We Have No Mouths, and We Must Confess

=================================

Written by: Oneimare

Preread and edited by: Typoglyphic

=================================

This story is an overdue gift to my dear friend, who never fails to make my days bright.

=================================

Act 2 Part 1

=================================

A distinctive soft sound marked the moment Twilight fell into the gentle embrace of her bed cover, muzzle first. A muffled groan followed her landing like an echo.

There were so many things to be frustrated about the last two days, piling onto each other to the point she couldn’t decide which of them was the worst. At least now it was over and the losses could be finally taken account of, stinging wounds—licked.

By the time Twilight returned from Trixie’s show, everypony had left her castle, even though she hurried back as fast as she could. Obviously, Cranky, Ditzy and Vinyl bothered her not too much; they weren’t likely to even care. After all, they left with bellies full of food worthy of royal taste buds. Princess Celestia, on the other hoof… even the cake remained untouched.

Her former mentor must have gone to great lengths to free half a day. Although nothing pointed at that, Twilight was absolutely sure Luna stood behind it; the goal of Celestia’s visit couldn’t be a coincidence—checking on Starlight’s success in learning the ways of friendship. In any case, it was a complete failure.

So now two of five princesses must be having doubts about what their colleague was doing with her life and taxpayers’ money. Out of two alicorns left one being an infant helped none.

Twilight rolled on her back and shot the ceiling a baleful glare.

Why did that mare have to return to Ponyville this week out of all times?

Almost too late Twilight was able to catch herself—her fuming about Trixie’s road tour happening in the least felicitous moment had nothing to do with the showmare herself. She still was a huge jerk, but she did nothing wrong, well, not really. No matter how convenient and pleasant the opposite would be, the only mare Twilight could blame for ruining the day was none other than herself.

When all comes to all, she had let her jealousy stand in a way of Starlight’s happiness.

An unpleasant revelation crossed her mind—Luna accused her of playing babysitter with Starlight, where in truth Twilight was nothing but a prison warden to her student.

A pillow was unceremoniously grabbed by magic to deafen another frustrated scream. Caught up in her self-indulgence, Twilight realized she was observed only when her eyes met the ones intently looking at her—Owlowiscious’.

“Don’t judge me.” She shot him a glare and turned away, the pillow tightly clutched to her heaving chest.

Owlowiscious continued to silently judge Twilight, the unblinking gaze boring into her back. She felt a sudden urge to hurl something at her pet, instantly followed by a sharp pang of shame.

That couldn’t keep going on forever—the longer she remained mad, the higher the chance she would snap at somepony or someone. Spike had already fallen victim to her anger weeks ago and something like was bound to happen again judging by the signs.

If Twilight had learned anything, it was sometimes she had to ask for help, lest her thoughts would continue to bore the rut in her mind.

With a heavy heart—and heavy hooves—Twilight rolled out of the warm bed, trotting to the open door, letting the cool breeze dug its bold tendrils under her mane and feathers—something unwelcome yet needed.

As she presented herself to the moon and stars, her breath became mixed with the spirit of approaching winter, quickly dissipating in the near darkness. Though still months away from fully embracing the world into its hoary blankets, the coldest of the seasons was heralding its advent already.

The serenity didn’t last long as the wind carried the sounds of the party and the scent of burned powder. Momentarily, the dusk died in a brilliant polychromatic flash of a thunderous firework, followed by exuberant cries.

Fun and wild the celebration was, with its attendants numerous as ever, there were bound to be those who gave it a wide berth. One of such cool-headed ponies was exactly who the Princess of Friendship was looking for.

Taking a deep breath, she launched herself into the chilly night air.

The pegasus magic in Twilight’s wings fought back gravity for a few long heartbeats and when the battle was lost, she aimed her fall towards the Carousel Boutique.

The closer ground was growing to Twilight, the less stalwart her resolve became.

While she had a lot on her mind, a sudden realization dawned on her—she had no idea about what in particular the conversation with Rarity would be about. Not to mention she just remembered none of her friends had very high opinions about Starlight. Although the seamstress had shown no clear indication neither of hostility, nor approval, it could only be her reserved, ladylike manners.

By the time Twilight’s hoof softly tapped the ornate door, the last ounce of her determination evaporated away and regret followed by a burning desire to return home began to creep into her mind.

The silence lasted not long enough for Twilight’s indecision to bore fruits. The door opened with a trademark silver chime and Rarity met her, widely beaming.

