For the most part, Ponyville was as she remembered it—rough-edged, rustic and sprawling like a pack of lazy oxen around a river delta. If she was being completely honest with herself—something she'd admit to being a work in progress—Trixie wasn’t really expecting anything less. Certain places in your life remained enchanted by bad memories, forever fresh and vivid in your mind, no matter how hard you stayed away or tried to forget.
She should know. She had traced a big enough map of them.
Needs must, however, and even Trixie, the most dazzling storyteller ever to trot Equestria, wasn’t above eating a slice or two of humble pie if it meant getting what she wanted. She cantered around the growing puddles between the houses, keeping to the shadows that seemed to reach for her so greedily in the dying light. It was far from pleasing to be skulking around like a common vagrant, but even worse was the idea of being seen by somepony. Although Sparkle had granted her forgiveness the last time she had been here, she wasn’t sure the rest of Ponyville would be so keen to follow suit.
She passed the bakery, and darted down another winding street—and there it was! The castle of Twilight Sparkle, framed against the heavy orange sun; iridescent, even though it was nothing but a silhouette. Trixie stared up at the imposing structure for a moment. Even she had to admit that it was a grand and fitting abode—particularly when compared to her own modest apartment in Canterlot—though the acknowledgement felt like a painful itch she couldn’t quite reach.
Forcing her head high and proud, the unicorn trotted slowly up the path to the heavy-looking door and raised a hoof. The first twinges of trepidation had started to gnaw at her earlier confidence. The idea had seemed so simple on the train from Canterlot, but since arriving in Ponyville she had found her pulse quickening with every step. She snorted loudly.
Yes, she might be a princess now—and a pretty famous one at that—but it certainly didn’t mean Trixie was going to prance and preen to get an audience. And yet both her pride and reputation depended on this meeting going well. There was something else too, she briefly acknowledged, before suppressing the thought again. That could most certainly wait.
She knocked twice and waited, rehearsing her opening lines. She just needed to put over how great and successful and totally amazing she had become since that dimly-remembered incident with the Alicorn amulet. No doubt the princess would be more picky about who she entertained these days, but regale with a few choice exploits and the rest would surely take care of itself.
A moment later and the door opened with a slow creak. Standing before her—wearing what was no doubt a reflection of her expression—was her two-time nemesis, Twilight Sparkle. Trixie blinked in surprise. Surely she should have servants for this kind of mundane task?
“Trixie?”
It was strange. Ponyville hadn't really changed at all, but Twilight most certainly had—a little taller now, and carrying herself with more confidence. The wings were the most jarring sight, lightly relaxed against her barrel and adding to her size, but Trixie found herself relieved to discover those violet eyes were as gentle as when she had departed Ponyville that second time.
They were wide and looking pretty surprised right now though.
“Wow… This is unexpected.” Twilight shook her head, as if trying to clear it, and then those eyes sharpened . “But good—definitely good. What are you doing here so late though? Is everything okay?”
Trixie opened her mouth to reply and then paused. She had expected regal coolness, or a politeness fogged by the passage of time, and as it was most of her rehearsed lines had been suddenly rendered useless. Still, it was important to not lose any ground. Standing straight and proud, Trixie tried to adopt a formal expression, but that look creeping across Twilight’s face kept throwing her all off balance. It was silly thing—a little surprise and suspicion maybe, but also something that looked like pleasure. She cleared her throat and met her gaze.
“The Fabulous Storyteller Trixie requires your immediate assistance, Princess Sparkle.” Ooh, requires. That was good! Polite, a little deferential, maybe, but still commanding.
A smile played across Twilight’s lips. “First I get Pinkie Pie arranging a formal dinner party, then one of Applejack’s most prized trees starts growing pears, and now this? Wonders will simply not cease today.” She moved to one side and gestured with a hoof. “Please, come in out of the cold.”
Trixie scowled at the retort, but followed Twilight up the crystalline steps and into the castle proper. Another skirmish lost.
They trotted in awkward silence as the alicorn led her first through two long, regal-looking corridors and then into a reception room filled with artifacts and paintings. Trixie frowned; surely she wasn't trying to show off? Her brow furrowed even deeper as she tried to think of some casually dismissive remarks, but it was so hard when the place looked so grand. And anyway, wasn't this the type of place she once dreamed of calling home?
