The Here and Now
Few Equestrian races understood the sheer amount of care a unicorn's horn required. The calcified, magically conductive protrusion was anything but self-maintaining and at its worst could feel like a small, particularly needy pet one was assigned at birth.
The horn was only capable of magic if kept in proper condition. The deep flute spiraling downward from its tip had to be regularly cleansed of dust and other particulates, lest cavities or other manner of impurity develop. The fragile cuticle at the horn's base had to be protected, else the area risked becoming infected. Most importantly, however, the horn had to be filed. It was in a constant state of growth throughout the unicorn's life and, much like the tapered end of a candy cane idly licked over the course of many hours, would gradually become thin, sharp, and easily broken if left unchecked.
Proper horn care had not been among Trixie Lulamoon's priorities following her latest debacle at Ponyville. For a traveling entertainer, reputation was everything. Most Equestrian news outlets spun her actions under the influence of the Alicorn Amulet as nothing more than a cautionary tale about the danger of cursed artifacts, and Trixie was inexpressibly thankful for this small blessing. However, even in the most backwater locales, she still found her audiences thin and marred with nervous whispers by those who recognized her name. Performances were cut short by hesitant crowds and bits became tight, leading to hungry nights and longer travels. Trixie barely noticed as her horn, growing ever longer, began to get in the way when she brushed her dulled silver mane. She barely noticed as its tip began to tear and scratch the inside of her carefully tailored hat. The length of her horn had not crossed Trixie's mind once—at least, not until the day her tired hooves slipped while descending a muddy slope and brought her face-to-face with a large rock.
But that was in the past, Trixie thought to herself, shaking from her head the recollections of her naive mistake. This was the present. And not just that, but today was special. She had been preparing all week and wasn't about to let it get dragged down with worries or regrets.
Trixie clumsily stumbled backwards as she yanked the jammed wooden door open with the corner of her hoof. She still felt uneasy thinking of the new wagon as her "home", given that it was essentially a bed with four unpainted walls around it, designed to do nothing more than to protect a sleeping pony from the elements. The wagon was so short that she couldn't stretch her legs at night and so squat that she had to lower her head when inside, made only worse by the rope net full of half-bit pots and pans she had hung from the ceiling to maximize her storage space. She ducked her head beneath it as she climbed through the wagon's narrow entrance and onto the tiny bed that nonetheless filled the room.
On the far wall, next to where her once-vibrant, star-speckled cape and hat hung, she caught a glimpse of her visage in the small, frameless mirror. Flecks of mud and freshly fallen leaves littered her tangled mane, and her coat was marred with crimson pecks and scratches in various states of leakage. Deep bags under her violet eyes reminded her just how long this day had been, and a trickle of saliva had begun to work its way down the tiny, gray-blue egg she held in her mouth.
She spat the dirty egg onto the bed, suppressing a retching reflex as she quickly ducked out of the wagon to spit away some of the sandy grains left in her mouth. Then, crouching down and reaching her head underneath the bed, she nosed among her books and other meager possessions before surfacing with a relatively clean towel in her mouth. Dropping it on the mattress, she dove underneath once again, arising soon after with a half-empty bottle of whiskey clenched in her teeth. Over the last month the bottle had been serving her medical needs as much as her emotional ones.
She dropped down onto her belly, nudged the rectangular bottle upright with her nose, and squeezed it between her front ankles as she fastened her teeth around the metal cap. Twisting her shoulders to the side, she stretched her neck uncomfortably as her teeth scraped around the cap in her unwieldy attempt to unscrew it with her mouth. It took a good six repetitions of this action before the cap was finally free and she was able to flick it away with her tongue. Trying once again to recall how she handled such tasks as a pre-magical foal, she drew her head back sideways and carefully chomped down around the sides of the bottle. Shifting back onto squatted hooves, she craned her head over the towel and slowly tilted to the side, daring the sharp-smelling liquid to dribble out.
