Author's Note

Please note that while this story is written in the limited third-person perspective, the story is still subject to Trixie's point of view. Except for her words, thoughts, and actions, all descriptions and depictions are her interpretations and should never be taken objectively.

Nowhere Fast

Some souls carry heavy weights, terrible shackles that drag them into the muck. Bound by tradition, family, the state, or some other force, they yearn for freedom despite an unwillingness to seize it. With a simple key dangling in reach of the ensnared, they instead continue to bear the heavy loads. Misplaced guilt or blind obedience stays the hand until the bird's wings atrophy, forever leaving the captive fettered.

At times, those souls so trapped will unknowingly face a decision: A crisis that can grant them not only freedom, but the power to see through every other constraint. Few take the plunge, for to do so is to hurl oneself from a cliff's face into the blind depths. The fear of the unknown, the risk of shattering upon the rocks, pulls the frightened soul back to its familiar moorings.

Trixie Lulamoon reclined into her uncomfortable and cramped seat. She ignored the captain's announcement; she was in Sydney, and she knew what the local time was. The cramping muscles of her legs and the companionship of a neighbour composed of more adipose tissue than a bear going into hibernation with a snore to put a muffler-less motorbike to shame ensured that she had not enjoyed any of the nineteen hours of flight. The return trip would be equally miserable, but that was twelve weeks distant and not yet worthy of consideration.

As soon as it was permitted, she stood and moved to the exit. Trixie had planned ahead and carried no bags onto the aeroplane. While the huddled masses were still collecting their belongings, she was already out the door.

Entering the airport was liberating. She did not yet have permission to enter the country, but at least she could breathe without inhaling whatever scents the unwashed man next to her deigned to share. Gone was the toddler kicking her seat as the parents discussed politics. A woman nearby coughed, but the odds of her infection reaching Trixie were slim. She took comfort in the fact that it would have to compete with anything else she had acquired from the people sharing the cabin if it did reach her.

Trixie made her way to Customs. The bored clerk gave an apathetic perusal of her possessions while verifying that she was not a wanted criminal. When no warnings appeared on her screen and Trixie was proved to have no weapons of mass destruction in her possession, she waved Trixie into the section of the airport that was official territory of Australia.

Luggage was slow to arrive. As she waited, Trixie amused herself by imagining the lives and stories of the people she saw. There was a husband embracing his wife after visiting his foreign mistress. Here was a woman out of her prime trying desperately to cover with makeup what years of office politics had done to her skin, all in the vain hope of landing the attentions of that perfect someone. The young siblings wailing in the next row of seats were clearly abused by parents that refused to give them the chocolate bars they deserved.

Finally, the belt began to move, and she approached the conveyer to watch for her single bag. Fortune favoured her this one time by arranging for her athletic duffle to be among the first pieces of luggage to show itself. Lady Luck then showed her true colours when a young man simply took it without checking the tag. He apologised when Trixie proved the error, but his expression made clear that the words were merely perfunctory.

When her bag's strap was securely placed over her shoulders, only one hurdle remained: Meeting her host.

As Trixie exited into the commons of the airport proper, she watched over the heads of the crowds. Numerous people waited by the doors with signs held aloft in welcome. It took a moment for her to spot her own name in the crowd. The young woman holding it looked exactly as she had in the photograph sent to Trixie when she was placed.

The person she hoped would be able to tolerate her until the end of the exchange trip must have recognised her as well. She lowered the sign to make her approach.

"Are you Trixie Lulamoon?"

"I am. Olivia Taylor, was it?"

"Yep." Her mouth broke into a wide, congenial grin. "Welcome to Australia."

They shook hands. Olivia offered to take the bag, but Trixie preferred to keep it. She followed her host into the parking garage to a plain grey sedan. Her luggage fit neatly into the back, Trixie in the passenger's seat.

"We've got about a forty minute ride ahead of us. Blooming airport's way on the other side of town. Any music you prefer?"

"I'm not particular. Do you mind getting to know each other on the way?"

"Not at all."

Olivia selected a pop station before backing from the space. They remained silent until she was on the street. Once they were safely on their way, she opened with a bit of her background.

She was a graduate student at Western Sydney University's Master of Urban Management and Planning programme. Though Trixie would be taking classes at the University of Sydney, the exchange programme housed students with vetted locals regardless of their affiliation to a particular school. The majority of hosts were unlikely to be students, after all, but Olivia had decided to apply because she thought it would be fun to open her home to a foreigner.

"I've been to New Zealand a few times, but that's it. I grew up here, and I love it, but getting to see Sydney through your eyes might just help me appreciate it more."

"That's not too different from why I wanted to study abroad."

"The information packet said you're into theatre?"

"Yes, but I'll be taking International Studies classes while I'm here."

They shared a few more bits and pieces of themselves as they barrelled through the streets. Traffic was not overbearing, due to the early Sunday morning. Olivia's earlier estimate had been incorrect; they were parking outside her house less than one-half hour after leaving the airport.

The home in which Trixie would be living was a modest single-level suburban structure. The yard was tidy. The house had a new coat of tan paint and looked much like its neighbours. It reminded her of the old track houses: Model dolls in model dollhouses, mass produced for conformity. Such was the norm in any First World society, no matter what part of the world.

Olivia parked in an attached garage and led Trixie into the house. They entered through the kitchen, which the faint scent of bleach indicated had been recently cleaned. The living room featured a small television, a computer on a desk in the corner, and matching furniture spread across the available space. A bookshelf in another corner was stuffed with textbooks and notebooks from a range of subjects, clearly organised by the year in which Olivia took the associated classes. Her most recent books were in a neat stack by her computer.

The hallway in the back led to three rooms. The combined toilet and shower were next to the guest bedroom. The door to Olivia's room was closed, but the other two were open and inviting.

Trixie's room was a little smaller than her childhood bedroom, but it was perfectly cozy. She did not anticipate needing large amounts of space. There was a closet in the corner, the bed was made with simple white sheets, and there was a desk with an attached lamp available for her own studies. A dresser and a nightstand completed the furnishings. She set her bag on the bed.

"They told me not to make too many plans, since everyone reacts differently to a long trip. I'm pretty quiet, so you're welcome to take a nap if you want. If you feel like a shower, it's all yours."

"I wouldn't mind a shower. Sleeping, though ... well, I may crash early, but I should make an effort to acclimate to this time zone. I don't want to sleep through my orientation tomorrow."

The first items from the bag were two framed pictures. Trixie placed them on the nightstand, orienting the them to face the bed. Olivia glanced at both, then gestured to the right hand photograph.

"You were adorable as a kid. Like a doll."

That gave Trixie pause as she smiled. "Thank you."

The scene was her ninth birthday. She had worn a pretty dress, her hair lightly styled, to pose with her family before changing to go out. Her grandfather had purchased the dress, which she still kept, and had done her hair himself.

"Grandad always said that he was thrilled to have a girl in the family. My father's side is very male-heavy; I was the first girl in three generations. He spoilt me because of that."