Twilight opened a door on the far side of the room, and gestured with a hoof for Trixie to go through. “You know, the castle certainly looks the part and all, but it isn’t really me. Not yet, anyway.” She sounded sheepish—uncertain—and Trixie felt a prickle of relief that she hadn't baited her earlier. That would have made things more difficult than they needed to be, although Twilight's inability to act like a princess was already complicating things.
The unicorn stepped into a room that was in complete contrast to the other parts of the castle she had seen. Instead of cold, majestic crystal, the room was dominated by warm oak panels and a vast purple carpet that hugged at the hooves. A wide fireplace crackled merrily, the only source of light apart from a few candles scattered on bookshelves and the table nestling between two long sofas. She looked back at Twilight and raised an eyebrow.
The alicorn looked around with an awkward expression on her face. “This is kind of my comfort room,” she said by way of explanation. “I guess you can take the filly out of the library, but you can’t take the library out of the filly.”
Trixie turned her gaze back to the rows and rows of books and felt a smile tug at her lips. Somewhere among this collection was what she needed.
“I heard about your library,” she said. “You have Trixie’s sympathy—she knows what it is like to lose one’s abode.” Her words carried her back to the broken ruin of wood she had been forced to leave behind after the Ursa Minor’s attack. It hadn’t been much, but it had been hers.
Twilight grimaced, and took a sudden interest in the rug under their hooves. “You… have somewhere now though, right?”
Trixie flicked her cornflower mane with a casual hoof. “Oh yes, Trixie now has a most splendid residence in Canterlot.” It wasn't exactly a lie—it had a nice view at least—but she was rarely there, which was why the word residence had probably come to her tongue more naturally than the alternative.
Home.
“Good, good.” An awkward moment passed, and then another. Twilight’s face creased in thought before brightening. “Oh, can I get you something to drink whilst we talk? Tea? Some wine? I was about to have a glass myself.” She motioned towards a thick book resting on the arm of one of the sofas. “I find it tastes great with a nice adventure.”
Trixie scratched at her mane. It felt as though she was being disarmed somehow. “Er, well… Trixie thinks that some wine would be... agreeable.”
A soft raspberry haze added briefly to the light in the room as two glasses were filled by the bottle hovering above them. Twilight sat down and gestured to the other sofa. Trixie perched herself on the edge of it, not wishing to appear rude when hospitality was being offered, but not wanting to appear to be meekly following every command given either.
“Trix—I—was not expecting to receive such a generous welcome,” she began. The small room seemed to make her voice sound strange. Unsure, even. It wasn't an effect she liked.
Twilight took a slow sip of wine, and waved a hoof casually. “That was all some time ago Trixie—it’s forgotten.” Those violet eyes met Trixie's for a moment and a rueful smile played loosely on her lips. “But before we do begin, I promised myself I owed you an apology if we ever saw each other again—and I... I always hoped we would. I’ve taken on a lot as the Princess of Friendship this past year, and I’m forever becoming aware of how I could have done things better in the past. After that incident with the amulet, well... I just wish you’d have stuck around Ponyville a bit longer.”
Trixie caught her reflection in her glass. She had a terrible poker face these days; it looked exactly as she felt—as though the ground had been pulled from under her. What was Sparkle playing at? How was she supposed to respond to something like that?
Thankfully, Twilight must have felt just as awkward, for she coughed politely. “Well, anyway... How have you been?”
Trixie swallowed and quickly suppressed those unsteady thoughts. This was her chance. “Oh, the Dazzlingly Creative Trixie has been exceptionally busy since our last… encounter,” she replied, waving what she hoped was an equally casual hoof. “After leaving Ponyville I found employment with non-other than the Tamberhooves—the most illustrious and exciting theatre troupe in all of Equestria.”
She was surprised when Twilight gasped loudly into her hooves, an excited grin splitting her face. “Oh my gosh—The Tamberhooves?” The alicorn closed her eyes and raised a hoof. “As in, ‘be prepared to have your heart stolen by the Tamberhooves’?”