Her mouth-eye coordination had grown poor after years of relying on telekinetic magic, and the liquid came faster than she intended, splashing down upon the towel, bed, her legs, and even the walls. She quickly reared back and twisted the bottle upright, curbing the flow before it could drain itself completely. Sighing at her sub-par handiwork, she tucked the bottle away in the tight gap between the bed and the wall and halfheartedly dropped the cap back over the top.
She dropped down onto her haunches, hoisted the soppy, eye-stinging towel up in her front hooves, and closely watched herself in the small mirror as she dabbed her wounds clean with the strong alcohol. She smirked inwardly, amused by the thought that some ponies would consider this the painful part. Needless to say, over the last month she had developed a new appreciation for the finesse with which earth ponies and pegasi used their hooves and teeth to manipulate the world around them. As for herself, she decided she would just finish screwing that cap back onto the whiskey bottle tomorrow.
With her wounds relatively sanitized and her coat smelling like the seediest of taverns, she tossed the towel off to the side of the bed and, out of habit, squinted at her broken horn-stump in the mirror, optimistically telling herself that it had grown back another millimeter since this morning. She suppressed a throaty sigh, trying to rein her mind in from its desperate attempts to estimate of how many months - or even years - it would be until she had her old self back. That was the future, the once-unicorn chided herself. Right now, she had to worry about the present.
And today was special.
She twisted her head around and began to unhook the rope netting above her. She stopped suddenly, realizing she should tuck the painfully-acquired egg under the pillow first, and then returned to her attempts to unhook the net. After a good minute of fiddling her teeth and tongue around the hook that secured the frayed ropes, the net finally came undone and pots, pans, and utensils bounced against her back and clattered down onto the bed. She shook a frying pan off her shoulders and assessed the various pieces of cookware around her, settling her eyes on a small metal pot with a matching lid. Using her mouth to grasp the handle, she scooped up its lid and carried the set outside into the waning afternoon sunlight.
Prior to her egg-hunting excursion (in which she learned that ponies were not meant to climb trees) the unicorn had already taken the time to prepare a small fire. The secluded forest clearing where she had elected to set up for the night had enough rocks and dry wood to build the campfire fairly easily, and a good set of mouth-operated flint was one of the first things she had bought with her limited bits after her first cold night without a functioning horn. The fire had been reduced to a soft smolder in her absence, but jostling some branches with her hoof was enough to awaken the flames like a slumbering animal.
She drooped her head and laid the pot at her hooves, glaring at it intently as she thought over her next steps. It must have been well over decade since the last - and only - time she had done this, and she scoured her disorderly mind for any memories that detailed the exact procedure. Her eyes shut as she reminisced deeply, remembering a day countless years ago, standing in a kitchen and reaching her head up to a wooden cupboard that remained incessantly out of reach. A pair of warm hooves wrapped around her sides and hoisted her up, letting her nose open the cupboard and see -
Aha! That's right, she thought, nearly tripping over herself as she galloped back to her wagon's open door and submerged her head underneath the bed once again. She withdrew with a few small bags grasped between her teeth. She remembered it being the dry components that were poured together first. She wasn't sure if there was a reason for that or if it was just how she remembered it, but she didn't want to take any chances with this. Today was special, after all.
None of the bags she dropped next to the pot were labeled, but she remembered each of their contents clearly due to the cringeworthy stories behind their acquisition. Before Ponyville she had done well for herself as a traveling entertainer, yet each ingredient before her now was a tiny reminder of how far her life had sunk.
She overturned a small bag of white powder into the pot, releasing with it the memory of the baker she had intercepted on his way to the trash to ask if she could have the tiny remainder left in the bottom of the box he was throwing away. She ripped open a blank white sugar packet, remembering the day she tucked it into her saddlebag at a diner after ordering the cheapest item on the menu - a piece of white toast with butter, which had ended up being her only meal for the day. She lifted the tiny bag of salt, sprinkling the slightest amount into the dusty mixture and with it the uncomfortable memory of the waitress asking her to leave the diner after she noticed Trixie emptying the contents of a salt shaker into a compartment on her saddlebag.