"So I'm guessing this is your father."

"Yes. My mother passed when I was five, so it was just the three of us most of my life. Grandad passed away last year."

Olivia's grin fell. "It sounds like you were close."

"He moved in after Mum died. I don't remember her well, but they would tell me about her. My father is an executive, so Grandad would watch me after school. He was an actor and stage magician most of his life, but he retired to help care for me."

"So you got into theatre because of him? Oh, sorry, I don't mean to pry."

Trixie offered a reassuring smile. "Think nothing of it. I don't mind talking about my family. Grandad's passing still hurts, but he lived a long life. To answer your question, yes, he inspired me to the theatre. He came out of retirement a few times and always got me front-row seats to his shows. Seeing him on the stage with the rest of the cast, breathing life into their characters and making the world of the play real ... I fell in love with the stage. He even helped me get a few parts here and there, and was always front and centre in the audience to cheer for me when he was not in the production."

"It sounds like he was an amazing actor. Your father didn't get into the field?"

"He preferred a steady income. He wanted me to follow him into business, but ... well, we've talked about our fields of study."

"So, if you don't mind me asking, who are they?" Olivia gestured to the second picture. She was obvious in her desire to change topics, not that Trixie had any complaints. That photograph was taken outdoors, shot on a farm with the fields and trees as the backdrop. Her two friends stood next to Trixie, all three grinning widely at the camera.

"My friends. On the left is Sunset Shimmer. She and I were in the same year throughout secondary school. On my other side is Sweetie Belle, and the baby is Pixel Bit."

"Aww. How old is she?"

"Not quite one year."

"Are they sisters?"

"No." Trixie hesitated. Sweetie Belle made no secret of it, but the situation still felt awkward to discuss with another. "Pixie is her daughter."

"Ah, right. I'll stop asking questions."

"I told you not to worry about it. I promise, if I don't want to talk about something, I'll say so. How about this? Tell me about your family."

As Trixie organised her clothes and set up her laptop, Olivia spoke. Her parents taught at a school in Indonesia, something they started after she graduated secondary school. The house was theirs, but they had given it to their daughter in all but deed. The way she described them seemed to be close and loving, but Trixie knew how easy it was to lie about one's family situation. Sweetie Belle was the best example she knew of a perfect façade.

Once Trixie was ready, Olivia showed her where to find towels and offered full use of the amenities. Trixie had not bothered to pack soaps or other toiletries, planning to purchase them to save room in her bag and for fear of being accused of making a bomb. She let the water heat as she stripped, then stepped into the heavenly caress of warmth.

Both soap and shampoo were lavender-scented. Olivia did not have conditioner, but Trixie was not going to complain. She did not use it every time, and her host was already being generous. It would have been easy to remain in the embrace of the shower, but she did not want to drive up Olivia's water or gas bills.

September in Australia was heading into summer. The day was pleasant, so she opted for jean shorts and a plain tee-shirt. It was going to be odd, returning home to winter. She regarded it as another trivial detail until her departure arrived.

Olivia was cooking a few eggs for a late breakfast when Trixie emerged. Their stomachs grumbled at the same moment, eliciting giggles from both. They ate quietly, more interested in silencing the complaining organs than resuming their earlier conversation.

After the meal, they went shopping for toothbrush and paste, body wash, and a few other necessities. She also needed portable treats to keep herself going when she was at the university. Olivia would provide breakfast and dinner during the week, but Trixie had to be responsible for her own lunches and any other snacks she needed.

They also stopped by a convenience store to get Trixie an Opal card. They could be loaded with funds to use on the transit system, which was mandatory for most lines during the day. The other option was to purchase individual tickets, but Olivia eschewed them for their complexity.

"I promise, the Opal card is a lot easier to deal with. Until it came out, it was almost easier to walk across the city."

By the time afternoon arrived, she was dragging. The flight had not been at all relaxing, so she was pushing thirty hours without sleep. Trixie managed to last until seventeen, but she finally surrendered to her body's demands when she caught herself completely missing a story Olivia was telling her. The young woman did not object when Trixie excused herself to collapse into bed. She did not bother to change into pyjamas, merely closing the curtains and removing her shoes and shorts before crawling under the sheets.

There was no way to tell when the dreams started. It could have been seconds or hours later. Trixie was aware of nothing until she found herself back in her father's house.

Grandad was tucking her into bed, just as he had when she was a child, except she was an adult. He placed a wand on her nightstand before kissing her forehead. He flipped the light and closed her door, but Trixie could not sleep. She tossed and turned all night until she rose with the sun to find her father in the kitchen. Grandad was gone, and only father and daughter sat down together for a silent breakfast. He left work for work, pausing only to give her a bit of spending money.

At university, she went to class. It was time for rehearsal, and her grandfather was already seated in the auditorium to watch her with that familiar smile and gleam in his eye. She tried to join the troupe on the stage only to find gossamer threads pulled her from the theatre. They dragged her to business classes, where she listened to droning lectures about management practises and the difference between gross and net profit and how to maximise revenues while decreasing expenses. Through all the boring monotony, a greyed-out wisp of her grandfather watched her.

He finally vanished as she graduated at the top of her Business Management class, but her father was there to cheer for her.

The dreams ended as the sunlight through the curtains brought her back to reality. Trixie retrieved her shorts and changed her top. It was nearing six, but she could already hear Olivia in the kitchen and smell toast.

She had taken into account the fact her guest had no dinner and was making ham and eggs to go with the toast.

"Perfect timing," Olivia called as Trixie joined her. "I wasn't sure if you set an alarm or not and was about to get you."

"I will set one for tomorrow, but I completely forgot yesterday. Breakfast smells wonderful." She rubbed her growling stomach. "Too wonderful."

Olivia set a plate for her. "Thanks. My mother taught me from the time I was a wee munchkin."

The food was delicious; Olivia was a much better cook than Trixie could ever hope to be. She could make ramen and macaroni fairly easily, but eggs were always undercooked or burnt. Lunch was whatever frozen dinner caught her eye. If her father did not cook dinner, she ordered in or had takeout.

Sitting at the table with Olivia reminded her of her childhood, before her father started working sixty or more hours each week. They enjoyed a bit of small talk during the meal, rinsed the dishes, and then departed together. It was pleasant to have company, but it was only for that day. After being a tour guide that Monday, Olivia would go back to her regular schedule. They would still be able to share breakfasts and dinners. There was also the possibility that they would spend time together on the weekends, but Trixie did not hold much hope for that. Olivia was a graduate student, after all. Added to that was the fact that Trixie had never been able to keep friends.

As their schools were a good distance from each other, it would be impractical to expect Olivia to transport her each day. The house was on a public transport line, so Trixie would be using that. For that first day, Olivia was escorting her and planned to stay around the campus until they returned. The trip each way was just under one hour; a convenient time for studying if needed.

Once they were settled on the bus, Olivia turned to her. "We're going to be here for a while, so I'm taking you up on what you said yesterday. Why did you decide to study abroad? Why Australia?"