Trixie watched the unexpected recital of the troupe’s motto dumbly, a mild flutter of panic breaking free from her chest. Another unforeseen complication. “Er… yes. Well, I can see you’ve heard of us.”
Twilight clapped her hooves together, her eyes sparkling in a way Trixie had not seen in their last two encounters. “Oh I have. Trixie that’s so amazing! You know, I’ve been reading about the Tamberhooves ever since they first appeared on the performing arts scene a few years ago. Their plays are supposed to be so exciting and dramatic—why, I read that their interpretation of Whitequill’s Three Nights of a Loveless Marriage possessed the most captivating of stage effects.”
Trixie felt her lips twist into a smile. She couldn't help herself—she scratched that itch. “But of course. Have you ever known Trixie to not deliver a captivating spectacle?”
Twilight blinked; her mouth fell open. “You’re the Tamberhooves’ stage effects pony?”
Trixie took a slow sip of wine, enjoying Twilight's reaction. “Well, what can I say? When they heard that the wondrously inventive Trixie was in Canterlot and seeking a residency, they practically pleaded for her services. I was naturally a little resistant—I won’t work for just anypony you know—but they managed to charm me over the course of several weeks.”
“Wow.” Twilight smiled wistfully. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see the Tamberhooves perform.” She lifted her own glass to her lips, and Trixie's heart became calm once again. So she hadn't attended a show. “But every time I tried to book tickets, they had either sold out or my new duties got in the way. Not to mention the fact that they travel round Equestria so often they're rarely in the same place for more than a day or two." Twilight's expression brightened. “But now that I know you’re a member, I really should make the effort.”
Trixie froze. It felt as though somepony had tipped ice cold water over her body, and the earlier flutter of panic in her chest turned into a full-blown stampede. “Oh... Well, I’m sure you realise that Tamberhooves shows sell out months in advance.”
“Yes, but—”
“Years, even.” Trixie swallowed. This had not been part of the plan, and the unicorn began to feel light-headed. She needed to get what she had come here for and leave—Tartarus, why had she made this so complicated?
“Well you know, Trixie,” Twilight replied, a sneaky smile on her face that looked just a little out of place. “Being a princess does have some perks, now that I think about it. I’m pretty sure I could have a word and get tickets to your next show—maybe even several—I could bring—”
“Twilight, I said no!” Perhaps it would have been easier to have simply kept her guard up and stuck to the original plan, but Trixie knew deep down that she was not a pony to do things the easy way. Nevertheless, the sound of her voice surprised her, and in the silence that followed she was convinced she could hear the panic and fear still echoing off the walls. Opposite, Twilight’s eyes dimmed a fraction, and her face clouded—succumbing first to suspicion, and then disappointment. It was one of the ugliest things Trixie had even seen—and that included having had an Ursa Minor roaring in her face.
“I see,” Twilight said, eventually. Her voice sounded clipped and thick. “Well played Trixie. You really had me fooled there.”
Trixie blinked in surprise, feeling an unpleasant heat prick her cheeks. “You—You think me a liar?”
“Oh, I don’t think.” Twilight’s gaze hardened—those eyes becoming stark lines holding back shimmering pools. “You’ve been on my mind a lot Trixie! I... I don’t know why but you have. I hoped so much that when I saw you again you’d have changed—not much, but enough, Trixie. Enough.” A thick, bitter laugh cracked through her lips. “It looks as though that was a wish too far. Here you are, a year on and still making up tales to prove you’re better than me.”
Trixie's mouth fell open. It felt as though Twilight had physically slapped her across the face, and her throat began to burn with indignation. All those jittery and unsteady thoughts bubbled back to the surface, demanding to be burst. Equestria be damned if she was going to let the hurt show though. She gritted her teeth and made to rise. “Trixie does not care for your assumptions, Sparkle.”
Twilight groaned and rubbed a hoof over her face. “Just get to the point Trixie, I don’t have the energy. What did you come here for?”
Trixie scowled but it felt off somehow, like she had lost control of her face. Twilight's words had cut her to the bone, but it was perplexing her why Twilight was acting as though it was she who had been wronged; slighted. She shook her head. Enough—just get what you came for and leave. Everything else? Well that was clearly just folly.