“Twilight! What an unexpected visit!”

Latching on to her words to turn the situation around, Twilight awkwardly mumbled, preparing to leave, “Oh, sorry Rarity, I didn’t know you were busy…”

“Nonsense.” Rarity dismissed her words with a wave of the alabaster hoof. “Darling, I am never busy enough to turn down a friend in need.” Then, leaving Twilight not much choice, she unceremoniously tugged on her with magic. “Now, stop letting cold into my studio and do come in already!”

As suspected, Twilight had caught Rarity in the middle of work—spools of fabric were dragged out of their home on the shelves and chaotically strewn all around the studio, accompanied by rough sketches and various tools.

Rarity instantly rushed to her ‘artistic mess’, trying to make it look somewhat presentable. Twilight awkwardly stood and watched, trying to find words and miserably failing. It lasted for a full minute until the seamstress was the first to break the silence, no later than she finally realized the futility of her ministrations.

“Ahem, sorry about that.” She turned to Twilight and politely coughed in her hoof, sheepishly smiling. “So, what brings you into my boutique?” Her eyes lit up. “Do you want a new dress? Your student came by just a day ago.”

Twilight’s face twitched at the mention of Starlight, yet Rarity seemed to not notice. She let out a deep sigh—if only it was that simple. In fact, she could just ask her to make a dress and head out, but it felt petty to pile more work on her friend just because she couldn’t build up the courage to speak.

“Not exactly.” Twilight gulped. She was met with a somewhat disappointed look and promptly apologized, “Sorry, Rarity.”

“It is alright,” –she let out a sigh on her own– “though I hope Starlight returns to my boutique one day, she has quite a distinguished stature for a unicorn. I presume being an active part of a growing, eh, ‘community’ gave her a lot of opportunities to exercise…” She then turned away from Twilight, distracted by a spool of ribbon falling to the floor, riotously rolling across it, and kept talking, “Forgive me, dear, I am rambling. What was it?”

“I wanted to talk…” Twilight’s words trailed off as the newfound resolve appeared to be quite short-lived, albeit for a reason different from any of the prior. Following Rarity’s commentary, on its own volition, her mind started to conjure the images of defined, but not excessive, muscles of lithe limbs and body, rolling under a shining pale fuschia coat…

Her thoughts came to a complete halt when she realized what she was thinking about.

Rarity turned back only to witness a red face.

“Talk about wha–" She gasped in surprise, her muzzle forming a mischievous grin not a moment later, and gushed, “Twilight! Is it what I think it is? Please, do tell all the details immediately!”

What?

No!

Twilight tried to come with some kind of response to explain herself, but any attempts died on her lips, turning into incomprehensible sounds, her mind overwhelmed by the sheer ridicule and irony of the situation. Ultimately, it decided to go into a state of panic. Her body instinctively jerked away, eyes looking for a way to escape the unpleasant situation.

Seeing her friend’s vivid reaction, Rarity culled her enthusiasm.

“I’m sorry!” she yelled, then reassured Twilight in a soothing tone, “I won’t be pressing you into talking.”

It took Twilight a few seconds to still herself and offer an excuse of her own, “It is alright, Rarity. I just had a few rough days.”

She let out a sigh, deep and long, as if proving her words. Hastily, she added, “And it is not what it’s about.” She almost wished the opposite was true—a romance seemed more appealing than her current predicament.

However, the initially amusing thought was followed by a new wave of panic.

A relationship with her student?

Twilight couldn’t imagine a worse disaster—she was already treading on thin ice. Her face, red as a beetroot, became deathly pale under the standing on its ends mottled lavender fur.

As an expression of horror began to settle on Twilight’s face, a mien of comprehension overtook Rarity’s features, and, cautiously approaching, she softly said, “I’m more than willing to lend my ear, darling.”

Twilight, her head hanging low, became a prisoner of her indecision once again, searching for words, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she finally uttered:

“I gave it a lot of thought lately.” The words were as quiet as a rustle of leaves on a breeze; they still rang loud in the anticipating silence of the boutique. “I don’t think I’m fit for a teaching role.”

Her admission was met by another overly dramatic gasp.

“What a ridiculous notion, dear! What in the world made you come to such a conclusion?” With each syllable, Rarity sounded more hysterical, yet before it reached a crescendo, her demeanour changed all of a sudden. “Where are my manners? That is not a thing to discuss in the middle of a room.”

