Author's Note
Please note that while this story is written in the limited third-person perspective, the story is still subject to Lemon Zest's point of view. Except for her words, thoughts, and actions, all descriptions and depictions are her interpretations and should never be taken objectively.
Party of One
The primal music of creation sounds in every heartbeat, hidden just behind the contractions of that powerful muscle pounding as it moves critical blood through the body. Most lose the ability to hear it immediately upon birth, never to recover the primitive rhythm that tries to unite all souls in the dance of the ages. A few sensitive ears can detect its echoes in the throng of life about them. If they are fortunate, they find the inspiration to rise above the mute toils of everyday life to discover a few notes of that eternal beat.
It is not an easy accomplishment. Humanity is trained from birth to ignore anything beyond itself. The fears of the wild places run to the core, smothering attempts to tune in to anything not built of concrete and 'tamed.' The ancient drums cannot be silenced, but those to hear them frequently are.
As she stirred in her bed, Lemon Zest was reasonably certain the day was Saturday. It was possible she had slept through it, but she suspected she would not feel as terrible as she did if the day was in fact Sunday. Her head ached in throbs timed to her heart's pumps. She thought she tasted bile at the back of her throat, but a glance at her sheets and clothes showed no vomit. Then she realised she was not wearing a shirt.
'Where did I put that?'
Even thoughts hurt. As she rolled from her bed, she resolved not to think until her headache dissipated. A few stumbling blocks in the form of her own feet obstructed her, but she managed to avoid tumbling as she blundered her way into the bathroom. She let the shower heat as she used the sink to splash cold water on her face.
The stream of the shower helped alleviate the pain to a dull ache. That would need at least a few more hours to clear, but at least she could think again. Talking would come after some food settled her stomach.
She wrapped herself in a towel and collected her dirty clothes to toss into the basket, where she discovered her missing tee-shirt. It looked as though she had left all of the previous day's dinner and part of her lunch on it.
Once she was dressed again, she left her room to find Sugarcoat. Lemon Zest was perfectly willing to tolerate a few comments about how she was shortening her life with accompanying condescending looks for Sugarcoat's cooking. It was better than her mother's, not that she ever would have said so to either party.
The halls of Crystal Prep's dormitories were unusually quiet, even for a Saturday morning. Lemon Zest had no idea what time it was, but at least a few of the early risers should have been moving. She knew the sun was up, at least.
Sugarcoat's room was only four doors down. She did not decorate her door as most would, but that had the effect of making it easier to distinguish through the haze.
'What if she's still sleeping? She won't cook me anything if I wake her up.'
The doors had locks, but Lemon Zest knew a trick to get around them. If one jimmied the handle in an exact way, the lock would disengage. She proceeded to use her mastery of getting past barriers to open the door. It did not squeak as she pushed it slightly ajar to peer into the room.
There was no Sugarcoat to be seen. The bathroom door was open, and she was not hidden under her blankets. She was likely downstairs in the yard, then. It was not ideal, but a proper breakfast was worth the extra effort.
Not one person was anywhere to be seen. The building was absolutely silent as Lemon Zest walked. It would have been creepy if she did not have food as the sole topic on the part of her mind that did not hurt as much as the rest. The single track ended when she stepped into the yard.
It was devoid of human life. Where there should have been tens of students walking, lounging, or playing, instead was a silent green. Not even a breeze rustled the trees.
"What's going on here?" Lemon Zest's voice was muted, but at least the silence was not absolute. "Am I still sleeping? Is this a bad trip? What the hell?"
She dashed back into the dorm and began trying one door after another. Most opened easily, as though her classmates had simply vanished from their rooms. Fleur's room smelt of that expensive perfume she always wore, as though Lemon Zest had just missed her. It was the same in the boys' wing. Not one person existed in the void with her.
She was about to the point of hyperventilating when she considered her options: Either everyone had disappeared with no explanation, or she was more screwed up than she realised and it was Monday. The latter was much more likely, which brought its own panic when she further realised that she was late for class. For a student whose scholarship hung by a thread, tardiness was not acceptable.
Lemon Zest did not bother to get her uniform perfect before running at top speed to the classroom. Her headache, which had dimmed in light of her earlier frantic search, returned and forced her to slow. She entered the school building and walked at a quick pace to her first class.
It was empty. So was the room next to it, and every other room she checked. Even Headmistress Cinch was not in her office.
"Okay, now this is getting creepy."
Her mobile was still in her room, since being caught with it in the school was not an experience she wanted to repeat. She lifted the phone on Cinch's desk, but there was no dial tone. Only a dead line, just like the school.
She tried to remember if there had been some field trip or a holiday on the calendar, but even those would not have explained why every single person was gone. A few of the dormitory students did not travel home during the semesters, and there should have been at least a caretaker in the dorm's office.
If not for the bright sun, she would have sworn she had wandered into a horror film. First, isolate the victim, then let her get a touch mad before hunting and then eating her. If students of a rival school could grow wings and train attack plants before causing Twilight Sparkle to turn into a demon, the idea of something removing everyone while leaving Lemon Zest was no longer impossible.
She ducked into the women's toilet to dry heave over a bowl. If the thing found her there, it would not be the most heroic end, but she was past the point of caring.
Once she had her stomach back in control - as much as it would allow - she thought about trying the city. It was a long walk from the school to anything else, but there was a chance that whatever had happened to Crystal Prep was isolated there. Lemon Zest stopped by Indigo Zap's room first to borrow a few energy bars and some bottles of Gatorade that she tossed into her backpack. Sugarcoat kept pepper spray in her desk; there was no guarantee it would do much for protection, but it was better than nothing. She found some inline skates and a hockey stick in another room. If she ever found her classmates, she promised to reimburse them for the belongings. The last purloined item was a little of Fleur's emergency cash, just in case there were other people.
The skates did not quite fit, but three pairs of socks made them work. She coasted to the gate, which at least was not locked, and continued down the street. That far outside the city, there were no sidewalks, so she used the road and watched for incoming traffic.
She passed several fields before the first sign of civilisation: A convenience store and petrol station. She slowed as she entered the lot, but could see immediately through the windows that it was empty. It was as good a place as any for a break; she sat in front of the door and took a bite from one of the energy bars, but spat it out almost immediately. The thing in her hand was not food, no matter what the packaging claimed. She entered the unlocked store and selected a bag of jerky. At least the Gatorade was tasty, but she was partial to most citrus flavours.
Everything she had seen so far indicated that wherever the people went, they did not expect to leave yet did not struggle against whatever took them. The register was active; a few minutes of playing with it allowed her to ring out her purchases, for which she paid with the borrowed money.
Once she was satiated, it was time to move again. She was beginning to suspect there was not much point; it seemed highly unlikely that she would find anyone even in the large city, but she had nothing else to do and a desperate need to find some other life. Even an animal would be welcome, though she craved another human voice.