“Trixie is looking for a book,” she said slowly. Speaking more formally helped keep her voice steady. “It’s a specific historical text book, on the third dynasty of ancient Griffonstone. I had heard you hold a copy.”
Twilight snorted, her expression still ugly. “Sure, I’ve got one—but I’m a little doubtful that you’d get any use from it.”
Indignation returned to Trixie’s cheeks, and with it hot anger too. How dare she? That sheltered and arrogant pony really had no idea at all. Trixie leapt from the sofa, planting her hooves apart in that soft, soft rug. “So, you think me a liar and an uneducated boor? My my, you weren’t kidding when you said you were still learning about this friendship lark.”
Twilight rose from her sofa, her wings unfolding furiously. “Just who do—” She paused as Trixie took the flyer from her saddlebag and thrust it under her muzzle. “What is this?” As Twilight quickly scanned the paper the colour drained from her face. Her eyes, looking shaky and anguished, met Trixie’s again. Seconds earlier, Trixie knew for a fact that she would have felt satisfaction from seeing those eyes like that, but now she had seen them she just felt emptiness. An emptiness that was starting to feel all too familiar.
“I’m so sorry,” Twilight whispered, a blush darkening her lavender face. “I shouldn’t have said those things. It’s just... What I meant was—I," a sigh shuddered from her body. "Oh, I’m sorry.”
An awkward silence filled the room, and Trixie, not knowing what else to do, sat back down on the sofa. Her chest still hurt, but honestly? There was some degree of guilt creeping in too. A dozen thoughts, conversations and epiphanies struggled to be acknowledged, but pride once again buried them deep. She licked her dry lips.
“It’s… fine, really,” she began carefully. The air between them felt new; fragile. “Trixie—I—probably deserved that. The pony who cried Timberwolf, as they say.” The words were strange objects in her mouth, but the hopeful expression that had started to appear on Twilight’s face upon hearing them was encouraging. “But as you can see from that flyer," she continued. "I am telling the truth this time. I need the book for research—the Tamberhooves’ next performance is set in ancient Griffonstone, and my stage effects have to be as accurate as possible.”
Twilight's look turned quizzical. “Research?”
“Honest and true.” Trixie tried a smile. Perhaps it was too soon, for it felt stiff and awkward on her face. “When Trixie commits her name to something, she doesn’t do it lightly. It might take weeks—months even—but the end result will always be perfect. I've been doing research with other texts already. They're fine for the basic scene-setting, but lack the detail Trixie needs to make the stage truly captivating for the set-pieces.”
Twilight's hesitant eyes bored into hers for a moment, and then she nodded, as if coming to a decision. A large tome danced from a nearby bookshelf onto the table between them. “Well, here’s the book. Everything from Ironbeak to Gullwing.”
Trixie took a sip of wine to calm her nerves as she turned the pages with her magic. She caught Twilight’s expression out of the corner of her eye and almost laughed. She knew a test when she saw one, and suddenly the air seemed much less fragile. “Well, the last I read, Sparkle,” she replied, closing the book. “Was that the third dynasty ended with Ironbeak. It didn't start with him.”
“Oh... My mistake. You’ll probably want this one instead then.” Twilight’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes twinkled playfully as she levitated another book from the shelf. Despite herself Trixie heard a laugh escape her mouth, and her heart trembled as, a moment later, Twilight joined in.
The second book was indeed what she had been looking for; as she delicately turned the pages with her magic, Trixie could feel weeks of tension fall from her shoulders. There were diagrams and sketches and hypothesised theories—all things she knew she could build whole shimmering worlds from. This would be her finest performance to date—providing she could pull it off.
Her chest fluttered nervously again, and she closed the book. “Thank you Twilight,” she said, meeting her gentle gaze. “Truly.”
“Happy to help.” Twilight smiled. It was a good smile; a natural one. “Are you sure you don’t need any other reference material? I’ve… I’ve got others.”
“No, no,” Trixie nodded towards the book. “There’s more than enough in there. From those pages I’m going to make the most radiant scenes ponykind has ever seen. Eyries resplendent in the morning mist, great twisting Baobabs that carry whole towns on their shoulders—it will all be glorious.” As she spoke, she watched ideas form and dance in front of her eyes, and tracked them—every little detail—until a polite cough brought her back into the room. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. How could she have left herself so unguarded, around Twilight, of all ponies?
