wood floorboards as well as provide a modicum of cushion from the hardness of that selfsame floor, a surface she'd very shortly be resting atop.

“Lifting” up the straitjacket Trixie carefully positioned it, feeling her pulse begin accelerating at the same time her belly picked up its fluttering. Raising her forelegs she lowered the garment down over her head and neck, wriggling her limbs up and into the sleeves as it descended. Squirming her torso a bit she guided it all the way down and settled it in place. Adjusting her “aim” she first snugged the lacings at the back, sturdy cords that crisscrossed down the length and drew the sides of the straitjacket snug, and then finished off by pulling the four sets of straps at the back even firmer than the lacings had been drawn.

Next she sat down on the blanket-covered floor. Trixie had quite a few positions she'd worked out over the years, ranging from mild to extremely restrictive. Tonight, though, she just wanted to relax in the embrace of the bindings. Stretching her hind legs out she pressed them together as she “lifted” one of the fat elastic bandage rolls and guided it towards her hooves. Starting at pasterns and slowly working her way upwards, Trixie carefully pulled the bandage snug but not taut. Because of its tacky surface each overlap clung to the one beneath it, so she didn't have to pull it overly taut to keep the windings from slipping and sliding: once they were in place, they stayed in pace. She pulled it just taut enough to pin her legs firmly together, yet left just the teeniest of slack so that she could struggle and feel the bandage windings teasingly give just that littlest of bits.

It took several rolls to completely encase her hind legs from pastern to gaskin, and her skin twitched and shivered the entire time she did so. Still sitting up she “lifted” up a very elaborate sleep mask, settling that in place over her eyes, the twin straps guided behind her ears, before she used yet another elastic bandage, this time winding it around and over her muzzle, all the way up to cover over the sleep mask, covering her head and leaving only nostrils and ears exposed.

Taking a deep breath through flaring nostrils Trixie finally folded forearms across her chest, one atop the other, then guided the straps at the ends of the sleeves through the loops at the sides before buckling the ends together, drawing the straps quite taut indeed.

Very carefully she wriggled and squirmed until she was lying on her side, stretched out. Once she was comfy —well, as comfy as she could get, anyway; she silently giggled— Trixie just relaxed, surrendering to the embrace of the bindings, now and then softly humming as she fidgeted, both testing the security of her confinement and simply seeking relief from that as well.

She'd gotten thoroughly “into the zone” and in that twilighty dreamy state when she suddenly stiffened, eyes wide beneath the sleep mask. Trixie wasn't sure what it was that had alarmed her, but it had been something. Her heart was beating faster, and it wasn't because of her daydreams.

Blindly stretching out her senses Trixie strove to detect whatever it had been that had tweaked her attention. She didn't think she'd heard anything. At the moment all she could hear was her own breathing, and the throbbing pulse in her ears. And she certainly couldn't see anything. So . . . what had it been?

The next few seconds happened so fast Trixie had no chance to react to anything until it was far too late.

There was a gentle, feather-light tap to the side of her horn, so soft that at first Trixie was certain she'd simply imagined it. It was enough, however, to have her tense right up, and so when the second tap came there was no mistaking it.

Panic surged within her, blossoming like wildfire in dry summer grass as she felt, in addition to that tap, the faintest brush of magic in the air. Almost immediately she focused on the sleeve straps to unbuckle and begin freeing herself . . .

. . . almost immediately.

It would have taken a superpony effort not to have hesitated before acting, and as great and powerful as Trixie truly was, she was still very much pony in her reactions. She hesitated the merest fraction of a second, but that was all it took. Almost the very moment she invoked the power to begin freeing herself there came yet a third touch to her horn. Except, this time . . .

This time it wasn't a tap . . . it was a scrape.

She felt, as well as heard, whatever that thing was as it glided down her horn. Then she froze, heart suddenly hammering hard enough to burst, as Trixie realized the straps behind her weren't unbuckling. Her mouth went desert-dry as she focused again, only to realize her magics were being disrupted.

No. Not just disrupted . . . they were being totally blocked.

Moments later she felt her wagon sway a bit, as if a weight had just settled on the rear step . . . or as if somepony had just stepped up there. There was a surge of extremely controlled magic, instantly followed by the 'clck' of the door lock being freed and the latch being opened. A second later and Trixie heard the soft 'squee' of the hinges; felt the sudden chill draft caress her body as the door was opened.

She started panting, torn between humiliation and terror, hearing the door close, then latch . . . followed by the light clop of hoofsteps as the intruder came closer.

Trixie couldn't help it: she softly whimpered in atavistic fear, utterly helpless.

And then came the voice . . . and a very familiar voice it was, too!

“Shhhhh . . . shhhhhh! Don't be scared Trixie. It's OK. I promise.”

Twilight Sparkle!?