Silent wind rushed past her face as she rolled down empty streets. When she entered the first suburbs, she tried a couple houses that had vehicles in front only to find those were also empty. The heart of downtown was as she expected: Depopulated as the rest of the city. There were vehicles parked at meters, but none abandoned on the roads.
The silence was rapidly becoming oppressive. Just for the noise, she grabbed the first loose brick she could find and smashed a few car windows. That also made no sound, but she did notice one had keys in the ignition. She started it and tried the wireless, but every station was silent. Not even static rewarded her search.
"Where did they go? Why did I get left behind?"
A few tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She wiped them and stiffened her lip. Crying like a child could come later, once she had exhausted every other possibility to occupy her lonely time. It was odd, though, that with unlimited time and freedom to do nearly anything she wanted, nothing was coming to mind.
"Wait, I know: Canterlot High. I bet this is their fault. Creepy magic stealing everyone would be right up their alley."
It was a long shot, but it was something. She wondered if Twilight Sparkle had gotten into some weird magic again and felt that was not an unreasonable assumption. She hurried to their school, a tiny flicker of hope giving her the energy to keep going.
A thorough search of the building and the grounds proved fruitless. Even if it had been the Wondercolts' fault, it would have been too easy to find them there and demand they fix it.
"Wait, it's Saturday. What's all their stuff doing here? Actually, never mind. It makes as much sense as anything else."
She found a few bags left in desks and rifled through each until she found a set of keys. They had a tiny stuffed bear attached, so they were most likely a girl's. The backpack in which she found them was huge, though, and had a dark pattern more preferred by boys. Maybe the girl was more like Indigo Zap, who kept a few token girly things around for sake of appearances in case any boys ever showed an interest in her.
Lemon Zest giggled at the idea of her friend ever getting a boyfriend. Indigo Zap was going to die a virgin unless she turned bender and found a girly-girl that was into tomboys. Otherwise, she would be some drunk guy's forgotten party conquest.
The laughter died quickly. Lemon Zest was not having any more luck in that department, and knew it was terrible of her to wish something like that on anyone.
"What is getting into me?"
She distracted herself with trying each vehicle in the parking zone until she found a match for the keys. It was an old truck with an apple logo on the side. The tank was nearly full, which she thought would be plenty to get to her next destination.
The only problem was the truck was a standard. She had practised using them a few times, but never to the point of being proficient. There was no better time to learn; how hard could it be? It would take longer to find another set of keys and their matching vehicle. The truck started, not with a purr or a roar, but with nothing. If not that she could feel the vibrations from the running engine, she would have thought it was dead.
She killed the engine twice trying to back from the space. On her third attempt, she gunned the engine and slammed into the car behind her. Even the crash had been silent. As she reached around the airbag for the handle, she swore never to try that again.
The school had a principal and a vice-principal. One of them - the one with the office in pastel colours - had left her purse on the desk. Her keys were conveniently there for the taking and her space was labelled. It was the principal's car, Lemon Zest discovered, a basic sedan with an automatic transmission.
She had a two-hour drive to her childhood home with no music or company to make the trip tolerable. The idea of going back for her headphones and mobile flitted through her head, but she would snap if they failed to provide any sound. She contented herself with counting things along the way. Power lines, houses, fire hydrants, stop lights that functioned and were ignored, water towers, even trees; she reached the hundreds before quitting. Still no humans or animals.
The trip was not nearly as long as she had expected, but the lack of traffic meant she could ignore speed limits, lights, and signs. She spent twenty minutes in the wrong lane just because she could. She would have welcomed a ticket, as that would have meant someone else was present to witness her breaking the law.
Her parents' house was exactly as she expected to find it. The exterior was a cherry red, just a few shades darker than her skin. Their car was present, though experience taught her that meant nothing.
She parked and hurried up the step. The front door was unlocked. She let herself into the house and called, "Mum? Dad? Is anyone home?"
No greetings or other responses answered her. She searched each room, but already knew that she would find nothing. The beds were made, breakfast dishes dried on the rack, and the newspaper was propped next to her father's recliner for a perusal that would never happen.
She tried the television, but every channel was blank. It was at that point she allowed herself to cry. The hope that her family would be spared had been the last driving factor keeping her moving. Without them, with no one else, she was done. She had seen numerous post-apocalyptic movies and series; sooner or later, the power grid would fail and she would starve. At least she was not surrounded by zombies.
The tears lasted only minutes. If she was to be the last person on the Earth, there was no point waiting for some nebulous end. She could finish herself quickly and painlessly. Maybe she would even see her parents again, if whatever gods existed forgave her imminent suicide.
She found a sharp knife in the kitchen and used it to cut a length from the garden hose. The stolen car had about one-third of a tank remaining, plenty for the task; she did not want to desecrate her parents' car. She taped the hose to the exhaust, then ran it through the driver's window before running several lengths of tape over the seam. When she was ready, she started the engine.
Engine exhaust had a terrible stench unlike any other. She coughed and choked as it filled the cab and flooded her lungs. Light-headedness came first, then a growing headache as her brain screamed for pure air. It was not as painless as she thought, but it was working. She felt her thoughts grow sluggish as her eyes closed one last time.
When Lemon Zest became conscious again, she was first aware that wherever she lay was soft. She was prone, though she remembered being seated upright as she died. It was warm, but not hot; at least she had not gone to Hell, but she imagined a cloud would be fluffier. Maybe it was some other afterlife than the fabled Heaven.
Guessing would get her nowhere. She opened her eyes and beheld her dorm room's ceiling. She lay on her bed, dressed as she had been when the nightmare started.
Her room was exactly the same as when she woke the first time. So were Indigo Zap's, Sugarcoat's, and Fleur's. She did not bother to cover herself as she checked. An urge to strip to nothing and frolick in the yard rose, but she quashed it.
"Let me get this straight: Not only am I stuck alone, I'm caught in some kind of loop?" she asked herself. "Great. I can't even die to get out of this.
"The freedom to do anything I want combined with unlimited time, but all I want is for this to stop."
She began to cry again. Unlike when she had been at her parents' house, there was nothing to stop the tears. She was alone in a silent world with no way to know if it would ever end. Escape eluded her. Death offered no reprieve. She wanted her parents to hug her again, to know they were safe.
When the tears abated, she changed and went out to the yard again. It was as empty and quiet as always, but at least it was open. She had never cared about shutting herself into her room, though it now felt oppressive. A walk through the grounds cleared her head.
If she was to be trapped, she could use the time to better herself. Her grades had been slipping all year; now she had the time to master each subject. If she did escape, she would get perfect marks on the finals and make her parents proud of her.
Days of study only interrupted by such necessities as food, sleep, and calls of nature followed until she was certain her eyes would bleed from staring at another page. The silence faded from her mind quickly as the image of her mother and father grinning in awe of her marks kept her on task. She found practise exams and study guides in the library. She went over each until she was certain that she knew the material thoroughly. When she closed the last study guide, she had no idea what to do next. Learning French would certainly impress, but she did not want to look at another book for a while.