She tugged on her guest with magic again, heading for the kitchen, but this time Twilight resisted with the aim of her own—the door. She couldn’t make a single step—with a cat-like dexterity Rarity circled her and very ungracefully butted her friend, pushing her forward with a nonnegotiable fervour.

“Late it may be, it’s never behind time for a cup of tea.”

It took mere moments for the practiced motions to result in a pair of porcelain cups appearing on the table, steaming, a plate with forlorn biscuits resting inbetwixt them. While Rarity’s cup was a spot of reddish blackness amidst the pristine kitchen, Twilight’s filled the air with the mellow and summerish aroma of chamomile.

The seamstress waited a full minute, waiting for their beverages to cool a bit, observing Twilight sullenly staring at her reflection, still reluctant to explain herself.

“I will ask you again, Twilight, what made you think of such a preposterous thing?”

It was Twilight’s muzzle that gave away the answer, contorting into a web of wrinkles. To some degree, the admission of her inadequacy came as much as a surprise to her as it was for her host—unlike Rarity she knew it wasn’t an issue itself, but merely a symptom of a bigger problem.

The frown didn’t leave her features then Twilight finally lamented, “Remembering how Princess Celestia taught me, I can’t help but feel myself falling far short of her.” She shook her head, her brow furrowing deeper and a hint of scorn crept into her voice. “And then I get an earful from Princess Luna…”

With a white hoof rising from the table in protest, starting to interrupt even as her words trailed off by themselves. When Twilight tore her eyes from the cup at the motion in a periphery of her vision, she was met by a stern, almost angry expression.

“I have to stop you right there, darling. Setting a bar as high as the skill of a goddess with millennia to hone her ability is nothing but admirable.” She let those words hang in the air, her withering look speaking the rest for itself.

“And while Princess Luna does rightfully deserve her title by many accounts,” –her eyes glazed for a brief moment and a faint blush touched her cheeks– “I wouldn’t take her words to heart—she is still a bit stuck in customs long gone, however genuine her intentions might be.”

Despite how fair and sound Rarity’s response was, it did nothing to dispel the concern having uncontested reign on Twilight’s face, redoubling as she ruminated on it.

Taking a sip of herbal tea as if its taste and fragrance could alone soothe her nerves, she came up with her own retort, choosing words carefully:

“I’m not entirely sure Luna’s accusations have anything to do with how outdated her experiences are.” She noticed a glimpse of confusion in Rarity’s eyes, a question unvoiced. A question purposefully ignored. “As for the bar…” she continued solemnly, “perhaps you’re right, but even if I were to lower it, I am still failing miserably.”

There was a moment of indecision before Rarity raised the objection and when it happened, the first few words were spoken in a tone not as supportive as the rest, as if it was meant to be something else.

“I thought your lessons with Starlight went splendidly. At least the Crystalling gave a definitely positive impression.”

Stressful as that day was, it still counted as a bright one, reflecting on Twilight’s face, only for the light to fade into gloom when the grim reality pushed away those memories.

A cup was raised for a sip, yet it never reached her lilac lips, instead landing back almost forcefully, a few drops of the brew marring the pristine tablecloth.

“She isn’t happy with her stay.” Noticing the mess she made, Twilight reached for a napkin, and it fell out of her magic as it faltered just like her voice, “I’m either a terrible host or just as bad a tutor.” The last words she had to squeeze out of herself and they came barely a whisper, “Judging from what I am kept being told, I am sure it is the latter.”

Rarity didn’t answer outright, not that it was expected—her guest had withdrawn into herself, the warm cup clutched tight in her hooves as if it could serve as a bulwark against chilling thoughts.

Taking the fallen napkin in her magic, she dabbed at the spilt herbal tea, giving Twilight a long look, her lips pressed together.

“I see,” she finally said.

Before approaching the subject, Rarity made full use of the pause in the conversation to nearly empty her cup, crinkling her nose as the bitter and hot beverage flowed down her throat. She also had to gather her thoughts; now when she understood what it was about, she must be especially careful with her words in dealing with a matter that delicate.

“Twilight.” The mare in question perked up as she was addressed; however, it was more out of the silence suddenly broken, rather than out of recognition of her name. Clearing her throat, Rarity asked, “How do you think Starlight’s doing in her study of friendship her happiness and the opinion of others not taken into account? Based only on how much she has learned and grown.”

It took Twilight a few moments to redirect her mind to that inquiry. Her furrowing was the initial response—this time it was confusion to blame.