"I selected Australia because I don't speak any languages other than English. As far as studying abroad in general ... I guess you could say I wanted to escape the soul-crushing mundanity of my life. It's like what you said about seeing your home through a visitor's perspective; I was hoping that experiencing a different culture would help me appreciate my own."

"You got bored and decided to have an adventure halfway around the world? Seems legit." Olivia gave her a pat on the shoulder. "It gave us a chance to meet; I'm looking forward to telling everyone about my awesome new foreign friend."

That set Trixie to giggles. "I sincerely hope I won't let you down, then."

"Just be you."

They remained in companionable silence most of the rest of the trip, but they did take a picture together that Trixie sent to her father, Sunset, and Sweetie Belle. It was hard to believe, even with the distance, how many hours separated them. Trixie's day was only starting, but they were all getting well into the afternoon of the previous day. She wanted to coordinate an opportunity for a chat on FaceTime, but would save that until she had more to share.

The gentle bus threatened to lull her to sleep, but the threat of missing her connection or her stop kept Trixie alert. She would not have someone to assist her in the future, so counting on Olivia was a bad idea. When she felt herself dozing, she would instead refocus her attention on the buildings she passed.

Sydney's streets were not fundamentally different to those of Chicago, Toronto, New York, or London. Traffic signs and speed limits had different markings, but everyone drove the same vehicles. The businesses lining the streets had new names, but they were still banks, restaurants, and shops. The major landmarks formed the core of what made a city distinct: Wrigley Field, Casa Loma, the Empire State Building, Big Ben, the Sydney Opera House. The streets may not have been different, but that did not diminish Trixie's interest.

Checking in with her programme organisers at the university was easy. She gave her name, showed her passport for identification, received her welcome bag, and then sat with her peers. That specific group had nearly fifty students gathered from across the world. Most spoke English natively, but she did hear a little Japanese and what might have been Thai. There were three Indian students, all wearing traditional clothing. Trixie made a mental note to get to know them. She hoped they would be willing to send her some authentic traditional Indian clothing when they returned, something she would very much love to have.

There was little time to socialise. The coordinator was already on the stage and began as soon as all of the students were settled. Trixie had taken a seat in the second row at the centre, but most of the others took end seats for convenience.

He welcomed them, gave an outline of planned events and field trips, and ensured they all had copies of their schedules before taking questions. By that point, Trixie had zoned out. The whole assembly was no different to a new school year's orientation. Classes did not start until the next day, and the first trip was not for two weeks. A tour of the campus was the day's last event. It was beautiful, but it was exactly like any other university campus anywhere else in the world.

It only struck Trixie as she was heading out to meet Olivia that she was trapped once again in tedium. All of the same actors were playing identical roles against a changed backdrop. Olivia might have noticed her mood, as she offered another pat on the shoulder and a smile without a need to say anything.

The chains were there, but Trixie could not find the key. It seemed that she was to be forever stuck on the ground. The only bright spot was making a new friend, just as the world had brightened the day Trixie met with Sunset. It would not last, but it was pleasant for the moment.

When they were back at the house, Olivia asked, "Do you mind if I have a couple friends over this Saturday? They'd like to meet you."

"It's your home."

"I know, but you're my guest. 'My house is your house' and all that. If you're not comfortable meeting too many new people at once, I won't invite them."

"I don't mind. I'd want to meet the foreign exchange student if we swapped roles."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

The rest of the day passed as it would anywhere. Two friends sat and talked, watched television, and enjoyed their company. It was exactly what Trixie would have done while visiting Sunset, which should have been as grindingly monotonous as everything else, but was instead like a beam of sunlight poking through a dense cloud layer. Having friends made the humdrum of life bearable, but not enjoyable in its own right.

She desperately wished to find something that would disperse the grey clouds and allow more light into her life.

On Tuesday, she tried to approach the Indian students by expressing delight over their beautiful garb. They thanked her before closing ranks to have a discussion in Hindi. Wednesday's attempt at friend making was to speak to twin brothers. She noted that they apparently shared a taste in literature after seeing one of them carrying a copy of the same book Sunset had loaned her. Trixie tried not to behave suggestively and was surprised when one of them asked her out. She was not opposed to the idea in general, but she had noticed his attention to her chest and refused. Both immediately turned their backs to her.

Her week quickly became the same routine she had at home: Wake, eat, class, home, study, dinner, bed. Every further attempt to befriend her classmates was rebuffed as though she was merely tolerated without being welcome, just as she had been at Canterlot High School. She knew that aspects of her personality were often called obnoxious - at least, when the speaker was being kind - but she thought she was finally able to control them. Nothing she tried, from friendly smiles to showing interest in the others rather than her old self-centred ramblings, served to earn the fellowship she desired. It seemed only Olivia had any zeal for her company.

As they rolled into Saturday, Trixie was helping to straighten everything - not that much work was needed - when Olivia's mobile whistled. She had set her alert tones to the famous Kookaburra laugh just to be silly and had kept it for the amusement of reactions from others hearing it.

"My friends can't make it," she griped. "Car troubles."

Trixie's mind flashed to the last time she had seen her own friends before departing. "Did they have an accident?"

"No, just a coolant leak. It should be fixed by the end of the day, but they have other plans tomorrow."

"I'm sorry they couldn't make it. Perhaps next weekend? The tour is only a day trip."

"I'll have to check. They're the types that always stay busy. I know they'll get over here eventually, it's just a matter of 'when.'"

Since their plans were no longer valid, Olivia suggested taking the day for souvenir shopping. Trixie agreed despite only ending her first week. She primarily wanted to spend time with her new friend. She did not intend to buy anything yet, but browsing for ideas would not hurt.

They started with a few clothing stores at the local shopping centre. Most of the styles were exactly what could be found at any similar location, but the usual inanity was not present as they perused racks and dared each other to try the most outlandish outfits they could find.

The need to impress the queen bee of the clique was absent. Neither of them would look down upon the other's style preference. Olivia did not tell Trixie what she believed the budding actress wanted to hear, instead offering genuine feedback.

By the time they paused for lunch, Trixie carried a bag with a new blouse featuring the Sydney Opera House standing proudly over the water. The image was based upon the colourful light shows often seen in tourist guides. On the way to the food court, they passed a trinkets shop, where Trixie procured a stack of postcards to distribute when she returned.

When they finally made it to the food court, Olivia wasted no time in ordering a burger of kangaroo meat. At Trixie's askew glance, she shrugged.

"It's pretty common around here, and it tastes good," she defended. "You should give it a try before you knock it."

"I can't do it; they're too adorable. That's why I don't eat venison."

"They have regular burgers."

Trixie nodded and ordered one. She feared Olivia would take offence at her refusal to eat kangaroo. As they sat and ate, Trixie apologised, which was quickly waved.

"Don't worry about it. I'd be annoyed if you got all 'high and mighty' about it, but to each their own. One of my friends is a vegan, but he doesn't criticise the rest of us."