A few attempts to use the Internet met with the same failures that use of wireless and television did. Power and water continued unabated, but not one broadcast tower or server operated. She knew she was getting a connection, so that had to mean something.
After the first few days, she had stopped counting. She estimated it had been two weeks since she had tried to kill herself, not that the amount of time mattered. Each day was the same thing.
She decided to sleep on what to do next. Instead of her own room, she borrowed Sugarcoat's bed. It still had a bit of her scent; Lemon Zest knew such thoughts would be creepy at best under normal circumstances, but she craved some form of human contact. Sugarcoat was not the nicest person - none of them were, which was likely the reason Twilight had so readily ditched them - but she had always been willing to help. She never once reported Lemon Zest for sneaking from the dormitory to party or for returning wasted.
Most periods of sleep were accompanied by tossing and turning and phantom sounds of music that vanished when she left the bed, but Lemon Zest felt herself slipping immediately into the dreamscape. She dreamt regularly, but they always faded as soon as she woke. That night's seemed particularly vivid, a trip back to her first day at Crystal Prep.
The dormitory students were grouped together for the new student orientation. After Headmistress Cinch gave a welcoming speech for the new year, she invited them to partake in a buffet-style luncheon. Families that had the time were still present, as classes did not begin until the next day. It was a day for parents to wish their children well, for new students to explore more of the school.
Lemon Zest had already put her things in her room. She was not excited about living in a dorm, but the commute would have been impossible. The trade for not seeing her parents each day was the opportunity to attend a prestigious school that would practically guarantee her a place at a good university.
She found her parents in the back after the speech. They were easy to spot in the crowd; her father wore a suit, but it was not one that cost more than the mortgage payment. Her mother's dress was not designer as the other women wore. Neither of them cared, despite the fact the other parents avoided them. Her parents both smiled and hugged her.
"Just think, only four years from now, we'll be back here to watch you graduate," her mother gushed.
"'Only'? That's a long time yet."
"Time flies when you get older, honey," her father said. "And when you're having fun, so it'll go by quickly for all of us."
"Why don't you go talk to some of the other students, sweetie? It's a good chance to make a few new friends."
"I'll see them all the time, Mum, but you guys are only here today."
"Mum's right. Go make some new friends. We'll be in the yard once you get something to eat. Meet us there."
"Okay, I'll make sure to bring lots of boys with me."
Her father chuckled as he gave her a gentle push toward the tables. She got in line behind a tall girl with blue skin and two-tone blue and white hair in long pigtails.
"Hey, I'm Lemon Zest. What's your name?"
The other girl looked her over before replying. "Sugarcoat. You should work on your greetings; you sound like a country gal."
"Well, I am. Is there something wrong with that?"
"Other than the English teachers ripping you apart and your peers laughing at you?"
"Fine, so how does a proper lady say hello?"
Sugarcoat smiled at her and offered a hand in greeting. "My name is Sugarcoat. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss?"
"My name is Lemon Zest," she replied, taking the offered hand. "The pleasure is all mine."
The girl in front of Sugarcoat was giggling at them. She had peach skin and tri-colour blue hair.
"Don't mind Sugarcoat. She likes to act prim, but she's no more a 'lady' than I am. I'm Indigo Zap."
Lemon Zest expected Sugarcoat to argue, but she just giggled, too. They went through the line together and talked more as they ate. Indigo Zap and Sugarcoat had attended the same private middle school, which was where they first became friends. Neither was especially proper in a traditional sense, though they did know how to speak politely when moving in high society. By the time Lemon Zest went to meet her parents, she had two friends to introduce.
She woke, the memory-dream staying with her. They had been close through their first three years. Sugarcoat's family travelled frequently for work, so Lemon Zest would always invite her to visit her own family when they had long weekends. Indigo Zap was the youngest of five and the only girl; she had taken after her brothers despite her mother's best efforts.
They had only started to fall out over the past year. As the Friendship Games approached, the constant demands to be the best drove friendships to take a backseat to perfection. Cinch's little barbs and veiled threats drove further wedges into each clique. It mostly impacted seniors, but even the underclassmen had become more aggressive and hostile. The growing social fissure culminated in Lemon Zest snubbing Sugarcoat during their last long weekend prior to the games. They had not even sat together on the bus to CHS.
Lemon Zest gradually noticed something she had been longing to find, but had ignored as a remnant of her dream: Noise. There was music somewhere. She was awake and knew it was real, prompting her out of bed in a rush through the halls to find the source. She padded barefoot to the doors and into the yard, where the sound increased slightly. It originated from a bench off to the side.
A person sat there. The figure wore sweatpants and an oversized sweater with the hood pulled to obscure face and hair. The lines suggested female, but Lemon Zest would accept the creepiest of guys if it meant not being alone. She dashed for the bench, skidding to a stop in front of her new companion.
"Thank god I'm not alone anymore. Who are you?"
"Don't you recognise me?"
The figure lowered the hood to reveal she had Lemon Zest's face. She was much older, a few grey hairs streaking through hair tied in a ponytail. There were a few laughter lines on her cheeks, some happy crinkles at the corners of her eyes, but they were almost hidden by the numerous stress lines across her forehead.
The music was still present, but it had no obvious source. The older Lemon Zest did not have any speakers or a headset; she played no instruments, nor did she sing.
"Is this an overlapping loop or something? Did you come to tell me how to escape?"
"I can tell you, if that's what you really want."
"Are you kidding? Don't you remember what it was like to go through this? It sucks! I'd rather have detention every day and classes full of monotone teachers than stay here."
Elder Lemon Zest patted the bench. She placed an arm around her younger self when they were next to one another, drawing Lemon Zest into a firm hold.
"You can do anything you want here. You can drink as much as you want, eat anything, look at those magazines hidden in plastic, or just lie in bed all day. No one cares if you smash cars or blow up buildings or speed. What's so terrible about it?"
"It's quiet as hell and I'm all alone. Isn't that enough?"
"Don't you hear the music? Aren't I good enough company for myself?"
"I've got a new question for you: When do I develop such a bullying streak? Just tell me how to get out of this already."
Her older self shook her head. "Look, if I just tell you, you'll get out, but that's all. If I give you a couple hints and let you figure it out, you could come away with so much more than 'back to normal.' Which do you want?"
Lemon Zest had heard about time loops and had seen Groundhog Day and other time-related moves. The films always suggested that meeting oneself would create a closed loop, no matter what, but those were fiction. Then again, magic had been pure fantasy until the Friendship Games. Perhaps if she did not have as pleasant of a life as she hoped she would, this was a chance to fix it. Another glance at all the stress lines on her older self's face made the decision. There was an escape, so taking a little extra time to fix her coming mistakes was worth it.
"Give me the hint."
"You've heard it before, that music in your heart, but it's faded over the years. Find it again. You're off to a good start, but the other chords won't make sense until you confront what silenced it."