One tiny pile of flour later, the dusty white mixture was complete. She tightened her teeth around the pot's handle, lifted it up, and gave it a few shakes to sift the contents together. A thankful smile escaped her lips as the familiar motion drew her mind once again back to her foalhood days. She still remembered that bowl, clasped between two tiny forehooves, its powdery white contents swishing up the sides and swirling together like the clouds in a morning storm. Her young nose was tickled with unfamiliar smells, her heart with an unfamiliar excitement. Her small, bright eyes looked up, and with trepidation she inquired:
"Like that?"
Trixie's smile faded as she slowly came back to reality, realizing she had just spoken the words aloud to the empty forest.
The here and now, she reminded herself, guiding her mind away from the dangerous depths of the past and future. Into the wagon she went to retrieve the next ingredient: a small bottle of milk that was still cold against her teeth.
Feeling the wet bottle in her mouth brought a strange comfort to Trixie's heart. Of all the ingredients she had gathered over the last couple days, this one felt the most fair to her. It was only this morning she had stumbled across the small farm tucked away along a tiny and forgettable river. Its crop appeared to be mostly vegetables, though there were a few fish strung up on a rope and wooden scaffold by the bank and - to Trixie's delight - the blotchy black and white coat of a cow visible in the stable nearby.
The inhabitants were atypical for a farm. Other than the cow, the only residents of the abode seemed to be a male gryphon and a female pegasus pony. Trixie had her gaudy star-speckled hat and cloak on as she approached, sighting the gryphon as he was thrusting his beak into the water in an attempt to catch a particularly evasive fish. Trixie's favorite thing about her colorful garb was that it invited questions, and soon the three of them had struck it off and she had opportunity to introduce herself as a traveling entertainer. And, to her delight, they asked if she would put on a show.
She did the best she could with what she had. She told stories of places far and near, her travels, and even her encounter with a living, breathing Ursa - details on its age omitted, of course. Her years of performances had made her into a very animated storyteller, and while it may not have been an impressive show to give in a town square it was more than sufficient for what she assumed to be an unusual couple living alone on an uneventful homestead. At the end, her audience applauded, even the cow. She was offered a talonful of bits, a couple vegetables from the pegasus's garden (though she was definitely no earth pony in her growing abilities), and, at Trixie's request, a chilled bottle of milk.
The warm feeling persisted for hours after Trixie had continued down the road. Never once during her performance did she remove her cloak for them to see the magic wand marked on her flank. Never once did she remove her hat for them to catch a glimpse of her broken horn. And never once did they see inside her cart long enough to notice that the "pantry" she mentioned consisted of a cardboard box with a half-eaten biscuit inside. Everything they had done for her was due to her own abilities and not out of pity or guilt. They weren't helping her because she needed it, they were helping her because she deserved it. For the first time in weeks, she had truly felt like The Great and Powerful Trixie.
Trixie ran the memory through her head again and again like a catchy song as she let a slosh of milk run out of the bottle into the mixture before her. She curbed the flow and set the remainder of the milk off to the side, resolving that she would keep the glass bottle even after it was empty both for water storage and as a bit of a memento. She didn't want to get lost in the past, but, every once in a while, it was nice to allow select parts of it brighten the present.
After scraping about a third of a butter packet (also swiped from the diner) onto the edge of the pot and splashing in a bit of extract from a bottle she had purchased for a bit, Trixie knew what was coming next. She was not looking forward to figuring out how to gracefully handle this next part without magic, but there was no sense in delaying it.
She ducked back into the pan-cluttered wagon and scanned around for the elusive ingredient, finally poking her head under the pillow and surfacing with the small, gray egg she had fought so hard to acquire from a bird's nest. Returning to her de-facto mixing bowl, she dropped down onto her belly and gently set the egg on the smooth ground in front of her.
As far as she could recall she had not actually cracked an egg for cooking since that day so many years ago, and even back then she had done it with magic. It was undoubtedly one of her most vivid memories of the day: her weak pink aura enveloping the egg as she struggled to lift it out of the carton, pouring all her concentration into the act before a stronger, silver glow finally appeared around the egg to aid her. Their magic merging into a dull purple luminescence, the egg slowly floated over to the mixing bowl and dropped down onto the bowl's edge with a sharp tap. At a nod from the other unicorn the egg split in two, half its shell enveloped in silver and half in pink as the viscous yellow contents between them stretched and splattered into the bowl below. Trixie remembered turning to her mother with a proud smile, and getting a warmer one back.