Twilight was watching her intently, a curious expression on her face. “You just keep surprising me,” she said softly—and oh! How her eyes sparkled in that moment. Trixie blinked, but could not look away. “I have to say Trixie, I… I think I quite like it.”
Again, the room fell silent except for the crackling of the fire, but this time Trixie found she didn’t mind it so much. She stared at the glowing embers, replaying the sentence over in her head until she heard the chiming of a clock. Looking up she suddenly realised how late it was. The last train back to Canterlot was due in soon.
“Well,” she said, breathing deeply as she slid the book into one of her saddlebags. “I should really get going.”
“Are you sure?” Twilight rose from the sofa, her voice sounding strained and hurried. “You’re welcome to study here if you want—any time in fact! I’ve got some great rooms for doing research in, and they have beds in them too, um, you know... because too much research makes you tired.” She paused, drawing breath. "I should stop talking."
Trixie smiled. It was a nice offer—the type of kindness that, for the most part, had been few and far between in her life—but the idea of practicing anywhere where somepony could see her mistakes was not an appealing one. Especially if that pony was Twilight.
“Thank you Twilight, but the awesome designs Trixie is known for can only be developed in the right environment.”
Twilight rolled her eyes but her smile was genuine, and she quietly guided Trixie back downstairs.
“It would be nice to see you again, you know,” she said hesitantly as she opened the front door and shivered against the cold night air. “Really nice. Perhaps you could show me some of your ‘awesome designs’ when you’ve got the time?” Her voice sounded hopeful.
Trixie paused in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the path leading back through Ponyville. There would have been a time when showing off her skills to an appreciative Twilight would have given her a smug sense of satisfaction. But time changes a pony, even—she conceded—when the pony doesn’t realise it until it is almost too late. She exhaled, slowly.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said. Continuing would leave her open and exposed—she knew that—but Trixie decided that someone as great and inspirational as herself should not continue to hide from the truth. She’d already been half acknowledging it since the incident with the amulet anyway.
“To begin with, I never did much research for the performances. It didn’t seem to matter anyway—the applause, the glorious standing ovations all seemed to come regardless, and that was what Trixie desired. But, one morning, we held a meet and greet at one of Canterlot’s foal-schools. One of the pupils came up to me and told me how he was coming to the show the following week, and that he hoped he could see the meteor shower effects in third act clearly. He had never seen one in real life, apparently.”
Trixie fixed her gaze on a puddle in front of her. She was great, she was powerful, but she didn't feel brave at all in that moment. If she turned around, she knew her story would end prematurely, and her pride would not—could not—let that happen. An unsure azure face stared back at her from the puddle as she continued. “I don’t know why, but that week I suddenly found myself researching aspects of meteor showers. You simply wouldn’t believe how much knowledge I absorbed—the effects contrasting speeds and trajectories had on the appearance of the shower; different sizes and densities, and how they moved—for that week Trixie became the mistress of meteors.”
She looked up at the sky, half expecting to see such a sight. Instead, the moon stared back, looking proud.
“I was so nervous before the show—the first time I had ever been, in fact. But I did it—the meteor shower that graced the stage that night was the finest you’d ever see. Afterwards, the foal and his family found me, and do you know what he said? He said that when he grew up, he wanted to be a great stage effects pony... like me.”
Trixie swallowed. Even now, over a year later, the memory brought a hard lump to her throat. “Nopony had ever said those words to me before. And it pushed me on—made me want to be the very best like nothing else before in my life. Not for myself, you understand, but for everypony who would ever come to a Tamberhooves show.” A sad laugh fell from her lips. “I guess the nerves stayed for the ride.”
She paused to collect her thoughts. Twilight was giving her a respectful silence, which was appreciated, but without looking round there was no way of knowing what she was making of her tale. Another confession tugged at her lips and she sighed. In for a bit, in for the whole bag.
“I snapped at you, because the idea of you sitting in the crowd terrifies me.”
“It does?” Twilight spoke up then, her voice sounding confused and concerned. “But… why? It’s just me.”