She vanished, but the music that had accompanied her remained. Lemon Zest sat for a moment and thought about the clue she had given herself. There was a possibility she was trolling herself, but she dismissed it. She loved music - the harder, the better. The past year had not been particularly enjoyable despite the partying, but she did not think that was what her older self meant.
"I know I've been a bitch to my friends and that they deserve apologies. What else could I have been trying to tell myself?"
She wondered if perhaps she needed to find more music first, if understanding what was causing it would help her to discern what went wrong. The problem was knowing where to find it. Her older self heralded the arrival of the first notes, so perhaps she needed to summon herself again. That was unless she had not inadvertently called herself.
The only change to her new routine had been sleeping in a different bed. It was a lead; if that failed, she would think of something else to try. She broke into the nurse's office and stole a few sleep aides that she dry-swallowed before crawling into Indigo Zap's bed. The capsules were strong; she fell into slumber quickly and had a new memory-dream.
As they moved into sophomore year, Lemon Zest wanted to try spreading her wings a bit more. More than a few of her new peers had mocked her over the previous year for how close she was to her parents, accusing her of being a baby that clung to her mother's skirts. She regarded most of them with scorn: Those who belittled her were lucky to see their families thrice each year. Sugarcoat was glad for her, being part of the semi-abandoned group, while Indigo Zap was close to hers, too. Both had assured Lemon Zest that their classmates were simply jealous. Though she agreed with them, she was fifteen and wanted to get to know more of the world.
To that end, Indigo Zap suggested they go clubbing. The youngest of her elder brothers, who had graduated the previous spring, knew a few people who could help them get into a sixteen-plus club. It took a few days to persuade Sugarcoat, but they finally went out on a Friday night.
One of their upperclassmen drove. He was more than happy to give "three cute sophomores" a lift. His tone changed when they offered him cash rather than favours in recompense. At the club, Indigo Zap showed her school ID to the bouncer, who nodded and allowed them entry.
The interior was unlike anything Lemon Zest had seen. Everything was dark, only strobe lights providing illumination across much of the room. Most of the space was taken for a dance floor as electronic music thudded with a bass to shake the floor. At least one hundred teens and young adults moved to the music, some singly and others in pairs or more. A bar in the corner served drinks appropriate to all ages, with a sign warning they would card anyone ordering alcohol.
Lemon Zest and her friends wore tee-shirts and shorts. They were overdressed. Many of the girls shaking everything they had - some with more than others, and not always where it would be most attractive - on the dance floor wore outfits that would not have been out of place on a street corner. Several were bumping and grinding against anyone close to them.
"Now I know why STI rates are increasing," Sugarcoat said. Her voice carried to them despite the volume of the music. "You could get cultures just by swabbing everyone here."
"Just stay out of the bathrooms and you'll be fine."
"What's in the bathrooms?" Lemon Zest asked.
"That's where they go to hook up."
"How do you know that?"
"My brother told me."
Sugarcoat refused to get anywhere near the dance floor that night, but Indigo Zap and Lemon Zest were not as restrained. Even without alcohol, both were fairly uninhibited and mixed it up with the people around them. When one of the guys began getting a little closer than they liked, they moved elsewhere and let him find someone else. By the end of the night, they were both sweaty and ecstatic at the new experience.
They assumed their ride had not scored based on how he kept looking at them, but they ignored it. He had too much to lose by trying to take advantage of anyone. Though Sugarcoat did not want to return, Lemon Zest wanted more. The next two years were full of ever wilder parties as they made new connections, but the dream did not continue to those.
It was night when Lemon Zest woke again. She felt the tingle of overworked muscles, sheets and clothes saturated by the sweat born of a long evening's exertions. It was as if she had been at the club again.
New instruments, including several that sounded like bass guitars, joined the earlier music. The original notes had been gentle, played on violins and acoustic guitars with a few wind instruments interspersed. It was taking the music in a new direction, putting more of a sense of action into the phantom chords. It left her blood pumping. She wondered if the specific memories affected the type of music generated.
"Only one way to find out. Time to go home again."
She found keys in one of the dormitory rooms. They had a remote lock/unlock. Pushing the panic button did set off the alarm, but it was silent. The flashing lights were easy to spot in the dark. She hopped into the driver's seat, breathed a sigh of relief that it was an automatic, and strapped herself behind the wheel. The trip was again quick.
The decision of which bed to use stymied her. The dorm room, where she had spent most of her time over the past years, had not given her one of music-creating dreams. Sleeping in her old bed might have counted as a different place for the purposes of the dreams, but she decided to try that later. Her parents' bed was wide and comfortable, a place she had slept many times in her childhood when storms or the dark frightened her. She felt safe as she crawled under the sheets, almost as though they were there to cuddle her in a warm embrace until her fears subsided.
Two more capsules helped her sleep. It was likely not safe to take that much of the medicine so quickly, but it was not as though she was going to die from it - not permanently, at least. The next dream might as well have started the moment she closed her eyes for all that she was capable of noting the passing time.
It was mid-spring of grade eight. Lemon Zest was still thirteen and had just returned from another day at her middle school. Both of her parents were home, her father back from the office early. They called her into the kitchen the moment she stepped through the door.
She hoped there was nothing serious. Her father rarely took time off work; the last time had been when her mother had an accident. Neither voice sounded disappointed, so she was likely not in trouble. If anything, they sounded more cheerful than normal.
They were both seated at the table, an envelope and some paperwork between them. At the centre was a large box from the local bakery.
"We have some big news, sweetie," her mother said. "Ready, Dad?"
He nodded. They both grabbed the lid and opened the box. Lemon Zest looked at the cake, her eyes growing wide as her heart rate accelerated. She could not resist her own grin.
"You're having a baby?" she squealed.
"What?" They both turned the box to see that the cake was covered in white icing with the words "We're Having A Baby!" written large in yellow across its surface. Below it was an image of a stork carrying a baby in a plain white blanket through the sky.
"No, honey, this was a bad mixup," her father said.
She deflated. As much as she loved having her parents to herself, Lemon Zest would have liked having a younger sibling. She preferred a brother, since she knew her father would have liked to have a son, but either would have been a joy.
One of the papers was pushed into her hands. The crest at the top belonged to Crystal Prep Academy. It was a letter congratulating her on being selected for admission on a scholarship. The earlier wilted joy sprang back to life and bloomed until she bounced in place with louder shrieks than she had offered at the false news she would be an elder sister.
Her parents were on her in seconds, each competing for hugs. They were ecstatic; over the past year, they had encouraged their daughter with the steadfast surety of parents knowing their child was destined for greatness. She knew they had been more eager for that letter than she had been.
The idea of living so far from home was intimidating, but she wanted desperately to make them proud of her. Even from a young age, she had a greater appreciation than many for how much time and money parents devoted to their children. At times, she could almost feel their exuberance at watching her grow. They proclaimed it to be the natural order of things: The previous generation uplifted the next, ensuring their offspring the best chance at survival. For all that they had given her, she was determined to prove her gratitude by successfully eclipsing them and then ensuring they would be comfortable in their old age.