Of course, this memory was ultimately unhelpful to her current situation, and she blinked it away from her slightly clouded eyes. Bringing herself back to the present, she gazed down at the egg as if it were making a particularly offensive gesture at her. She emitted a couple lazy sparks from her jagged horn-stump and reacted with a painful wince, confirming her magic had not miraculously returned to make things easier. With a light sigh she picked the tiny egg up with her mouth and, careful not to squeeze too hard, leaned over the edge of the pot and gave it the quickest tap her neck muscles would allow. Noticing no apparent result she tried again, which was enough to split the egg and send part of the thick glair seeping back into her mouth. With a grimace she pressured her tongue against the fissure, trying to force the two halves apart in the other direction. Slowly but surely, a tiny stream of clear liquid drizzled out of the shell and down into the bowl, followed by the plunk of a small yolk. She leaned back and dropped the shell into the nearby grass, sucking up some saliva into her mouth to spit out the wad of tasteless, snotlike substance that still lingered there.
She ducked into her wagon once again and, after a moment of searching, trotted back with a bowl in her mouth, a knife and spoon clanking around inside it with each step. Depositing them on the ground by the campfire with her other supplies, she sat down on her haunches and struggled to clap the spoon between her hooves in the correct downward-facing direction. Successful, she cautiously brought the spoon over to the small pot, clumsily running the spoon's head through the varied mixture and squishing the egg's tiny yolk into two swirling globs. She repositioned her haunches and got into a better position for stirring, guiding the spoon through the mixture again and beginning to feel the mudlike resistance as the egg and milk seeped into the powders and dragged against the spoon. She guided it through another stir, careful to capture the stray bit of butter in the rotation.
After better positioning her hooves around the spoon she managed to come up with a fairly comfortable stirring position with the pot gripped between her hind ankles and the spoon moving in fast circles directly below her head. With the task mostly reduced to a simple cycle, the blue unicorn let her gaze drift to the deepening purple sky. She could see the first traces of stars twinkling far above the horizon, though she quickly cast her eyes back down before they could linger for too long.
The here and now, she recited, resisting the black tentacles of bittersweet memories long past drawing her back into their embrace. The metal spoon clacked against the side of the pot as it accidentally slipped from her hoof-grip. She took the opportunity to flex a knot out of her shoulder muscles before taking the spoon back up and beginning to press apart a couple dry islands that remained in the muddy gray ocean before her. She remembered that same mental image crossing her mind as a foal, her imagination turning the wooden mixing spoon into a sturdy pirate ship that burst through the rocky outcroppings in its path, each strike seemingly causing a new dry pillar to burst forth from the murky waters below. The memory brought forth a sad smirk as she endeavored to clear her mind and speed up her pace. The last time she did this, it was about now that she gave up with exhaustion and asked her mother to finish stirring for her.
Her mother had used magic for it, of course. That sparkling silver glow wrapped around the spoon like a sock as the utensil came to life, cutting swiftly through the thick batter like a wing through air. Trixie leaned forward with her tiny hooves on the countertop, her gaze wide with awe. Her eyes crossed as her vision shifted to the short horn emerging from her own forehead, a soft smile spreading across her lips. She felt a sudden wave of happiness that she wasn't an earth pony, or a pegasus, or even an alicorn like the Princess. She was glad to be a unicorn, just like her mother was.
Opening her eyes brought Trixie back to the present. Her eyes were looking upward at the rough edge of her broken horn, narrowly visible at the top of her view. She swallowed a lump in her throat, eyes returning to the thick paste forming in the pot before her. The spoon's handle slipped from her hooves and she angrily clapped them around it again and resumed her stirring with a renewed vigor. Today is going to be special, she reminded herself. Don't let anything bring it down.