“Exactly,” Trixie scuffed her hoof against the path. “It’s you. After I finished speaking with that foal, I realised that I understood how he felt. I understood it, because I felt it too. I felt it so many times in the weeks and months after that duel.” She swallowed nervously; it seemed as though all the air in Equestria had suddenly been spirited away. “I still feel it—about you.”
She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her, and hurriedly continued before Twilight had a chance to interrupt.
“Just let Trixie finish. The thought of you being a one of our shows, well it scares me because... because you’re not just one more pony in the crowd I need to please, you’re the pony I want to please. And if I… I failed, it would simply be the most dreadful thing ever.”
Trixie exhaled slowly, satisfied that she had said all she needed to. She felt drained, but there was pleasure at finally unburdening herself. Looking round, she wielded her small smile like a challenge. “I guess that must sound ridiculous to you.”
Twilight was staring at her with an unreadable expression on her face, as though like she was trying to fathom some complex riddle. A slight blush had risen to her cheeks. “I—” She shook her head, her mane rippling hypnotically. “I don’t think that sounds silly at all. In fact, it’s something I think I can relate to myself.”
Trixie held her gaze for a moment and, to her surprise, she saw the colour on Twilight’s cheeks intensify. The unicorn smiled then, feeling those once strong nerves diminish. “Trixie thinks you’re okay, Sparkle.”
Twilight laughed. It was a genuine one, and like the most wonderful blanket against the cold.
“Well, Princess Twilight thinks you’re not too bad either.”
Trixie nodded. The night had certainly been a ride, but it had ended better than she could have ever hoped. Part of her wanted it to continue on—to take Twilight up on her offer—but she knew she would concentrate better in her own residence. She tried to think of a dozen ways to say goodbye, but only one seemed appropriate in the current circumstances.
"The Great and Thankful Trixie bids you goodnight, Twilight Sparkle!"
Rearing up, the unicorn slammed her front hooves into the ground, and a magenta flash cut through the air as smoke exploded around her. Then she galloped off into the night.
The duties and responsibilities that came with being a princess were numerous, and sometimes it felt to Twilight that all the checklists in Equestria weren’t enough to stop her losing days and weeks at a time. But she did pride herself on retaining at least some aspects of her old life—every Saturday morning, she allowed herself two cups of coffee, some walnut and date pancakes and a single hour to sit on the balcony of her castle. Sometimes she read, sometimes she pony-watched. Today, it was predictive correspondence.
A steaming mug hovered in a raspberry haze as she scanned through the letters. She had recently started challenging herself to try and identify the sender by the handwriting, stamp and type of enveloped used, but one of the letters this morning was proving quite a mystery. It was regal looking—cerulean blue, and embossed with swirls and leaves. That alone narrowed it down to either Lightscribe’s or Paper Candy’s—both Canterlot based stationers. The handwriting was long and looping, not with a natural flow, but one of slow precision, as though somepony had taken a long time to create the effect. A single word was written.
Sparkle
She toyed briefly with the idea of testing the ink first, but curiosity got the better of her, and Twilight tore the envelope open. Her horn glowed as a pair of bronze-coloured tickets and a little note levitated before her eyes. She looked at the note first.
Be prepared to have your heart stolen,
T x
Twilight gasped, and quickly scanned the tickets. They were front-row seats for the opening night, in a month's time. A warm, jittery feeling blossomed in her chest.
“Spike,” she called. “Could you please bring me my checklist for the first Saturday of next month?”
A moment later, the little dragon strolled out onto the balcony with the bound scroll in claw. “It's still early isn't it?” he asked, a little surprised. “I thought Saturday-morning-Twilight-hour was for relaxing.”
Twilight smiled. “Just making an important addition, Spike.”
Her quill twisted and flowed as she made some changes, before scribbling down the extra item and adding a tiny tick-box next to it. She looked at the new entry, and a soft smile spread across her lips.
Have my heart stolen
Author's Note
Thanks for reading. This was my first story on this site, and a nice reminder for me of how you can improve as a writer. I've gone back and amended the worst offenders against the written word, but I wanted to leave some of the rawness intact.
Twixie is my OTP and I love writing it. There is a loose sequel to this (Chicanery) if you are interested. I'll be writing a third in the not-so-distant future.