Their small party lasted well into the evening. They ate cake and ice cream for dinner because such an event called for it. When it was time for bed, they both tucked her in as usual, though with a gleam to their eyes she rarely saw. The dream faded as her youthful self took her own journey to the land of dreams.
She pushed herself from her parents' bed. The music had added more flutes to the band, their cheerful tune bringing happy tears to her eyes. They quickly changed to mournful.
"What the hell happened to me? I promised myself I was going to grow up and get a good job to take care of them."
Perhaps that was the resolution she needed. Like Ebenezer Scrooge, she needed to learn the true meaning of something. Four years at Crystal Prep had seen her grow from a young teen that was only started to bloom into a woman who partied instead of studying and spent whole weekends with a hangover. Her friends were no longer her sisters but were instead people with whom she happened to spend time between better activities.
She hoped one more dream would be the solution. Quartets were popular for a reason, and the tie of her memory-dreams to music made that even more likely. If not one then two; five-man bands were also common. It may have been wishful thinking, but the orchestra could not grow much larger without losing itself.
She had popped more capsules into her mouth and was about to swallow when she paused. As much as she wanted to leave that empty world, she did not want to kill herself again. The medicine was strong, and she had taken it twice already. It was entirely possible another round would be too much for a body already damaged by her history. As she had not wanted to die in her parents' vehicle, she did not want to die in their house. It was wrong.
That left her with little to do until she could sleep again naturally. A walk seemed like a good place to start, though. The small town in which she spent her childhood had a nice park with a natural pond, two rivers, and long walking paths. Play ground equipment littered the area for the young and the young-at-heart. She had spent many happy hours there with one or both of her parents.
The slides were not as fun at eighteen as they had been at five, but that was to be expected. The swings were still able to get her blood pumping despite the fact she had not used one in years. She soared through the air, reaching the point where the chains went slack as she spent a few seconds in near-weightlessness. After what must have been hours enjoying the simple pleasure of defying gravity, she came to a stop.
A walk had been the original plan and still seemed a good idea. She needed something less strenuous after the heart-pounding pendulum of the swings. The music put a skip in her step. Her friends - if they were still friends - told her she had a good singing voice, but she had no imagination for lyrics. She hummed with the tune instead.
The music had never once abated, but it was not repetitive. Every time one measure ended, a new one began. Its movements echoed life. A few doleful notes found their way into the mix, because nothing could ever be eternally optimistic, but then it would transition into something even greater than what had preceded it.
She rounded a corner and found herself sitting on a bench again. Her older self did not look as worn as she once had, but she still carried herself as though she had not fully enjoyed her life.
"What gives?" Lemon Zest asked as she sat next to herself. "I thought I was on the way to making things better."
"Haven't you?"
"Well, you still look like Abacus Cinch after the Friendship Games, so I guess not."
"If that's what you think of me now, I'm afraid to ask how I looked the first time we met."
"Do you hear the music? It's happy. I know I'm getting there. Just a little more before I crack this caper."
The elder Lemon Zest smiled. "What have you learnt so far?"
"I've been wasting the opportunity my-our parents gave me. At some point, I just lost sight of what they've given up."
"You're a scholarship student."
"One who's been on the edge of losing it for the past year. Even then, I know it's not paying for everything. I have no idea how much they've had to shell out for this, but I need to use what time I have left to make sure they won't need to beggar themselves to put me through university."
She felt her older self pull her into a hug.
"You're almost to the end. I have another hint for you: Only one more dream remains. This also comes with a warning: Be careful where you choose to have it. Four dreams will put an end to this, but they aren't fixed. You control which ones you have, and those will play a deciding factor in what conclusions you draw. The music will rise or fall to meet you. Whether it carries you from this place or expels you remains to be seen."
Lemon Zest was alone again. The cheerful music felt suddenly more ominous. It had been controlling her mood as it grew stronger; if she chose the wrong dream, it could easily crush her newfound determination or redirect it somewhere she did not actually desire.
The decision would not be easy. She did not know if she could use her own bed, which meant she had to decide before she slept again. There was likewise no way to know if recycling one of her earlier lairs was safe.
She remained on the bench as she pondered the issue but came no closer to deciding as the sun's setting painted the sky orange and pink. Her thoughts cycled like stars about a cartoon character's head after smacking into a brick wall.
"This is only going to decide how all the rest of my life plays out. No pressure. I just go to sleep here one more time and let my dreams carry me to the future." She paused. "My dreams. I've been looking at this through my friends and parents. If really want to know what I want, I should look at something about me."
Two beds belonged to her. One was only a short walk distant, but it had not been host to her full spectrum in years. The hopes of her childhood could teach her a great deal, but that ignored several critical changes earned or forced upon her during her tenure in secondary school. She would take her final rest in her dorm room's bed at Crystal Prep.
The drive back was longer than the trip to her family home. She may have ignored most traffic laws, but she was marginally careful. After her suicide, she had woken in her bed a second time. If she died again, there was a chance that would count. She had no interest in discovering what a dream affected by death would do to the music.
Her eyes were drooping by the time she crawled into her bed. Even as she tipped into the final dream, it felt right. She was certain she would find the answers she sought.
A few weeks before the Friendship Games, Headmistress Cinch called her into the office. Lemon Zest was nervous that someone had ratted out her weekend activities. She took a seat as ordered and waited for the condemnation and judgment. The cold, piercing gaze transfixed her. She did her best to sit properly and hoped her uniform was tidy; there was no need to gift ammunition.
"Let me be succinct: Why haven't you registered for the Friendship Games tryouts?"
"I didn't think there was much point in it. It's not like I'd be able to help Crystal Prep in an academic competition."
Abacus Cinch scoffed. "I am well-aware of your academic standing. We have Twilight Sparkle and Sugarcoat - among others - to carry us through that portion. That is not why I called you here. Lemon Zest, you are barely clinging to above-average scores in most of your subjects. Were this purely academic, I would count my lucky stars not to have you participate. However, the games involve your only point of strength: Athletics. Your teachers have nothing but glowing praise for your ... vigour on a playing field."
"Won't that take me away from my studies?"
"It would if you cared for them."
Lemon Zest had no real interest in the games. Being a champion had its merits and would certainly make her parents happy, but she wanted to continue having fun. Outright refusal was sure to meet with reprisals, so she decided on a different tactic.
"Sugarcoat's no slouch outside a classroom. Indigo Zap and Sunny Flare are great athletes, too. Why bother with me?"
"Crystal Prep has a tradition of winning. To do so, we must make use of every asset. Second-class participants lead to defeat."
There was no choice. "I don't want to do it."
"I thought you would say that." Headmistress Cinch opened a drawer and pulled a file. She slid it across her desk. "I know what you do on the weekends, Lemon Zest. Imagine what your family would say if they learnt of your wild lifestyle."
"Are you threatening me over some stupid competition?"