The batter was thick and consistent by now, and Trixie was satisfied with it. She took up the spoon's handle in her mouth and walked it back to her wagon, dropping it into a dingy box beneath her bed for later cleaning. She trotted back to the fire and, using her mouth again, carefully dropped the pot's lid over the mixture. With a short kick from her front hoof she knocked over some of the campfire's taller remaining structures and quickly nestled the pot down into the embers and smoldering wood pieces left behind. It was hardly a proper oven, but she hoped with all her heart that it would work alright.
Trixie looked across the remaining couple bags until she located the small quantity of confectioner's sugar, another small treasure nearly thrown away by the baker in Hollow Shades. She turned her attention back to the metal bowl and knife she had retrieved, setting the knife aside on a clean piece of ground before overturning the powdery sugar into the bottom of the bowl. Another fraction of the butter packet was scraped onto the side, another few drops of extract added, and a small splash of milk let to cascade down over it all. She leaned her body to the side, set down the now half-empty milk bottle she held in her teeth, and shifted back into her stirring position. Knife clamped downward between her hooves, she set to work stirring her new mixture while briefly looking up to confirm the fire was still burning around her previous.
Cake frosting was something Trixie had never made herself, but she still remembered watching her mother that night, all those years ago. Trixie's blank-flanked haunches were seated on a tall kitchen stool, her head resting on the cool countertop, and her small blue forelegs dangling down between the two as her eyes darted around, watching her mother's every move with a mix of awe and curiosity. Three slices of butter were cut off without even using a knife, swirling through the air before settling into the bowl as, on the mare's other side, a levitating bottle of milk eased itself into an angle above a measuring cup. Looking back as an adult Trixie understood that her mother was nopony special, but at that time in the small unicorn's life there was no greater magician in the world. A silver whisk descended into the bowl and began to rapidly stir the lumpy concoction, the bowl beginning to levitate in the air as the unicorn mare walked past it and gazed out the darkening window, humming a slow song to herself, or perhaps to the foal watching her from behind. The foal's attention raced between the various silver auras at work around her, then to her mother. Someday, she thought to herself, that could be her. Someday, ponies would gaze on her magic with that same amazement she felt right then, watching her mother.
Trixie's hoof slipped, the sound of the knife clattering against the rim of the bowl jolting her back to the present. It took her a few tries to successfully clap her hooves back around the blurry knife handle in front of her. Concentrate on the here and now, she reminded herself. The knife secured, she began to stir it through the thickening frosting more vigorously.
As the tiny blue unicorn foal watched her mother, everything looked so easy. Glistening silver auras gracefully drove the spinning whisk through mixing bowl, both pieces levitating before her. Her mother's gaze and mind were elsewhere, the mare humming idly as she watched the night sky darken into a deep blue, the newly risen moon just barely visible from where the foal sat. Someday, the filly thought to herself, she would be able to move more than an egg. Someday she would be great. Someday she would be powerful. Someday maybe she would move the stars themselves, just like she suspected her mother could.
Another clatter brought the unicorn back to the present. Her hooves had slipped again, letting the knife fall down into the bowl. Frustration growing, she slammed her hooves around the blurry knife and set back to stirring. It was a simple task that any other unicorn could have done with magic. An earth pony or pegasus would likely have more trouble, but their practiced hooves would still manage. Her brow furrowed as she stirred the knife as fast as she could, her cramped shoulders screaming in protest.
"You're the betht unicorn of them all," the little filly finally blurted out, whistling the words slightly through a missing tooth. Her mother turned from the dark window and met the small filly's idolizing gaze, a humble smile on the mare's face, the bowl still stirring to her side. She strode forward and planted a kiss on the filly's fluffy silver mane.
"Only for now," she teased in a tender voice that warmed Trixie to her core. "Someday that title might belong to the budding young magician right before me."
Trixie's hoof slipped again, the knife clattering against the bowl, jerking her back into the present. Eyes too blurry to even see where the knife had gone, she kicked her hooves at the bowl angrily, sending it clear across the campsite as she shouted swears used by no civilized pony east of Las Pegasus. The dark world a cloudy mess around her, she crouched forward and slammed her forehooves into the ground with enough force to nearly dislocate her fetlocks. She wouldn't have cared either way. She seethed with rage at herself and her useless body and soul as she barely held back a wall of tears and the subsequent cascade of thoughts she knew their release would bring.