When it was clear that Olivia would remain as friendly as she had always been, Trixie gave a silent sigh of relief. Ruining a friendship in less than one week would not have been her personal record, but it still would have hurt.

They decided to call it a day after eating. There were a few more interesting stores, but they planned to visit those another day. Both had homework, a much more involved process for Olivia.

Another week passed slowly until it was time for the first field trip. The exchange students would be visiting the Sydney Opera House. Of all the tours planned, it was the one most exciting to Trixie. It was one of the most famous stages in the world, a building easily recognised for the unique architecture.

They would be attending a performance. It was a classical concert, the music to be played on period instruments. Though not what Trixie would have selected, she did look forward to it. She made sure to check her dress before departing to meet the group, even borrowing Olivia's iron to get a few small wrinkles flattened.

One of the women performing reminded her of Octavia. The perfect upright posture was an exact match. They were both cellists - at least, Trixie assumed the instrument was the same, but she was not well-versed in their intricacies - and had similar flowing black hair, but the performer's skin was a few shades darker than Octavia's grey. Perhaps she was related to Trixie's old classmate. As unlikely as it was, she enjoyed the idea.

During the intermission, she ducked into the restroom. She noted some of the other girls following her, but they were caught up in their own conversation. After two weeks of trying to befriend them, she did not expect a sudden change in their acceptance. She shut herself into the stall and tried to ignore the gossipy whispers about her stupid name, ugly dress, and grating voice.

"I'm from the same university," one of them said. "From what a few of her secondary school classmates told me, she's always been a bitch. Just look at how she went flaunting herself at the twins last week."

"At least they didn't fall for it."

"They would have gotten tired of her pretty quick anyway. That bimbo doesn't think about anything but herself. In secondary school, she actually talked about herself in third person all the time."

"Oh my god, how self-absorbed can you get?"

"She is a theatre major. Druggies and tramps, the lot of them. Just keep ignoring her and she'll get the hint."

It was just like middle school and secondary school, except she did not have her own clique with whom to gossip in return. Trixie wanted to believe she had grown better than that. Their words were nothing more than vain banter, a need to feel better than someone else. It was something she understood quite well.

The personal reassurances did not stop the tears.

When they were gone, Trixie left the Opera House. She took the commuter bus downtown, then tried to find the correct line to get closer to Olivia's house. She had the older girl's number but did not want to bother her.

"Spare some change, missy?"

She started and whirled to face an old man who smelt of urine, but he had kept a respectful distance. He held an old coffee cup that was missing its handle and rested his weight against a small tree. He was exactly what she expected in a homeless person: Unkempt, dirty, wearing frayed clothes. Despite his condition, he did not seem to be unhappy as he regarded her with a kind smile that suggested he would not hate her even if she refused him.

The smile touched her sympathies. She had never wanted for money, only companionship. Before her was someone lacking the former and very likely absent the latter. She reached into her bag and extracted a few Australian dollars that she placed into his cup with what she hoped was a kind smile of her own.

"Thank you kindly, Ma'am," he said with a nod. "Where are you trying to get to?"

She pulled the address from her mobile and showed it to him. He pushed himself upright and approached the map to point at one of the routes.

"Should be here in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Sir." She tried to give him a five dollar bill.

"No need for that. It's my pleasure to help somebody in need."

"I appreciate it, but please take this. You've been kinder to me than most people I've met."

He still refused the money. "If you really want to repay me, tell me what you're doing out here; you're all prettied up, but you look like somebody just ripped up your favourite doll."

Trixie sighed. "I came here to get away from some problems in my life. I was hoping a few months visiting another country would give me a fresh perspective to figure out what to do about them. I guess I forgot that people are the same everywhere."

"That they are. Do you regret coming here?"

"Not for the most part. I've made a wonderful friend in the woman hosting me. I haven't gotten what I set out for, but I guess I was grasping at straws. I just feel stupid for ever thinking that coming here would be the solution."

"There's no need for that kind of talk. You weren't just trying to run away from it, were you?"

"Yes and no. I wanted a reprieve while I thought about it. It would be nice if my problems could solve themselves, but that's pure wishful thinking."

He smiled at her. "There's nothing wrong with that. Flights of fancy lead to some of the most amazing things. Tying yourself to cold reality all the time just weighs you down until you forget how to dream. Maybe it's not that you need a reprieve as much as you need to dream a bit more. There'll be a time to wake up later."

The bus pulled to the curb, the hydraulic door hissing open. Trixie glanced back at it, then turned back to the homeless man.

"Thank you, Sir."

"My pleasure. Have a safe trip."

She boarded, taking a seat next to the curb. The old man and his coffee cup were gone. She thoughts she saw movement in the alley, but it was too dark to be certain.

Olivia was home when Trixie arrived. Her expression moved to surprised at having her guest back so early, but she did not ask for the reason. They settled onto the couch to share cookies and ice cream while watching the local news.

Two more weeks crawled past. The material in the classes was interesting, drawing comparisons and contrasts to many world cultures. The professor avoiding drawing conclusions for them, instead assigning weekly thought papers to allow the students to express their own conclusions. Olivia remained excellent company, though she was not always free. Even when she could not leave her computer, Trixie found their shared quiet time as they both studied in the living room nearly as companionable as talking or going out. The other students continued to make Trixie into their social leper. When classes had small discussions, they made sure to snub her until a professor assigned her to a group, then continued to give her the cold shoulder whenever possible. There had been no further talk of Olivia's friends visiting, but Trixie did not mind.

There was to be another trip, an overnighter, that Saturday. As much as she did not want to spend more time with her classmates, she did want to visit as many sites as she could. Sydney was a city just like any other, but Trixie could feel the unique pieces that gave it a modicum of individuality.

Friday night was enjoyably peaceful until Trixie's mobile rang. The caller ID showed 'Dad'. She swiped to answer, glad for a chance to hear his voice. He was not someone to surprise her, though, and a part of her was concerned something was wrong.

"Hi, Dad. I wasn't expecting you to call. Is everything okay?" There was silence on the other end. After a few seconds, she became concerned and allowed it to seep into her voice. "Dad, is something wrong?"

"No, I'm not alright." Though the signal had to travel half a world, it was clear, allowing her to hear clearly his hostile tone.

"What's wrong?"

"I just found out that my daughter has been lying to me."

She excused herself to her bedroom and closed the door.

"How have I been lying to you?"

"You've been using my money to pay for theatre studies when you told me you were taking a business programme."

His negative reaction was to be expected. Throughout what she could remember of her life, he had never bothered to masque his disdain for thespians, including his own father. The only surprise was that he had noticed, given his decreasing lack of involvement with her over the previous decade.

"I'm sorry, Dad. It wasn't that I was trying to hide anything from you. Please let me explain."

His voice turned from chilly to cold. "I won't listen to more lies from your mouth. You are going to drop theatre as soon as you get home, and then we're going to put this behind us. If you so much as go near a stage again, I am done with you. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

"Yes, Dad."

There was another pause, but she could hear him releasing an angry breath. "Good."