Cinch chuckled. "Of course not. I am merely trying to make your situation clear. The parties, alcohol, drugs, and sex are more important to you than succeeding when your parents have sacrificed a great deal to put you through this academy. Do you know how much of your tuition is covered by your scholarship? Did you know that violating your 'upstanding citizen' agreement not only voids it, but also has a clause mandating reparations of up to one year's worth of distributions?"
"No ... Ma'am." Lemon Zest knew she was on thin ice. If Cinch reported her activities, there would never be any proof that it was anything more than a concerned educator looking out for the well-being of one of her students. "I'll participate."
"Good. However, do not think that I will forget those who help maintain Crystal Prep's sterling reputation. As the headmistress of this academy, I have a certain amount of sway. A letter of recommendation from me can mean the difference between needing loans to pay for university and earning a scholarship. Do I make myself clear, Lemon Zest?"
"Crystal clear, Ma'am. I'll make sure we come away with the trophy again."
"I am glad we have come to this understanding. You are free to go, but I would recommend postponing any further bacchanals until after the Friendship Games."
The dream ended. Lemon Zest rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The music had gained several new instruments. She detected the original guitars and violins with flutes as well as at least one tuba, a keyboard, a piano, and even an organ. It was a cacophonous din that left her head pounding like it had when she first woke in the empty world.
She screamed, hoping it would pause the clangour. It did nothing except to irritate her dry throat. Covering her ears with the pillow did not help. The awful noise built in her head until she thought her brain would melt.
"Why?" she shrieked. "I'm trying my best, just give me a damn clue."
Her headphones, ignored for so long, toppled from the desk to her side. She placed them over her ears and sighed in relief as the clamour lessened. That sigh quickly changed to a gasp of horror; her hands and arms had faded slightly. She was gradually becoming transparent.
Whatever it was that she had experienced all those days was ending. She thought she would have more time to make sense of it. Letting that music into her life was not what she wanted. It was a discordant mess, just as she had been.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus. If she could not find a way to control the nonsensical orchestra, it would rule her. Her earlier resolve was still there, but it was fading as the music dominated her.
The thoughts about music brought one of her few conversations with Twilight to mind. The quiet science-obsessed girl had been playing classical music in the storage room given over for her use. Lemon Zest discovered her while trying to avoid Indigo Zap after an argument about which of them should handle what types of activities at the games. Twilight was petting the dog she always snuck onto campus while she watched some flowers.
She started when the door opened and tried to hide the dog behind herself. Her slightly panicked expression did not fade when she saw who had entered.
"Oh, h-hi, Lemon Zest."
"What's with the music?"
"This? I'm, uh, tr-trying to measure the effect of different types of music on plant life. It's ... well, it's not a new field of study, but I thought it would be ... you know, fun."
Lemon Zest rolled her eyes. "Right. What's the obsession with that? I grew up in a farming town; if music helped plants, wouldn't farmers jump on that?"
"Well, there have been a few large-scale experiments, but the results are still inconclusive. Correlation is not causation, and it's hard to control for every variable outside a laboratory."
"Yeah, but I still don't get it. Who came up with the idea in the first place? Plants don't have brains or whatever. How would music have anything to do with it?"
Twilight started to launch into a technical history of that branch of research, but Lemon Zest stopped her and turned for the door.
"I don't actually care. Have fun with your stupid flowers."
"There are metaphysical associations. I don't bother much with those, but I have read them." Twilight had stood and was rummaging through a stack of papers. "I know you like listening to music, so this might interest you. Just a few more minutes?"
Her voice was hopeful, as though Lemon Zest agreeing to remain would make her day. Twilight had no friends and was as awkward as could be. There were people who went for geeky girls wearing glasses, but she was too socially immature even for them. Lemon Zest did not want to stay, but she had nothing else to do at the moment.
"Fine, but make it quick. Some of us have actual lives."
Even barbed, the promise to stay there brought a smile to Twilight's face.
"Okay, so opinions about what music actually does to the human mind go back millennia. It's commonly used in poetry, for example. William Congreve, a playwright, wrote: 'Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast./To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.'
"There are certain aspects of music that are known to have impacts on human emotional states. Minor keys, for example, are frequently associated with sorrow, despite the fact they also have strong historical use in works to evoke happiness or grandeur. The violin is often called an equivalent to the human voice. Skilled violinists can produce sounds like the voice of an opera singer, and have been known to bring audiences to alternating tears or smiles just by switching what notes they play.
"A subject I found rather fascinating is the use of contrasting music and lyrics. A more recent example is Green Day's song 'American Idiot'. The lyrics are very aggressive and dystopian, but the music is upbeat."
"That album is over a decade old."
"I know. It's just a convenient example, since so many people have heard it." She offered what looked to be a research paper bound with a large paper clip. "Here, you might find this interesting if you want to know more. It's not the most scientifically sound paper on the topic, but it's written to be accessible to those without graduate degrees in Music Theory. The author goes through a sample of cultural uses of music and what impacts they had on those societies."
Lemon Zest took the paper, which caused Twilight to smile again. Perhaps the mad scientist was not such terrible company, though Lemon Zest still did not have much interest in trying to draw the girl into her group.
"Did you know that drums and other percussive instruments are believed to have an especially strong effect? They can overwhelm an orchestra if not used correctly, and have been the centre of controversy over styles of music. Certain religious sects are even opposed to them because they view drum beats as opening the door to evil.
"Percussion may have been the first human musical discovery. It's hard to know, since there are all sorts of instruments going back to the earliest human tribes. Wind instruments and simple stringed instruments are also very old."
"Why is this so interesting to you?"
"Well, I feel the same shifts in emotion that most people do when I listen to music. I've even catalogued my reactions to certain pieces and use them when I want a particular type of feeling. It's a mystery why exactly it affects us this way, and I don't think the scientific community is any closer to understanding it than we've ever been."
"So that's why they study what it does to other things?"
"I think that's a reason, maybe even an important one. Spike here reacts to certain types of music, too. It may not be as profound, or at least as easy to measure, but I've seen it. He gets more excited when bombastic music is playing, but curls up and sleeps to gentle pieces."
The school speaker came to life as Headmistress Cinch called all participants in the Friendship Games to a practise session. Both teens hurriedly prepared themselves and left. Lemon Zest placed the paper back on one of the desks, where she forgot it. She was not sure she wanted to be seen entering the auditorium with Twilight, but would have almost felt bad for ditching her.
Their hurried pace through the halls faded from her mind's eye. Lemon Zest was unsure it would help, but it was better than surrendering. She wanted to decide on the course her own life, not allow some weird music to do it for her.
The music continued in its muffled state. She was almost fully transparent by then, but she had regained some control of her emotions.
"I want to keep enjoying life," she told the chaotic orchestra. "I want to be able to laugh at little things. None of this crap about being better than anyone else. I fell to that once and pretty much ruined my friendships."
A few of the instruments came into agreement as they went back to the cheerful melodies they had played when she visited her home town. It was barely audible under the mess, but it was an improvement.
