“What are you still doing up?”
With a choked squeak, Trixie leapt from her chair, spilling out hooves-over-head onto the carpet. She was still clutching her stuffed penguin tight to her barrel when she rolled to a stop on her back, and peeked over Sir Waddles’ head at the silhouette in the doorway.
“Mama?” she said as she slowly lowered her toy. “Is that you?”
The shadow moved from the bright light of the hallway into her dim room, and Trixie sighed in relief when she saw the moonlight touch her mother’s soft features. “Of course, baby. Who else would it be?”
“I thought... Daddy was...”
“No, no. He’s away on business, remember?” She knelt in front of her daughter and brushed a hoof over her mussed forelocks. “You silly filly---you ran off so fast I didn’t get a chance to brush your mane.”
It took a few more gentle strokes before the filly eased herself from a tense ball of muscles to a slightly more relaxed position on the floor. “...Oh.”
“You seem disappointed,” her mother said, trotting her way to the little dressing-table Trixie called a vanity. She sat down in the cushioned chair, her tail gracefully draped around the back, and motioned for Trixie to join her. “Do you want me to read you a story like Daddy always does?”
“NO!”
She stuffed her muzzle against the back of the plushie’s head when she saw her mother startle. “N-no,” she said again, quieter this time, “No, I don't.”
Her eyes flickered away for a moment. “Do you not like my stories anymore?”
Trixie clutched her toy tighter and looked down at the floor. A few months ago they’d torn up the carpet after one of Rex’s ‘presents’ had left an unbeatable stain. She’d sat by her door, rocking back and forth as she listened to her parents arguing in the hallway about ‘that damned dog’. ’We are NOT going to put him down!’ her mother had snapped in as loud a voice as she dared. ‘Your daughter loves that puppy---we can’t just break her heart!’
“I’m too old for stories,” she said without looking up.
“But you’re not old enough to brush your own mane, apparently.” With a friendly wink, her mother patted her lap. “Come on now!”
“Can Sir Waddles come too?”
“Sir Waddles, too.”
She rose to her hooves, and squeezed her eyes closed; with a grunt of effort, she focused everything she had from her heart up to her throat, then to her brain, and upwards still, until she felt that tingling buzz around her ears. It swirled around her, and for a moment seemed to coalesce---but all she managed was a pathetic little spark from the tip of her horn.
“I-I’m sorry!” she whispered as she watched her toy slip to the ground. “I tried to---“
“Baby! It’s okay.” Again, she patted her lap. “You made a magnificent spark that time!”
She dejectedly picked Sir Waddles up with her teeth. “Mmph.”
“Come, now.” Even though she was big enough to climb up by herself, she allowed her mother to gather her up in her hooves and plunk her down, her little back to the plump belly, so that they were both facing the mirror. “You’re sparking already! Even I couldn’t do that until I was much older than you.”
“But you’re a unicorn.”
“So are you!”
She wrapped her arms around the penguin’s neck and pulled him close. “No’m not.”
Through the mirror, Trixie could see the playful gleam in her eyes. “Then what’s this?”
“Wha---? No!”
But it was too late. Her mother was already sending little quivers of magic up and down her nubby horn, making her squeal and giggle from the onslaught. “Mama, stop! It tickles!”
“Coochie coochie coo!”
“No, stop! Stop!”
She laughed, holding her daughter tight as she ran the prickles around the spiral. “No-one can stop the Tickle Monster!”
“Mama, stop!” she said, gasping for breath. “Stop! Mama, stop! I said stop! STOP IT! STOP!”
The hairbrush jumped when she slammed her balled-up hoof on the tabletop. “STOP!”
She hadn’t realized that she’d slumped forward out of the embrace until she looked back up and saw her mother’s startled reflection in the mirror.
“I.... I’m sorry, baby,” she said quietly. “Are you too old for tickles now, too?”
It took a swallow or two before she could answer. “...I don’t like ponies touching my horn.”
“Fair enough.”
“I shouldn’t even have a horn,” she mumbled. “Mud ponies don’t do magic.”
“Beatrix!” She placed her forehooves on the skinny blue shoulders in front of her, and pulled the little filly back so their bodies were flush again. “What did I tell you about saying things like that?”
“Uh, not to use the M-word---“
“It’s very rude, and your father would have your hide for saying that!”