She stumbled to her hooves, knocking over the milk bottle and nearly tripping as she rushed back to her wagon. Her teeth clasped around the neck of the whiskey bottle as she drew it free from its comfy home between the bed and the wall. She stumbled back to the campfire with graceless desperation and fell to her tattered haunches. Bottle gripped between her front hooves, she lifted it to her mouth for a long swallow. The sharp liquid burned going down her throat and she choked at its sudden assault, but quickly threw her head back for another glug, this time nearly draining the bottle in its entirety.
She gasped, subduing sobs and driving air back down her fiery throat. Her empty, glistening eyes centered on the fire in front of her. The here and now, she thought to herself. That's all that matters right now. She forced her breathing to slow, turning every breath into a conscious, controlled effort. She reminded herself that today was special. She had lost enough tears over the last month, over her lifetime, and today could go without.
Soon, she could see her vision clearing. She could feel her heart slow down to its normal pace, beating its somber rhythm deep within her still-hollow-feeling chest. She let her eyes leave the dying fire and traverse the dark forests around her, assessing every tree and bush for no reason other than to keep her mind occupied, fuzzy as it was from the sudden torrent of alcohol working its way through her body.
Her eyes landed on the spilled bottle of milk, only a tiny remaining bit pooled in the glass container's side. She thoughtlessly reached a single hoof toward the bottle to pick it up, only to watch her hoof slide across the top of the bottle without lifting it at all. She hazily glared at her hoof, and then the bottle. She thought about the couple that had given it to her, the gryphon and the pegasus living on an obscure farm far away from the outside world. Trixie looked back down at her hoof and a slight smirk lit up her face, quickly spreading into a full-on grin.
"Now I see why she... why she lived with a gryphon," a slightly buzzed Trixie deduced out loud, wiggling her hoof in front of her eyes, "so he could pick things up for her!"
At this, a stifled giggle escaped the broken-horned unicorn's lips. It was followed by a chuckle. After that, she fell down on her back laughing, unrestrained guffaws echoing into the night sky. The thought of a gryphon picking things up for his talonless pegasus girlfriend just seemed so perfect. Trixie knew it probably wasn't that funny, but she was sad, a little drunk, and laughing at it anyway. As tears began to stream down her face, a choked-back sob worked its way into her darkening laughter. Her convulsing chest tightened, knowing she had gone too far. The tears started to run on their own, her defenses collapsed, and everything came rushing in.
The reins on her fragile mind were lost, letting her feelings and fears run free. She thought about the future, a once-great unicorn magician with a ruined reputation and broken horn struggling to make ends meet. She thought about herself, years from now, still staring in that tiny mirror and telling herself that her horn had grown back another millimeter since she last looked. She thought about what it meant to have no magic when her very cutie mark designated it as her one special skill.
She thought about the past, remembering that Ponyville unicorn who had shown her up at every turn, forcing her to accept that no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many rules she broke, she would always be second best, her special skill ultimately nothing more than a lesser version of someone else's. She remembered the day she first got that cutie mark, standing up in a star-speckled cloak on that tiny, nailed-together stage, using every meager bit of confidence she had mustered to announce to that crowd of strangers that she was The Great and Powerful Trixie. She remembered being the last blank-flank in her class, worried that - like so much else - she had somehow lost her one chance at finding her special skill. And she remembered that little unicorn filly, no more than eight years old, levitating a rose onto her beloved mother's coffin.
Alone in the woods, lying on her back between a smoldering campfire and a tiny, rickety wagon, Trixie wept. The lonely, broken-horned unicorn cried about the past, future, and how she was caught here cluelessly lost in the middle. She sobbed until her ducts ran dry, and then spent minutes more simply choking in a fruitless crying motion. And when that was over, she just opened her blurry eyes and watched the stars.