“You can’t put it like that,” she began pensively; then she spoke further, her voice growing more confident, even if sounding more than a bit lecturing, “Friendship isn’t like any other science, if a conventional science at all, and it can’t be measured; the lessons I’ve been learning myself were but a way to summarize experiences which are beyond any kind of evaluation. A mental state is an important part of an experience as everything else, so I can’t abstract from Starlight feeling miserable.”

“It is hard to disagree with you here, darling.” Rarity couldn’t help but smile at her success and she pressed on, “However, I should object—not every valuable experience in regards to relationships is bound to be a happy one—I am sure you can recall having such cases yourself.”

Reflections of the past flashed in her purple eyes, the memories of the scrolls sent to the Sun in an emerald blaze, the small griefs sometimes being part of the price for the lessons learned, though all worth it without a trace of doubt.

“You’re right.” Twilight nodded sagely, then her expression hardened. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do everything possible to cut such unpleasant experiences short—something I have yet to accomplish.”

It was the moment Rarity waited for, perfectly arranged. She downed the last of her tea, the final and most biting part, matching the question she was about to ask.

“Then what do you want to achieve, Twilight?”

The Princess of Friendship tensed instantly—she was smart enough to predict where it was going, to know Rarity managed to see right through her. The seamstress in her turn smiled kindly and added softness into her next words, she meant to help, after all:

“Do you want your student to have experienced the beautiful world of friendship in full, with all its ups and downs? Or do you want her to be happy as she can be?” Rarity paused, anticipating a stronger reaction to what she was about to say and spoke with as much nonchalance she could put in her voice as she could. “Perhaps... is it an approval of others you aim for?”

Still, Twilight reacted as if she was slapped, trying to subdue both the grimace and the jerking of her body, not quite succeeding. She opened her mouth to answer, or more accurately, to object the accusation before all, but Rarity didn’t let her.

“There is no need to answer right now, darling.”

Forgetting her manners, she almost sprawled across the table to reach her friend’s hoof. For the first time since Twilight stepped into the boutique, she let her eyes meet her host’s eyes. To her surprise and relief, she saw none of the unpleasant things her imagination kept putting there. Only genuine sympathy, understanding, deeper than she had herself, and an almost impossible to catch glimpse of sorrow.

“There’s no rush. The answer is more important to you than to me,” Rarity added, squeezing Twilight’s hoof slightly. “Having it would solve everything for you.”

Before returning home, Twilight decided to make a couple of laps above Ponyville.

It was a desire born not from the accident taking place not long ago—she didn’t aim to improve her skill of flying at night. Nor it was curiosity—she gave a wide berth to the clearing where the impromptu party was taking place. The reason for her seemingly pointless soaring over the mostly asleep rural town was simple—she was wearing herself down.

It was something she had been doing for the last two weeks; perhaps a bit too drastic, yet still an effective measure against something she had no power of—her mind paying a visit to Princess Luna’s domain. Technically, there was supposed to be absolute confidence implied in such matters, but Twilight neither was looking forward to testing that nor being visited by Luna at all, even if it wasn’t a nightmare.

When Twilight’s hooves finally touched the crystal tiles of the castle’s balcony, she was ready to fall asleep right there. She forced herself not only to go into her room but past the bed—being exhausted still wasn’t a reason to forego basic hygiene. Something caught her eye—a few objects that weren't there before.

At the hoofboard of her bed, a pair of familiar saddlebags were slumped; surprising as their appearance was, it didn’t bother Twilight as much compared to another thing left behind by the sunset.

Atop the wrinkled covers a scroll lay, the highest quality parchment, the wax of the same grade bearing an indentation in the form of the sun with its rays reaching out.

A part of Twilight’s mind implored her to ignore it until the morning; the responsible, or, perhaps, the fearful fraction of her mind willed magic to grasp the letter and unfurl it.

It was written in immaculate font belonging to somepony who had had centuries to practice. The text didn’t have a single hint of its writer being dissatisfied with her visit, yet Twilight’s heart clenched.

Her hospitality was about to be repaid by Princess Celestia tomorrow evening.

After hours of rambunctious laughter and flamboyant spectacle, the night was finally able to regain its rule over Ponyville, albeit not in full. The last islands of light were scattered across the quaint town, echoing the joy of the performance, gradually winking out one by one. Nevertheless, one such spot stood strong.

The defiance wasn’t the only difference it had from its brethren—in the trembling light of a single lantern two mares had very little fun.

