I am the court magician to the Queen of the night herself. I am the general of the most elite of the Lunarian military. I am headmistress of the Lunarian school of illusions. I am a tactical genius, a teacher, a warrior and a role-model for everypony under me.
These are not who I see in the mirror.
I see a foal. A foal of only fourteen falls old. A war-orphan like so many others, alone and scared, forced to face the realities of war on the forefront of the battlefield. I have a surrogate mother in my queen Luna and may I dare say a father in the royal herald. But to live as I am, to be a child of the stars living out a cursed prophecy. I am a Trixie above all else. And that is something no pony, no army of my beloved people or false mother and father could ever help me with.
Nay, this battle I am alone with no pony but myself to do anything about it.
You see, I am an instrument of war, nay of revenge. My great ancestor dishonoured and de-titled, she cursed the house Sparkle with the greatest misery she could fathom onto her. Herself. Now every Trixie there after is born blue coated, silver-blue maned and eyes purple with the darkness of vengeance. I was born like so many before, cutie mark and all, memories and all. A constant reminder of just who I am and what purpose I serve in this life of mine.
And yet I look at this mirror and wonder for as many hours I can spare, wondering, just who I am. To speak with the traditional Trixie, to let the sound of one's voice speak haughtily with pride and sultry grace... such things came naturally to me. And yet I don't talk like that. This life taught me humility, this life spoke to me pride brought on by the people and not by one's vanity.
This Trixie inside my head, she is an imposter. An imposter I mistake as myself.
She is so selfish and cruel, sadistic and warped. Sometimes in my dreams, her memories come to me. The way she "toyed" with the enemy as if they were less than pony, the way Luna disapproved of her "genius" and the "pain" of losing the "great and powerful" of her name. I often wonder at night whether I should erase my memories so that I may live content as the Trixie I see in my mind. The Trixie I was meant to be.
But Luna admonishes such notions as to even forbid me to. She sees a Trixie beyond what I was born for, a pony who I suspect will never see reality like so many before me. I would die in some Luna-forsaken battlefield with a filly to my name who would restart the cycle all over again. I am just a cog in the machinations of revenge. What folly my mo- my majesty thinks for me.
Memories are a funny thing, often time I remember her life as if it were my own and I swear I remember joys in my life that Luna asserts as my own. Impossible dreams of a happy foalhood that I cannot separate between hers and mine. Much of the time I can't believe as mine and only hers. I ask myself often whether differentiating matters, happy times should never be forgotten. A sentiment that brings nothing but melancholy to my dear queen.
And I too in understanding.
From the few facts I know I can fathom at least this much. I was a child born from desperate times. My mother, my real mother had fallen into temptation. With nary a unicorn to give her a foal, stallions fearing for themselves and the child of their passion. Everypony feared the tragedy of the Trixies to befall them and so no pony would take her hoof in consummation.
In resignation, as the supposed last Trixie to exist, lived on, all alone. Everypony was all to happy about the rise of the great hero Trixie and yet none dared to live involved with the madness that is her lives.
So in the end, only demons could offer what she needed for absolution.
Mother gave birth to me, unloved and alone. And then she abandoned me, so that she could fulfil her last purpose.
In my mind, I see her all too happy to meet Twilight Sparkle and meet her end.
Victory would have brought no joy to her.
I was born with reptilian eyes who's pupils narrow into predatory slits and bare tattered insect wings that would buzz with activity. I am not merely a mongrel of the love between the sun and the moon, those foals are not an abomination like me. At the very least they could still call themselves pony. I however do not know who I am. Nor will the filly after me and that filly's filly. I was not born by love, for a changeling does not know love. I can only resign to the idea that I am born of hate, more so than every Trixie before.
I do not blame you mother for everypony fearing us. But I do hate you for doing this to me. Now I have to shoulder the legacy of Trixies whom had fallen from grace. I am truly a monster and all for the sake of a title that speaks redundancy! No pony doubts me as "great and powerful", no pony has doubted any of us as such! I feel the power in my blood, I feel it building and flowing through me at every waking moment. It begs me for release, itching against my veins and screaming ire into my nerves. I practically live as great and powerful. Sleeping, waking, eating, fighting and eventually dying great and powerful!
All this for a single purple mare. This power can kill a kingdom of them! I will release everything onto her until there is nothing left. And if she should fall before then, I will never stop until I am ended. I know this will haunt me for the rest of my life. This itching burning sensation is something I refuse to suffer alone! I am born and bred and nurtured for battle and I will never stop until everyone is dead. I exist for nothing else, normalcy is but an idea that reminds me of my sheer monstrosity.
No! I am not that pony! I want to live peacefully with everypony. To end this war, this grudge, this curse and this whole existence. I want a future, perhaps not for me but one for the next Trixie so that she may never have to suffer like this.
I want to know what love is. Giving and receiving. Despite all of my confusion I at least understand one thing. That I can't begin until I love myself.