“But---“ She tried to snuffle up the snot that was gathering in her nostrils. “But it’s true! That’s what everypony calls me at school, and---“
“Baby. Listen to me.” It took a bit of manoeuvring, but she turned her around so they could see eye-to-eye. “What do I always tell you?”
“N-not to listen...?”
“No.” She leaned in so they were nose-to-nose. “I always tell you that you have a special blessing. You have the blood of two tribes flowing in your veins.”
Trixie put a hoof to her heart.
“See? There you go. It’s right in there. You have the fierce, Nature-bound strength of the Earth ponies, as well as the celestial magic of the unicorns.” Her hoof came to rest over the smaller one. “With every beat of your heart, that dual magic flows through you. And nothing anypony can say will take that away from you.”
The stinging threat of tears was already burning behind her eyelids. “But, but I just wanna be like you!”
“You are like me, baby. And you always will be. Now...” She spun her around again, and picked up the hairbrush in her aura. “Let’s get your mane straightened out.”
When the bristles hit the first knot, she bunched up in pain, but it was quickly smoothed out. Pass by pass, the snarls loosened, and she folded her arms on the table, allowing herself a small smile. She could feel every breath her mother drew, and before long, the lullaby came out:
“Don’t you cry, my sweet Little Bea
You have no idea what future you’ll see
From the Earth’s waving sands to the magical lands,
You’ll never be too far from me.”
She thinned her lips together, and closed her eyes. Pressing her forehead down into her forearms, she began mouthing the familiar words:
“Don’t you forget for one single minute
You grew both under my heart, and in it
Some day you will roam so far from your home
But my love for you has no limit.”
When she lifted her head, she could feel the crackles of magic twisting her mane into braids. “Mama?”
“Yes, baby?”
She hesitated. How could she put this in a way her mother would understand? “Rex... he’s a good dog, isn’t he?”
“Of course he is! He’d do anything to protect his family.”
Yeah, sure... anything. “He’d make a good blind pony’s guide, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Maybe...” She was ready for the tears to come, but for some reason, she felt dry. Dry as a bone. “Maybe we should give him to a blind pony.”
The brush stopped mid-sweep, stuck on a knot in her tail. “What are you saying, baby?”
“Let’s...” As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t pull away. It felt so good to have the warmth of another body against her, the only pain coming from the roots of her hair, instead of--- “What about Mister Pale Tint? He’s blind, isn’t he?”
“Honey, he can see a little bit. He’s not totally blind.”
“But he could use a dog. He... he needs a dog better than me!”
“Bea.” The hairbrush came to rest on the table with a clink, and even with her eyes closed, Trixie could sense her mother pulling closer, her warm breath on the back of her neck. “You love Rex. Why do you want to give him away?”
A full-body shudder went down her spine, and she winced. Everything inside her was rattling around, all the horrid, painful thoughts slamming against the deeper parts of her soul she didn’t want to admit were there.
“...Baby?”
What could she say?
She’d practiced it so many times. So many times. She’d sat in this very chair, staring at this very mirror, saying it over and over again. She’d told Sir Waddles, who she’d propped up on her vanity, pretending he was Mama... and it had seemed so easy then. He was a very good listener. But, no matter how often she’d mouthed the words, now they just wouldn’t come out.
Because I need to tell you...
“Because...” she began.
Because... because...
She gulped, and tried again. “Rex... He...”
Please believe me, Mama...
Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. “Mister Pale Tint seems lonely, and...”
Because Daddy said if I ever told, he’d kill Rex.
Instead, she leaned forward and put her head on the desk. “I dunno.”
A soft kiss pressed against her temple, and Trixie opened her eyes, looking down at the woodgrain.
“You’re such a sweet little filly,” Mama sighed. “You care about other ponies so much you’d be willing to give up your own pet.”
“Mm-hm.”
The drawer beside her opened, and the hairbrush was tucked away. “Rex needs you just as much as you need him, baby. We’re not going to giv...”
She hadn’t lifted her head, but she had heard something unexpected---the rustling of paper. Trixie peered over her elbows, and her heart suddenly dropped into her gut.
Mama was holding... oh no.. She’d found it.
“...Baby?”
With a little sob, Trixie ducked her head back down. She couldn’t bear to see the strain on her mother’s face.