Though a considerable fleet of seemingly endless supplies and equipment lazily circled Starlight, her mind was elsewhere. Her mind kept returning to the events of the day, lingering equally on both happy and bitter moments. Even now she revelled in the monotonous labour of packing (made trivial by her magic)—it was in the company of a friend. However, soon enough the giddiness abdicated its throne to the sharp sense of betrayal, the mistrust stinging on a wound refusing to close.

It took Starlight a considerable effort to show not a single sign of knowing the story between Trixie and Twilight. When they first met in the spa, she utterly failed to recognize the ‘evil’ mare from Mr. Cake’s stories—it clicked in her head only much, much later. Although she wasn’t told all the details, she knew enough to see the actual motive behind Twilight’s actions and words.

It should be worse, to hear that so soon after the memorable night and the morning following it. Starlight couldn’t help but believe it was just a fluke, a mistake born out of stress and worry. Yet, with each repetition, her conviction faltered a bit. Before her thoughts fully succumbed to despair, she forced her gaze to focus on the objects in her arcane grasp and noticed something worrying.

“Trixie, can I ask a question?”

The initial response she received was a non-committal grunt; unlike Starlight, the showmare had to put considerable effort into packing up her things. After shoving a particularly stubborn piece of her magician’s materiel into a bloated sack, she deigned her newfound friend with an actual response, “Sure.”

“Where did you get all those fireworks?” More than half of the levitating swarm orbiting Starlight consisted of those; and that not taking into account the amount turned into a bluish haze obscuring the stars. “That’s a lot of them”

“I make them myself,” came a grudge reply; it was impossible to say if Trixie was trying to avoid that topic or was just being Trixie.

Starlight warily eyed the explosive equivalent of a siege crew’s ordnance payload. “Do I want to know where you got that much powder?”

Even curter than before, with an ever-present hint of pride, Trixie rasped, “A true magician never reveals their secrets.”

Caught in a sensation of awe and slight dread of looking and holding enough firepower to wipe a settlement the size of Our Town, Starlight had failed to notice Trixie struggling to haul the bag nearly of the same size she was.

She readily took it in her magic and, to Trixie’s visible chagrin, without much effort lifted it into the wagon.

It took Trixie some time to regain her breath, before she finally explained, “A friend in the Dragon Lands.”

The answer was still too enigmatic for Starlight’s taste, all things considered. However, she doubted it would be possible to get a more clear one; not without angering the showmare.

With the bag crammed into the surprisingly accommodating confines of Trixie’s home-slash-stage on wheels, the only thing left to fit into it were the ones in Starlight’s magic aura. She proceeded to wordlessly pass them, one by one, and the work of wrapping up went on.

The near-silence of the night was still too oppressive and eager to make Starlight’s doubts a debilitating chorus in her head, so she hurried to resurrect the conversation.

“I suppose you’ve made a lot of friends during your tours.”

Instead of replying to her outright, Trixie dove into the depths of her wagon with a bundle of fireworks both in her magic and mouth. Then she returned, her eyes a bit unfocused, seeing lands very distant. Again, Starlight had a hard time gauging her reaction—she also couldn’t write off Trixie just being tired; they both were quite exhausted by the long day. Whatever dictated the magician’s coldness, she didn’t refuse to respond, “More like business partners. The creatures who would make returning to those places worthwhile.”

“Do you have somepony like that in Ponyville?”

Though the intonation of her words didn’t change much, a warm smile graced Trixie’s muzzle. “I do have a friend here now.”

Their eyes met and Starlight couldn’t help but return the smile.

It wasn’t quite the same as winning the trust of Twilight’s friends or the rest of Ponyville residents, but meeting Trixie was one of the best things happened to Starlight in years.

Warm as the exchange had become, it was of little help against the nocturnal chill, reminding Starlight why she asked her question in the first place.

“Somepony else, so you can stay at their place?”

“I am fine staying here in my wagon,” Trixie grumbled, a note of discontent more prominent in her voice than before, becoming clear when she added, “As long as her Highness doesn’t mind.”

Oblivious to the change in her demeanour, Starlight pressed on, “I can talk to Twilight, there are a lot of free rooms in the castle.”

“Thanks, but no,” Trixie cut off hard, then added, denying any more offers, “You?”

Starlight blinked a few times in confusion. “Me?”