"You know what? I do love partying. Moving to the beat, drinking with others, a joint here and there. I don't care what Cinch thinks. I've gone overboard, but I don't think it's wrong."
If her eyes did not deceive her, she was becoming sturdier. Her colour was returning as she became solid again.
The music finally came into line. It played the sound of life, of who she wanted to be. Even if she tried, Lemon Zest doubted she would ever be able to describe it to anyone else. The nuances captured highs and lows. She could feel her history in it, everything that had been and what could happen.
Her parents cradled their tiny newborn. She took her first steps, spoke her first words. The child fell numerous times, but strong, loving arms helped her to her feet. As she grew, she did not sever their beat from her own. Rather than being an influence on her own rhythm, her section of the orchestra played in time to that of her family's. It was not a domineering manner; the older music was simply trying to guide the new instruments into a pattern it felt was best.
"I know what I have to do if I want to control my own life. I'm an adult; it's time I stop letting others push me into what they want, even if they mean well."
A steady drumbeat joined the smaller ensemble and pulled it into a new rhythm. She felt herself soaring from her room, through the ceiling of the dorm to view the entire school. Tiny motes of light beat to their own tunes. As they came together, they would sometimes overlap and change each other. At other times, the individual beats of lives combated one another. It was a vast symphony without a specific purpose. Most were dull as they obeyed the world's powerful cadence, but a few pushed against it to create their own works.
Lemon Zest did not have long to observe the interactions of the music found in human souls. She was still ascending to another place, somewhere far above it all. She could hear the drums, primal and wild as they called her. The music was like a narrow bridge across a yawning chasm. Even a moment of doubt would see her plunge to destruction in the form of losing the connection she had forged.
She came to rest on a cliff. A tower that looked like a clenched fist overlooked a stormy sea. No matter how powerful the pounding of the waves, it was firm. A primordial jungle stretched into the unfathomable distance behind her, full of the same aura of life that had called to her.
Thorny vines crawled the tower, wrapping it in a cruel embrace. There was no entrance at the ground, only a cave at the top accessible by climbing the vines. She reached for them, but the thorns pierced the flesh of her hands.
"Seizing the reins of your life is painful." Her elder self was there, seated on a stone bench. She hid her face with her hood. "The toll of blood is meant to deter those not ready for the power. Can you make this climb?"
"I've been coasting all my life. Even if these brambles cut away everything I have, I'm not stopping until I reach the top."
"So be it. Earn your place in the Watchtower of the Stone Book."
Lemon Zest grasped the vines. The thorns cut her again, but she resisted the urge to yield to the pain as she pulled herself up the side of the tower. The barbs sliced through her clothes until they fell in ribbons to leave her as naked as the day she was born. They cut at her flesh until she was coated in blood, but still she persisted in fighting the agony of tortured nerves until she found herself at the cavern.
She pulled herself over the edge and pushed herself onto unsteady legs. The tower's name was fitting: Its stone walls were covered in the countless names of those who had survived the awful climb. Most were written in blood, a convenient ink that was readily available. She located a space and pressed her ruined hand against the cold stone. When she removed it, the bloody handprint had become her own identifier. She licked one of her fingers and traced her name through the blood.
The words 'Lemon Zest' pulsed green with the drum as she fell back through the tower and down to where her physical body waited.
She woke in her dormitory bed. Instead of a silent, empty world, she heard the rhythms of life and felt the sparks of souls moving about their business. Her own melody was frayed; the hangover made itself known in the form of a discordant note. She touched it with the new power that let her feel the accumulated damage to her body and pulled it into agreement. Her headache and nausea cleared.
Two songs of life that she recognised easily rested beside her. Despite how they had treated each other the past few months, her friends were there for her after she once again partied too hard. She opened her eyes to see Indigo Zap holding a bucket near her head.
"Just let it all out." She kept her voice low, as though afraid of irritating the cured hangover.
"I'm fine," Lemon Zest replied cheerfully. She sat up to find Sugarcoat at the desk. Both of her friends averted their eyes when the sheets fell to reveal that she was not dressed, despite having shared the gymnasium showers on multiple occasions. "Let me get dressed real quick. Don't go anywhere."
She darted to her dresser and grabbed a tee-shirt and a pair of shorts with underwear before going into her bathroom to dress. A quick splash of cool water and some mouthwash finished making her company tolerable. She would need a shower but did not want to keep her friends waiting.
They were seated together on her bed when she rejoined them. She pulled her desk's chair to face them and took a seat.
"That is the fastest recovery from a hangover you've ever had," Sugarcoat said. "Usually, you'd be begging me to cook you some breakfast."
"I wouldn't mind something good to eat, but I wanted to talk first."
"Is everything okay?"
"Mostly. I know I need to clean up my act, and I'm going to. It starts right here." She lunged at the girls and pulled them into a hug. "I'm so sorry for how I've treated you guys this year. You're my friends, and I never should've let Cinch's 'first or last' spiel get to me. Can you forgive me?"
Their individual beats had paused at her sudden action and the apology. Both joined hers in a happy symphony as they returned her hug.
"I've been a bitch, too," Indigo Zap replied.
"We all hurt each other. We can't change that, but we don't have to hold onto it."
"It's hard to imagine you not mixing it up at the frat parties anymore."
Lemon Zest giggled as she released her friends. Rather than go back to her chair, she planted herself between them.
"I like partying, but I've been going about it the wrong way. Sugarcoat, remember all those sleepovers we'd have at my parents'? The silly games and talking about whatever until midnight? Indy, remember when we'd sneak into each others' rooms and play 'Truth or Dare'? We might be adults now, but that doesn't mean we have to give up simple stuff. The fun times I've had with both of you mean a lot more to me than all the craziest drinks and new dance mixes. I enjoy that stuff, too, but I'd rather find ways to enjoy it with you than going off on my own."
"We should plan a graduation party just for us," Indigo Zap said. "We could each plan stuff that we like."
"I wouldn't mind trying alcohol, as long you both promise not to push me too far."
"Deal. I should probably get a shower now. I can't even imagine how bad I must smell."
They shared a laugh and one more hug. When her friends had gone back to their own rooms, Lemon Zest hopped into her shower and scrubbed every remnant of the party from her skin. A thorough brushing with more rinse cleared the taste of vomit from her mouth. When she was ready, she went to the academy building.
Headmistress Cinch was in her office. She did not look up from her computer when Lemon Zest let herself into the room and took a seat.
"Did you need something, or are you merely here to waste my time?"
"I just came to say that I'm going home for the weekend. I need to see my parents."
"You are eighteen. You do not need permission to leave the academy grounds, not that lack of it has ever stopped you."
"I know. That's actually why I'm going to see them. I need to be honest if I want to be someone who makes them proud."
"Graduating will be more than sufficient for that. Is there a reason you saw fit to disturb me with plebeian insights into your shortcomings?"