Mrs. Lulamoon put a protective hoof on her daughter’s shoulder, even though she felt it trembling. The scrap of paper she’d just smoothed out was covered in the frantic scribbles of a terrified child. There was a crudely-depicted bed, and a little filly lying on top of it. A dark monster with no eyes was looming over her, its grasping hooves lurching forward. The grey crayon that had been used to draw the image had obviously been scratched so frantically that it had torn the paper in a few places... and around the edges were words that any other pony would find unreadable, since the letters were written backwards and upside-down.
She gulped as she felt her ears fold back. It took a bit of interpretation, but she’d long since learned to understand her daughter’s dyslexic, left-hooved scrawl:
NO POTS PLASE STOP PLEASE STOP EPLSEAE STOP SPTO EPLASE PLEASE
“Beatrix...” She inched the paper over to Trixie, but she refused to look. “What’s this picture of?”
“I, uh, I... just like drawing things,” she said, trying to buy time.
“Baby, you like drawing princesses and castles and stars,” she replied. “I’ve never seen something like this.” She carefully folded the paper closed. “Ever.”
She knew she couldn’t lie to her mother, but... well, stretching the truth felt safer. “I had a nightmare.”
“What sort of nightmare?”
Tell her! something inside her head screamed. Tell her! Just TELL HER!
“I... sometimes... have a dream where...” Trixie glanced up, but her reflection seemed too dark and small as it stared back at her. She couldn’t look herself in the eye. She couldn’t look back. She couldn’t look anywhere. “I see a monster sometimes.”
“Oh, my poor baby," she said, beginning to rock her. "No wonder you get those nosebleeds!”
She swiveled around, her hind legs hooking around her mother’s waist, and she looked up at her with fearful, glimmering eyes. “Mama?”
“Yes, baby?”
“...Am I a bad girl?”
“No.” As she bent down to clutch her tightly, their horns briefly touched, and Trixie felt something shoot down from her head to her tailbone: it was tiny at first, but it built, and by the time it bloomed in her belly, she could feel every last little bit of joy, of happiness, and... of love that she’d ever felt before. It prickled out from the base of her horn, and as she felt it reverberate around her body, she pulled back, eyes glistening. She knew that kind of spell took a lot of effort, and her mother only did it on special occasions, or when she was sick. It always made her feel better.
“My little BumbleBea,” Mama cooed, “You’re the sweetest, kindest, smartest little filly I’ve ever met in my life.”
“I am?”
“Yes.” She hugged her tight. “A million times yes. And I know you’re strong enough to fight off the monsters in your dreams.”
“Oh.”
“That’s what my mother always told me,” she said as she scooped her daughter up, carrying her towards the bed. “And you know what? It worked! I started being able to fight back, and before I knew it, the nightmares stopped coming.”
She pulled the sheets over Trixie’s body, and tucked the coverlet up under her chin. Smiling, she smoothed her frog over the neatly-brushed bangs, gently moving them away from the wide purple eyes. “You were so smart to draw a picture of that monster.”
That made her sit up a little. “Really?”
“Yes! Because now that you’ve drawn him, you have power over him.” She leaned over the bed and kissed her daughter’s snout. “Tomorrow night, we’ll throw that picture in the fire, and poof! No more monster. Okay, baby?”
She eased down into the mattress, trying not to frown. Mama made it seem so simple. It must be nice to be a grown-up. They don’t have to worry about anything. “Okay.”
Her head cocked to the side. “Last chance for a story.”
“No, Mama. I said I’m too old for stories.”
“Suit yourself.” This time she kissed her forehead, followed by a little pat. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Trixie nibbled on her lower lip as she watched her mother’s form turn into a silhouette as she trotted to the door, and suddenly something leapt up in her barrel, pounding like lightning in her heart. Now, Trixie! Do it now! TELL HER NOW!
“Mama---!”
But she was already waving goodbye. “Sleep tight, baby,” she said through the crack in her doorway. “I promise you there aren’t any monsters that come in the dark---so be a brave girl for Mama.”
“But---!”
The door closed, but then Mama opened it again, just a crack. Just enough to let the light from the hallway shine in. And just enough for her to hear her to hear...
“You’ll always be my precious little Bumble Bea.”
The door clicked itself closed, and with a thin sigh, she looked up at the billowing curtains. The shadows they cast around her room were frightening, but at least tonight, she knew she was safe.