He disconnected, leaving Trixie to drop to her bed as a trickle of tears became a torrent. A few minutes later, she heard a light knock at the door.

"Trixie, what's wrong?" Olivia called, concern in her voice. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I c-can't talk about it r-right now. Please leave me alone."

"Okay, but I'll be here for you if you need me."

She was not sure when it happened, but Trixie eventually slept. It was fitful, full of nightmares of being homeless and begging, but it was sleep. She woke not so much refreshed as less physically tired and more soul-weary. Her eyes stung, she had a slight headache, and her face was puffy. It was still night; her mobile was dead, preventing her knowing the hour, not that she cared.

A quick stop in the restroom to splash a little cool water on her face preceded changing into something not rumpled by a night of restless sleep. She slipped out the front door, not caring where she went so long as she could move. It was the only freedom remaining to her, and even that one she did not expect to keep.

At the end of the street, she turned left and kept moving. The stars were infrequently visible between clouds and a nearly full moon's light. Even if she could have seen them, they would have meant nothing; she did not know the constellations visible to the southern hemisphere. That was Twilight Sparkle's purview. Trixie enjoyed beholding the sparkling gems without needing to know each one's colour spectrum, distance from Earth, and mass.

Several more random turns brought her to a bus stop. Her legs were tired, so she took the opportunity to rest for a few minutes. She concentrated on the map of Sydney and all of the colourful lines denoting the transit routes. Anything was better than thinking about her father's ultimatum.

A bus stopped in front of the bench. There were no other passengers, but it was early. Trixie stood. If she rode to the end of the line and then took the next one back, she should have the time she needed to calm herself.

She entered, but realised that she had forgotten her wallet and Opal card. Before she could admit to her lack of funds and leave, the driver placed his hand over the meter.

"It's busted. Free ride."

Trixie settled into the first bench. The bus started moving, the gentle rocking carrying her into downtown. Even in the late night, street lamps and neon lights kept the shadows at bay. She rested her head against the window and watched the many buildings pass.

She woke suddenly, again not having noticed herself drifting, to find that she was still seated on the bus, except it was dark. She was in a garage, her carriage one of many parked next to one another until they were needed.

There was no sign of the driver. She had no idea why he had left her sleeping and alone, but there was no point to dwelling on it. First was getting out of the bus and then determining where the security office was. The situation was embarrassing, but she had not intentionally broken any laws. If the security guard would allow it, she hoped to wait there for someone to take a bus into service that could drop her at a convenient stop. It was the driver's fault, after all, so she felt that was the least they could do.

The front door would not open. She did not want to play with the gears near the driver's seat unless necessary, so she went back to try the rear exit.

That was bolted as well. Either she would have to try pulling at levers until one worked, or she would be stuck waiting for someone to notice her. Either one was likely to necessitate further explanations and apologies, but she preferred to escape the enclosed space. She faced too many abstract prisons to want a physical one.

Turning back to the front, she thought it seemed longer than she remembered. There were at least thirty rows of seats where she was certain she had passed only ten. She blinked and tried to rub the exhaustion from her eyes before looking at it again.

Now she was in a tunnel, endless benches stretching before her like a pair of rail lines continuing into the sunset. The front was no longer visible. A shiver tickled her spine as she tried to make sense of it. The whole situation was ominous. A kick to the rear door did nothing but send pain up her leg.

During the time she had not been looking, the tunnel of the bus interior had grown thick, thorny vines. They wrapped and covered the seats, growing more dense as the path continued. The aisle quickly gave way to a road covered by grass and undergrowth.

Trixie refused to blink. She feared doing so would presage worse transformations, such as wild animals or monsters. It was not her first experience with the bizarre, but none of the happenings at CHS had directly targeted her. This time, however, she was alone. She squared her shoulders and marched into the sinister jungle.

The thorns closed on her, but never so close as to prick. The rows of seats ended without any sign of the front door unless it had been fully concealed behind the dense flora. She briefly contemplated searching for it, but dared not place her hands into the thorns. The path continued into the stygian distance. She chanced a look behind her, but it had transformed into a similar path that was just as dark. Every trapping of the bus was gone.

"This is impossible," she mumbled.

None of the vines had the decency to reply, much less to disappear. She kept moving in the hope the overly vivid dream would soon end. It could not be anything else; her previous experiences with magic had been much flashier: Balls of fire, bolts of lightning, and giant rainbows.

The wall of thorny vines was not a perfect enclosure; Trixie could see trees and bushes through the gaps. None of the flora were of a type she recognised, not that she was much of an arborist. Most had broad leaves that reminded her of palm trees, but she could not identify them beyond that.

Stars and a full moon were visible in the the sky through the occasional breaks in the canopy. She was certain the moon had been gibbous earlier that night.

Indeterminable time spent walking yielded no change to her environment until she spotted a flickering light in the distance. She approached quietly, hoping it was the end of the dream and not some form of trap. There was no place to hide, nor were there any branches in the path. Either she would have to pass the light or go back.

The illumination grew brighter until she could see that it was a campfire. A figure hunched next to it, occasionally stoking the flames. She wanted to flee, but there was no guarantee the opposite direction would not have something else barring the path. As she warred with herself, the figure looked from the flame to her.

"Hello there, missy. Did you ever find what you were looking for?"

She recognised the voice. The old homeless man was somehow in that strange place with her. He had given her directions once; perhaps he would be willing to do it again.

"Sir, do you know where we are? Could you please tell me how to get home?"

He beckoned her closer to the fire. She complied; he had not been aggressive the first time she met him, leading her to hope he would not assault her during their second meeting. It was not as though she had many other options. When she was next to him, he patted the ground. Trixie sat, glad for the light and warmth of the cheerful fire.

"You want to get out of here, huh? It's certainly possible, but you'll have to give up something first to do it."

"What do you mean?"

He held up a few one-dollar bills. "You have a good soul, miss. You gave me this money just because I asked, kind of like an angel."

Trixie felt herself blushing. "There's no need to go that far. I'm no angel."

"I was on that sidewalk all day, but the most I got was a bit of change here and there. In all my time on the streets, I've noticed that most folks who reply have witnesses. They either want to show off or feel judged if they don't give me something. That night, though, there wasn't one soul to see it; you just reached out and gave me enough to get dinner at a fast food place."

"I just felt guilty for thinking you were trying to sneak up on me."

"Why are so insistent on refusing my praise? It's not just because you're embarrassed, I can tell that much."

"It's a long story, but the short version is that I don't deserve it."

A shake of his head made his dissent clear. "We often have very skewed opinions of ourselves. Why not tell me why you think that way about yourself?"

"I spent most of my life being a bitch. I was exactly the type of girl you see in dramas: Well-off, self-absorbed, always gossiping and putting others down. Everything was about me. There was no such thing as a 'friend,' just a group of people who would overthrow me with a knife to the back in a heartbeat.

"I got a taste of my own medicine in secondary school: Another girl came and made me into a laughingstock. Instead of learning, I became worse. When she finally fell from power during our senior year, I leapt at the chance to fill the vacuum."