"Well, I need to be honest with you, too: The environment here sucks. Every four years, you and the rest of the staff whip us into a 'kill or be killed' frenzy. I nearly drove away my two best friends because of a competition that's supposed to bring us closer together. If it has to be that lonely at the top, I'd rather stay below."
Abacus Cinch turned her gaze from the computer to her student. Her visage was neutral, but her music was angry. "Your actions have made clear your thoughts about success. Go be a nuisance somewhere else."
"Alright, see you later."
Lemon Zest left the office and strolled to the front gate. She was not sure how she would get to her family home. Neither of her friends had her own vehicle. It was not as easy to steal a car when there were other people in the world, not that such an act was a serious plan.
She rested against the wall as she surveyed the street. Calling her parents for a ride would only waste their money and confound the reason she wanted to talk with them. She was still contemplating solutions when a car pulled to the gate.
The young man driving it stopped next to her. She felt in him the same liberated music that was in herself. He must have recognised her, as well, based on his knowing nod.
"Need a lift?"
"My parents always told me not to accept rides from strangers," she replied with a smirk.
"That's good advise. I'm Jackpot, and I'm with a group of people like you. We felt someone in the process of Awakening, so the Synod asked me to come check it out."
"I figured there had to be others. Thanks for coming. I'm-"
"Don't tell me your real name. Only share that with someone you trust, since others can use it against you. I'll call you Christy for now, okay?"
"Fine, as long as I don't have to go by that forever."
"Just until you pick something of your own. So, if you're not busy, my offer of a ride stands. You need to introduce yourself to the Synod. We don't like unknown Mages running around."
"Yeah, I'm actually free all weekend. Could I ask a favour, though?"
She explained what she needed and why, to which he readily agreed. She hopped into the car and rode with him first to a small office to meet the person known as the Synod, then out to a small farming town near the edge of the county. They talked as they travelled, Jackpot giving her an overview of what it meant to be a Mage. Lemon Zest discovered that her category of magick made her part of a group called the Shaman.
After she described her experiences, he said, "I think 'Ecstatic' fits you a lot better. It's another name for the Shaman."
He left her at the corner next to her childhood home and then returned to the city. Lemon Zest would not need a ride again unless things went horribly wrong. Even if it did, she would find her own way.
She worked up her courage and let herself into the house. Her parents were home and surprised by her sudden appearance.
"Sweetie, what are you doing home?" her mother asked. "Not that we aren't happy to see you, but don't you need to be studying for your finals?"
"I'll be fine on those. I know I haven't worked as hard as I should, but I learnt my lesson. I'll get full marks this time, just you wait and see."
Her father gave her a pat on the back. "You know you don't have to be a perfect student to make us proud of you."
"Yeah, and I appreciate that, but I still needed to tell you something. A whole lot of things, actually."
They both looked at her in concern. "Are you okay?"
Lemon Zest steeled herself before confessing what she had been doing. Alcohol, drugs, partying all night, sneaking into clubs and bars; she held back nothing. She had only avoided sex despite numerous rumours and accusations to the contrary. A few guys had tried to get her into the backseat, but she was too paranoid about disease after a very intensive lecture from Sugarcoat that included pictures and photographs of the damage it caused. They still gave her nightmares sometimes.
As she spoke, she watched the physical reactions and listened to their music. Disappointment formed the only negative response to her confessions. It was what she expected; disappointing them always made her feel terrible. She had told them so more than once.
"Honey, I'm glad you told us all of this and that you want to straighten yourself out. We'll do whatever it takes to help you."
"What about rehab? It would be a good way help you get all of that out of your system."
"I'm sure we could find a good one a ways from here so you won't have to worry about anyone finding out."
"And you're sure no one ever ... took advantage of you? It might be a good idea to go to the doctor just to be sure."
She knew it would be best to stop them before they went any further. There was a pattern to conversations with her parents: The gentle recommendations and suggestions would be repeated and made appealing until she agreed. They knew her well and had always managed to push her into the choice they thought was best. If that failed, disappointment would always get her cooperation.
"Mum, Dad, I have more to say." She waited until they were quiet and then told them about the threat used to force her participation in the Friendship Games. "Before you launch a crusade against Headmistress Cinch or start apologising, I just want to add that I'm not sorry about attending Crystal Prep. I made two amazing friends there, and it was great until this year. My own choices put me in that position. That doesn't excuse what Cinch did, but I gave her the ammunition to use against me.
"That brings me to the last point." Another reassuring breath prepared her for the moment of truth. It was time to take control of her life.
"All my life, I've been glad for how close we are. I've always wanted to make you proud of me. Until recently, that was the centre of my life, even when I was doing things I knew would disappoint you. I've had some time to think over everything recently, and I realised that living to make someone else happy isn't going to make me truly happy.
"I'm proud of my family, even if we aren't rich. You've always supported me and done what you thought was best for me. You welcomed Sugarcoat just because she was my friend, and you never tried to use my friends to get something for you. It's just ... I need to do what I want to do now."
She had expected them to interrupt. As she paused to breathe again, she checked their music. It held a deep rumble, as though a storm approached. Before it broke, she finished her thoughts.
"I know I'll make mistakes. I mean, just look at how many I've made already. I'll make more and probably even repeat a few of them. Having someone else looking over my shoulder all my life is like having someone give me all of the homework answers: I'm never going to learn. I'll understand if you're disappointed in me, but I'm still going to keep on this new track. I just hope that you can still love me even when I don't listen to you."
She was done. It had not been anything like the speech she prepared while riding with Jackpot, but she had explained herself and her reasoning. All that remained was the brewing storm. Her parents were ready to respond.
They moved next to her on the couch and hugged her as they had the day she received the Crystal Prep welcome letter.
"Honey, do you really think we'll stop loving you just because you're spreading your wings?" her father asked. "We don't want to see you get hurt, but that's part of life."
"I know we've gone overboard, sweetie. We smothered you instead of preparing you for life. It was too easy to decide what was best for you and then force you into it."
"So you aren't going to abandon me?"
"Never. If you're doing something that hurts yourself, we will try to get you help, but I think you've already learnt that lesson. You'll always be our little princess."
"Our princess or not, we'll try to learn how to respect that you are your own person. When I disagree with something, I'll tell you honestly. If you don't listen, maybe you'll get hurt or maybe you'll discover that your parents don't know everything. We certainly failed you by putting you in Abacus Cinch's reach."
"It's like I said: I don't regret attending Crystal Prep. Things would have been different if I stayed here, but I don't think we'd be having this conversation if I had."
"We can talk more later, but let's go out for dinner now," her mother suggested.
"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to cook with you. I need to learn how to care for myself. It will be embarrassing if I still have to ask Sugarcoat to cook for me at university."
They retired to the kitchen. The day had seen them take only the first steps into a new way of life, but they had embraced it as they did one another. Lemon Zest could not help but smile when she burnt the French toast. There were many lessons yet to learn, a process her parents had proved was something that continued throughout life. Even if they would not always be pleasant, she would make the best of them with the people she loved at her sides.
THE END
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