“Do you see anypony else?” Starlight nearly looked around, yet caught herself in time. Still, it didn’t go unnoticed by Trixie, who rolled her eyes and had to clarify, “Where are you staying?”

“Ah.” Starlight sheepishly smiled. “At Twilight’s place.”

The silence was her answer, accompanied by a long look, one eyebrow raised in an ambiguous gesture. She waited for it to be broken, and as Trixie turned back to the innards of her wagon eager to spill out and seconds began to stretch painfully, the unease settled in Starlight stomach. When it became unbearable, the question came out of her mouth by itself, cutting the night’s calm with desperate intensity:

“Is something wrong with that?”

Trixie glanced at her, bearing the same expression, and disappeared inside her wagon with the last of the fireworks. She returned moments later, two steaming tin mugs accompanying her, along with a thermos balanced on her withers. She sat down on a box, the only left outside, and levitated one of the mugs above the folding ladder leading into her home, inviting Starlight.

After they both settled, Trixie wrapping her cape tight around her and Starlight. Hiding in the doorway from cold, the former finally said:

“Not at all,” she sipped the hot chocolate. “She obviously cares about you a lot, you know.”

Despite the cold striking to her marrow, Starlight refused to touch her beverage.

“You make it sound like a bad thing.” Her tone bordered on hysterical.

She knew Trixie was a mare able to hold a grudge; her rivalry with Twilight was a perfect example. The question was how long it took the infamous magician to get her revenge on Starlight for basically abandoning her earlier this evening.

Trixie let out a long and exasperated sigh; not until then did Starlight notice their breaths coming out as thin clouds of vapour. She took a generous mouthful from her mug.

“You’re hearing it wrong, Starlight.” Again, there was the edge to her voice hiding her emotion by the veil of seemingly endless discontent, yet mixed with something uncharacteristic to it this time. “Twilight might be doing it ass-backwards, but the way I see it, she treats you better than everypony else.”

Starlight began to visibly relax, however, her state of mind refused to change at the last moment and she squinted at Trixie.

“How do you know that? I thought you never got along.”

The magician huffed indignantly and barked, “I don’t need a lot of time to get the gist of a pony, even if I don’t like her.”

Somehow, the trademark acerbity managed to finally persuade Starlight there was no ill intent. She wondered what the magician meant all along, and a sudden curious idea struck her. There must be something more than a single story of strife behind Trixie’s words—she was a traveller with a unique approach to those with whom her paths crossed.

“What do you think of me?”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie thinks you should pay less attention to what others might be thinking of you and instead pay attention to how they are actually acting towards you.”

Starlight immediately started to reflect on her conversation with Trixie, her forehead creasing. Unseen to her, the showmare rolled her eyes, barely suppressing a groan.

“Twilight was so adamant on protecting you from me, I began to prepare for a vacation on the Moon,” she commented with a wry chuckle.

Starlight looked at Trixie like she grew a pair of wings. “Twilight doesn’t send ponies to the Moon. Where did you even get that idea?”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie also thinks you should work on your sense of humour,” she deadpanned.

“Maybe there’s just something wrong with yours,” Straight shot back, an expression of disapproval refusing to leave her muzzle. To prove her point she added, “Perhaps Twilight was right about you after all.”

The magician cast a single tired glance at her. She downed the dregs in her mug and put a hat on, grumbling from under its brim, her face completely hidden in the shadow:

“In a sense, it is hard to blame her, after all the Great and Powerful Trixie is a mare to behold. However, hard feelings or not, it would have been a very not great and powerful move to take you from her.”

Following the example, Starlight finished her chocolate as well. Only for a very short moment, she fancied the idea of joining Trixie’s tours. Fun it might sound, she already refused to leave the castle once; and she had a more serious reason. “I would have stayed with her in any case, no offence.”

For the second time this evening, Trixie gave her a long strange look, violet eyes glimmering from under the hat.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

As soon as Starlight heard that, her jaws unhinged in a massive and prolonged yawn, so she missed the way Trixie shook her head in bewilderment.

The coldness of the air inhaled made Starlight cough, which in turn made her realize how much effort it took her to move limbs as she tried to cover her mouth. “I should return to the castle, it is quite late. Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

“Yes, but I’m leaving at the dawn” Trixie fidgeted under the cover of her cape, her hat’s tip bobbling dismally. “The winter is coming and it was never good for the Great and Powerful Trixie’s tours.” Yet a wide smile graced her lips then she added, “Though, now, when I have a reason to return here, it will happen sooner than later.”