"Then you're looking to atone for the sins of your past? What about your present? What brought you here?"

"I don't know. I wanted to get out for a bit and clear my head, but the bus turned into this place."

He nodded. "It's what I thought: You're grounded. What's eating you?"

"My father discovered that I deceived him about what I was studying. Now I have to give up acting or lose him."

"Why can't you apologise and ask him to let you continue?"

"It's not that easy. He hates actors and the theatre. I'm surprised that he tolerated it even for school plays and the occasional bit parts I played."

The old man regarded her for a moment. "Why would he feel that way?"

"Because of his father. Dad grew up poor. Actors don't make much money, after all. Our family has a strong tradition for the theatre, but he rejected that. We have Gypsy blood, but he thinks that is something to be ashamed of. He wanted to have a 'real' career, to make enough money to ensure his family wouldn't struggle."

"Is it only the poverty of his youth that drives his antagonism?"

"No, it's not." Trixie sighed. She did not like to discuss her family. "I learnt how to behave toward others from both. I loved Grandad to pieces, but he was a terrible person. Not to me, mind you; I was special, his one and only grandchild. I watched him put down others and listened when he told me I was better. My father was exactly the same: He clawed his way up his company, always willing to step on others to get that next promotion. Now he's an executive, making loads of money. Even in my youth, he gave me nearly anything I wanted.

"After Mum died, he asked Grandad to come and help. I guess it was easier than trying to rearrange his schedule around a young child. By the time I was thirteen, I only saw him late in the evening or on weekends. He only took time off for my birthdays. The rest of the time, he would just ask a few generic questions before giving me money. We were never close.

"Grandad took care of me from the time I was five. He taught me to sing and act. Stage magic and sleight-of-hand were particular fortés of his, and he made sure to pass those to me. When I was little, he'd always tuck me into bed with a kiss and a promise that no monsters would dare mess with him. If I had nightmares, I would sleep with him.

"I wanted nothing more than to continue the family tradition, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. He pays for everything, and he doesn't want me using his money for something as pointless as acting. If I don't give it up, he'll cut me off. The problem isn't the money, though; I want my father to be part of my life. I can't have both, but choosing one feels like betraying the other."

Her companion had listened silently as she spoke. Only when she was finished did he reply.

"Continue along the path. You'll find a way out, but you'll be scratched. The thorns are painful; they tear away burdens until only you remain. It's liberating, but that doesn't make it any easier."

"Thank you, Sir."

Trixie stood and continued walking. The path continued unilaterally until the glow of the fire had faded into nothing. When she was again alone with only moon and stars for light, the path split in the form of a 'T'.

One option continued in a straight line until it faded into the darkness. The other meandered before curving out of sight. She looked back again, only to find that there was nothing behind her except a wall of thorns.

"If I choose one, I won't be able to come back and take the other path. Not exactly the most subtle metaphor." She still hovered on indecision. "It's still the same problem: How do I decide?"

Her father was the only remaining member of her family; if he disowned her, Trixie would be alone. Friends could be like family, but they could not replace him, even if he had been absent through much of her life.

Unbidden images of him taking time off work for her birthdays floated into her mind's eye. He never missed one, no matter how big the deal at work. When she developed pneumonia, he was there with her grandfather to nurse her back to health. Neither had left her side through the worst of the fever.

Those memories contrasted with a man who never hesitated to raise his voice when she erred or to use corporal punishment if he felt the transgression warranted such a measure. She would have argued claims that he beat her, but the punishment would leave her smarting for up to an hour.

In addition to being alone, the idea of fending for herself was terrifying. She had no experience with planning budgets or limiting her spending. With no employment experience, she would be trapped in low-wage work and cheap flats in dangerous parts of the city. Living on campus would be safe, but she knew how much debt would accumulate by taking that option.

There was no good reason to take a different path beyond the fact that she would be doing what she loved. That was all she could hope to have unless some bout of luck got her noticed, assuming she possessed the skill for that. Dreams of fame and fortune rarely lasted long after the first night of hunger or when the eviction notice arrived.

Time for contemplation ended when she felt something brush against her arm. She recoiled, but it moved with her to seize her wrist. A vine held her, its thorns digging into her flesh. Another grabbed her other hand as she cried in pain. As they crept up her arms, she could feel her blood seeping from the wounds imparted. They rounded her elbows, not stopping until they were just below her shoulders.

The searing pain of what felt like hundreds of needles tearing into her was soon accompanied by stretching as they pulled at her. The thorns ripped away her flesh as the vines competed in a game of 'Tug-O-War' with her body as the rope. Trixie was certain she was past the mark of feeling any new pain when a sickening pop resounded. A new fire lit in her right shoulder as the joint dislocated from its socket.

Her screams did nothing to bring a reprieve from the torture. The sharp points scraped bone as more of her skin fell to the ground in tattered, blood-soaked ribbons. New vines seized her legs, pulling her feet from under her so that she dangled in the excruciating embrace.

Another reached under her shirt to encircle her waist. It tightened as it reached up her chest, preventing any further screams. She was uncertain whether the suffocation or the blood loss would kill her first.

Darkness crept into her vision. She was hardly aware of the vine closing on her neck. Her final thought was curiosity as to whether anyone would find her body combined with a fear Olivia would be blamed for her disappearance and death.

Without warning, the vines released her. She dropped to legs that could not bear her weight and tumbled onto her side. The impact shoved her arm back into place. Warm, slick blood coated her as she lay gasping for air.

The agony was slow to fade. When she dared to look at herself again, she found her body restored. Pieces of her littered the ground, yet she was intact. Her clothes were ruined; between the thorns and the blood, there was no salvaging them. Had she been in public, she was certain she would be arrested for indecency.

Trixie remained where she lay, trembling at what had happened. Though her wounds had vanished, the pain had not completely left her. It echoed through her mind, forestalling most other thought. She almost wished it had finished her.

Small, soft hands touched her arm. Trixie opened her eyes to behold herself. The girl next to her was young, perhaps seven or eight years of age, and wore the pointed witch's hat her grandfather made for her.

"They got you good, huh?" little Trixie said. She grabbed Trixie's hand. "Come on, let's go play with Grandaddy."

"We can't. By the time you're my age, he'll be gone just like Mum."

"Now you're just being silly. Time doesn't matter here. How do you think I can meet you? Grandaddy is waiting for us."

She pulled until Trixie stood. Her legs threatened to buckle, but her younger version fetched a walking stick from somewhere. Even when Trixie thought she could travel again, they still had two paths in front of them.

"How do we know where to go?"

"That's easy. Just close your eyes and imagine who you wanna be." Little Trixie then demonstrated. As she closed her eyes, she mumbled, "I want to be a witch princess who works at Daddy's office."

The older Trixie also closed her eyes. She heard the vines rustling and shivered, but her younger self squeezed her hand comfortingly. When they looked again, the original paths had closed. There was a new one on the right, full of blossoming flowers and dangling, thornless vines for swinging.

"See? It's super easy. Try it."

Trixie closed her eyes. She focused on where she was, but no image of where she wanted to be would resolve itself. It was as though she could feel two different futures stretching in front of her. They refused to meet as the same problem of indecision plagued her.

"I'm sorry, Trixie." She opened her eyes to look down at her young companion. "I don't know who I want to be."

The little one groaned and stomped her foot in childish frustration. "Grown ups always make things so hard. What do you want more than anything else?"

"I want to be on the stage, but I also want Dad to keep loving me."

The path beside them closed as a new one directly before them opened. It was small and full of prickling thorns.

"You picked the hard one. Are you sure? We can have one and make it easy."

"That is what I want more than anything."

"Okay, we can go down that way, but it'll hurt a lot. I don't know if we can make it. It's like carrying a lunch tray and a milk jug at the same time: You're probably going to drop both. Why can't you just pick one?"

"I love both. Acting is in my blood, but so is my family. Giving up one to have the other means losing part of me."

"You already lost part of you. See?" She gestured at the scraps of flesh on the ground. "Next time you get cut, you won't get better right away. Those are going to take a long time, and you'll have lots of scars."

"I'm not afraid of pain, Trixie. Sometimes, getting what we really want - our biggest dreams - means having to take the hurt first. The scars will remind us of what we had to lose to get it, and we'll appreciate it even more. The easy way doesn't reach the sky."

Young Trixie hugged her. "Okay, let's go. I won't cry if you don't."

"Deal."

They strolled into the twisting mass of thorny vines. The smaller Trixie giggled like the little girl she was as she dodged creeping greenery that tried to ensnare her. It was like she had a sixth sense to avoid harm. The few vines to grab at her slid off her body as though she was coated in grease. Trixie was envious as she felt one thorn after another snag her and leave a bleeding wound.

"Do you remember our sixth birthday? Daddy was in the kitchen all day. He finally came out with a cake shaped just like a train. It even had coal and a smokestack and a caboose."

"He was so proud of himself. Even though I only had a passing interest in them, Dad wanted to do something special to make me happy."

"And he was so happy when we hugged him and said 'I love you.' Why is he mad at you?"

"I lied to him. I've been studying how to be an actress without telling him."

A particularly long vine snapped about Trixie's leg. The thorns sliced into her. She bit back a scream as she stopped and pulled at it to free herself. The incisions stung and wept more blood, but she kept moving.

They had to crawl through the mud to pass a dense section, only to emerge at the edge of a chasm. The far side was just visible in the shadows, but the bottom was completely enshrouded. No convenient loose stones presented themselves for the purpose of testing the depth of the crevasse.

"Why didn't you just tell Daddy the truth?"

"I was afraid he'd force me to quit acting."

"Did he?" Little Trixie took her hand again.

"He told me to drop it and that he'll be done with me if I ever go near a stage again."

The little girl's face scrunched in confusion. "That doesn't sound like daddy. Are you sure you didn't miss anything?"

"That was all he said. Nothing else."

They both looked over the rift in front of them. It had not changed, an immutable part of the world.

"We can stay here until we're grannies, or we can jump."

"Jump?"

"How else are we gonna leave? Do you wanna hold hands again?"

"Yes, please."

United, they stepped over the edge and dropped. Young Trixie squealed in merriment as the winds buffeted them. She spread her arms and legs as though she could ride the air currents.

Trixie waited for the impact. She doubted she would feel it, given the high velocity at which she plummeted. There would merely be a small Trixie-shaped crater with her remains splattered about it.

"Why are you still falling?"

"What?"

Despite the howling wind, she could hear her younger self clearly.

"Didn't you say that dreams let you fly?"

"Only until you wake up."

"You aren't Awake yet, silly. Do you want us to get smooshed on the ground? Stop being such a boring grown up already!"

Trixie reached into herself, past the dull grey of adulthood to her childish imaginations. She tried to remember what it was like to believe that nothing would ever stop her, that the world had naught but limitless possibilities for a sharp mind and an innocent, yet mischievous, grin.

Her younger self clung to her, not afraid of the fall. She trusted the elder Trixie to end it. Their equivalence to rocks was only temporary. Trixie knew exactly what her child self thought, because that was how she felt about her grandfather and father when she was that age. Her father earned the money to protect them from the abstract fear of 'being poor' while her grandfather chased monsters from her room. They were both so much stronger and braver, impervious to any harm she could have imagined.

If the world in which she found herself did not obey the laws of the real world, then there was no reason she could not be that same indestructible guardian for herself.

It was not easy to defy the pull of the ground, but there were strong arms to uphold her. Her family may not have been good people, but they had taught her valuable lessons. She was only responsible for how she applied them. It was not their fault she had spent years driving away potential friends.

That was something she had changed; she finally had friends. She may not have had a large circle, but the ones she had were priceless. Sunset Shimmer embraced her when Trixie had no friends despite the years of bad blood between them. Sweetie Belle greeted her with a smile and allowed her to hold Pixel Bit, an act that said more than words could about her willingness to trust Trixie. Olivia welcomed her, never caring that Trixie liked different clothing styles or foods. Each of them accepted her as she was: A flawed human being who was taking the first steps to bettering herself as a person.

Trixie felt her drop slowing until they reversed directions altogether. In less time than it had taken to fall, they reached the upper cliff again and then soared over the prickling thorns. The path wound toward a clearing where a massive tower stood.

Both copies of Trixie alighted at the edge of the open ground.

"Do you know what to do now?"

"Yes, I do. Dad will be disappointed, he may even carry through on his threat, but I can't let that stop me. I have to make my own way in the world, no matter how scary it is. I have friends now who care for me without conditions, and they will see me through the good times and the bad. They may not take my family's place, but I won't let that imprison me."

The little girl hugged her tightly. Trixie returned it. The simple gesture warmed her more than the fire had. When they were done, the young Trixie vanished to leave the adult alone before the tower. It soared to touch the sky. Its pinnacle was mounted by a what seemed to be an enormous tree composed of countless brambles and vines, all wrapping about it as they reached to the crown. The full sphere of the moon she had seen periodically hung in the sky to provide illumination. Silver roses and thorns in abundance throughout the field glowed with a light of their own to supplement the moon.

She approached the door but paused before entering. A small wand lay on the ground next to the entrance, much like the one her grandfather gave her. She stooped to take it and then passed the threshold.

The large, circular room at the bottom reminded her of a classic ballroom. Wide stairs led to a balcony that encircled the next level. She could see another staircase beyond it. Brass sconces held torches to provide light to the visitor. She crossed the room, ethereal music and gay laughter floating to her ears.

Her wounds had closed so that she no longer dripped blood, but her clothes were rags. It felt wrong to violate such a majestic place in that state, but there was nothing for it. She ascended the stairs and crossed the balcony, a ghostly image of a little girl standing on her grandfather's shoes as he taught her to dance fading whenever she tried to get a direct look.

A child looked over the banister at the floor below her and giggled, enjoying the view. Her father and grandfather merely smiled, no longer as entranced by something so mundane.

The next staircase led to another circular room. As Trixie entered it, she realised it was her bedroom. A few scenes from her life played. First, a little girl lay on her bed as she cried for her mother who would never wake again. Next, a newly minted teen bemoaned her isolation as the other girls competed with her instead of recognising her as their natural superior. One moment, she was watching her grandfather tuck her into bed and assure her that she was amazing, then she was studying for one of her university classes.

The next room up showed her graduation. Her elderly grandfather had insisted upon leaving the hospital to be there for her. He parked his wheelchair next to his son so that both men would be easily visible from the stage.

Another floor presented more of her past. Trixie watched herself weeping again over her grandfather's body. She had been with him as he breathed his last, doing nothing more than holding his hand. After that, her so-called friends abandoned her to follow someone more popular. She drifted through her classes, only brightening as she took to the stage. Her father became increasingly a ghost in her life, leaving her to her own devices. A year of loneliness and isolation imprisoned her to stark monochrome as life became a series of repetitive gestures.

The day she found Sunset and went for a visit was the first break in the grey. Sunset appeared tired, but she was radiant with life and happiness. Sweetie Belle positively glowed as she fussed over her daughter. Pixie herself was a beacon of possibilities. A smiling face and happy tones directed at her filled her with excitement. A few colours left her in awe. Three people filled their small home with light, leaving only Trixie as a washed-out shadow.

Travelling to Australia and meeting Olivia was the same. The young woman loved her studies as much as she enjoyed her daily life. Studying, talking with friends, shopping, watching television, all of it made her happy. She was someone who knew what she wanted and pursued it, but also did not require the moon to be satisfied.

At last, Trixie reached the top. Another circular room awaited her, lit only by the illumination from a single, east-facing window. Countless names and tokens of identity littered the walls and the floor. In the centre was a statue of a faerie drinking wine, seated on a throne of vines.

"The Watchtower of the Lunargent Thorn," Trixie whispered. She did not know why she had called it that, but it seemed more real than most of her previous life had been. It was beckoning her all that time, but she had not heard it until that moment. She had overlooked the glowing beacon to focus on the lightless tedium. "No more grey, boring life. This is where I belong."

She found an open space on the wall. There was no easy way to chisel her own name, and she did not want to defile the sacred chamber with her blood. She lifted the wand, which had changed from a simple plastic prop to a beauty of polished and gleaming wood.

"Abra kadabra," she said with a childish grin.

A few sparks shot from the tip to spread across her spot. They did not linger, but they completed the task: 'Trixie Lulamoon' was now engraved into the stone in blue and silver.

The tower faded. Trixie felt herself falling again, but did not resist it. This was not a plummet to the ground; it was a return to the place she needed to be. She felt herself sliding into comforting softness and warmth as she lay in her bed.

Her grandfather's old wand was clutched to her side, despite the fact she had not carried it to Australia. Though it looked new, she felt his presence in the years of handling it. The simple wooden stick was no longer a prop; her own power radiated through it. The wand was hers as surely as though it had been made for her. Through it, she felt her grandfather's and father's lives as golden strands connecting to hers.

She sat up and stretched. Despite the sudden waking and the strange dream that was more real than the waking world, she felt more alert and refreshed than she had been in an unknown length of time.

Trixie's mobile lay next to her. She was certain she had not connected the charging cable before crying herself to sleep, but it was. She checked the time, both locally and at home, before opening FaceTime and calling her father. He answered just before it timed out.

"Do you need something?"

His tone was still cold. Even through her mobile's screen, the hard edge of his gaze was clear. She had displeased him, and he was letting her know it.

She could feel her connection to him. The golden strings that spread before her shifted as a few darkened. They were all her futures, but the choice she made at that moment determined what options remained. She reached inside herself for the same strength that had allowed her to fly without wings.

"I am not giving up the theatre, Dad. It's part of who I am, what I want to do. I hope you can learn to accept this and come to support it."

"If you insist on this despite my wishes, you will be doing it alone. I will not have my daughter slacking off and mooching from me the rest of my life."

Trixie fought to keep her face steady as anger and sorrow competed to express themselves. "I don't need your money. I was hoping for your moral support. Believe it or not, I love you, Dad. If you want to cut me off, so be it. What I've decided won't be easy, but I'll make my way."

"Your card will be disabled today. I'll be freezing your account. Good luck making ends meet down there without my help. I will leave your mobile connected so that you can let me know when you've learnt your lesson."

"Do you not hear yourself?" Trixie paused and took a breath. "If I have to beg on a street corner, I will do it. I will not let you force me into your vision of my future."

"I did not raise you to disrespect me like this. I'm done with you, Trixie. Come crawling back or not; see if I care."

They ended the talk. As Trixie climbed from her bed, she noticed she was only wearing her tee-shirt and panties again. Her arms were not scabbed or scarred, though the memory of the pain still echoed in her mind. If not for her grandfather's wand and the odd double-sight overlaying the world, she would have thought everything was a dream.

She slipped into a pair of shorts and left the bedroom. Olivia was sitting at her desk in the living room. She looked the same, but Trixie could detect an odd sense of power from her friend, as though Olivia was a tiny beacon of light as she had been when viewed at the Watchtower.

It felt as though numerous roads stretched before both of them, but most overlapped for a time. The double-vision showed Olivia both as the young woman she was at that moment and a wizened grandmother watching over the next generation with lines of laughter all about her face and a twinkle in her eye.

"You're Awake," she said, turning to smile at Trixie. "I was getting a little worried about you. Wasn't sure if you'd find a way out of Arcadia's thorns."

"It wasn't easy. I kept trapping myself when the answer was right in front of me. You, too?"

"Actually, I walked through the Primal Wild, but I could tell that you were on the cusp. There are a whole bunch of us out there. Whatever you're seeing now, it's something we all feel. You'll get used to it soon."

There was only one word for it, but Trixie hesitated to speak that word. Even with all of the strange happenings at CHS and in Arcadia, it seemed surreal to name what she now had.

She settled for whispering it: "Magick?"

"Yes. The Watchtowers call to people when we're in a crisis, and we travel through our souls to where the one that beckoned us waits. Those who pass the trials return with the power to bring our will into reality."

"So we're something like queens of the universe?"

"I'd say we're more like princesses of reality here on our world. Maybe someday you can find a way to become a queen, but be careful not to let the power go to your head. I can start teaching you about this, if you'll have me."

Trixie hugged her. "Why wouldn't I? You're my friend, and I trust you not to lead me astray."

Olivia returned it. "Because I'm pretty new, too. I wasn't sure if you'd want someone more experienced."

"That's even better. We'll be able to rediscover the world together. Just like children, but maybe without the tantrums and snot."

They shared a laugh as Olivia led her outside. It was a bright, sunny day. Colours Trixie had never imagined formed fantastic rainbows as she soared from her old shackles for a clear blue sky.

THE END