Her struggled breathing gradually calmed as she carefully took in the spectacle before her. The night was nearly cloudless, and having traveled so far from any city let the dark sky's rainbow of deep purple hues shine forth from the inky blackness. Innumerable tiny white motes littered the darkness like diamond snowflakes in a blizzard. It was beautiful, nothing like the crude facsimile Trixie had stitched into her performance wear so long ago in an attempt to capture even a part of otherworldly allure. She flicked her eyes between the constellations and nebulae, quietly assessing how many she could name from memory. She ended up at ninety eight.
She rolled over onto her stomach, the fire behind her casting her silhouette across the ground, broken horn and all. She watched it flickering in front of her, a cruel reminder of the naive mistake she had made and what it had done to her. She knew it could be months or even years before she was able to use magic again, but she closed her eyes and shook the thought away. Not today, she thought. Today is special. She could worry about the future tomorrow.
Beneath the shining dome of stars she got back to her hooves, striding over to the edge of the clearing where she found her small bowl of frosting. It had landed face-down, but its consistency was thick enough that it didn't spill. She picked the bowl of buttery frosting up in her mouth and walked it back to the fire, where she found the knife lying in the dirt and did her best to wipe it clean using the fur on her ankle.
Without any sort of oven mitt, she settled for simply pulling the pot out of the fire using the non-sensitive bottoms of her hooves. She earned a bit of singed fur on her front ankles in the process, but the maneuver was an overall success.
She calmly watched the small pot cool for a couple minutes before picking the lid up with her teeth and peering inside. The golden-brown cake that had risen inside was slightly burned on one side, but otherwise perfect. She wielded the knife in her mouth and dunked it through the smear of buttery white frosting, lifting out a large dollop. She dropped the knife's blade down onto the cake, repositioning her mouth on the knife's handle to turn it over and guided it in series of smooth motions to spread the frosting. After a couple repetitions, she had managed to transfer most of the frosting onto the cake and spread it into a relatively smooth layer, though the still-warm cake had turned it slightly runny.
The next part was more sentimental than she was comfortable with, but when planning today she had deemed it pertinent. She cantered over to her wagon and, from beneath the bed, retrieved her last ingredient: a tiny container of sugary blue crystals she had purchased from a confectioner's store nearly a week ago. She returned to the fire with the container held in her mouth, closing her eyes and letting the memories flow back in.
A tiny blue unicorn filly was looking at a freshly baked cake as a silver aura dragging a butter knife slowly spread a glob of crisp, white icing across the surface. A small plastic container floated out of the cupboard and toward the cake. The filly's mother hesitated, instead floating the container down to the filly. It alighted on the counter with a light tap, gaining the foal's attention. She looked up at her mother expectantly.
The unicorn mare smiled. "Why don't you put the sprinkles on?" she offered.
The filly's gaze darted between the container and her mother. In a sudden burst of confidence, she decided she was going to prove herself with this. She puffed up her cheeks and glared at the container, a flickering pink aura enveloping her horn. Slowly and hesitantly the container rose off the countertop, first an inch, then a foot, then two feet. Sweat began to bead on the filly's forehead as she concentrated on the tiny container, trying her hardest to slowly turn it over in the air. Without warning, her magical grip slipped, sending the container plummeting to the countertop, bursting open, and scattering the crystalline sprinkles all over the young unicorn and her surroundings.
She looked up at her mother slowly, a terrified look on her face and tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw her mother's expression, however, the mare was amiably smirking with laughter. "Why, who is this majestic, sparkling unicorn in my kitchen?" she teased.
The filly looked down at herself. From head to hoof, her blue coat and silver mane had been covered with sparkling blue crystals. She grinned, and met her mother's gaze. "I'm Tricthie!" she lisped through her missing tooth.
"My Trixie? But she has never sparkled and shone with such magical power!"
The filly grinned broader, putting her two front hooves on the countertop for support as she stood up on the stool. "I'm Tricthie Lulamoon!" she announced proudly.
The mare's giggles were barely restrained as she looked up at her standing foal. "Just regular Trixie Lulamoon? But, what I am gazing upon must be the most magical unicorn in all of Equestria!"
A bold idea came into the filly's mind. She tipped the sprinkle container over upon her upturned hoof and then balanced precariously on her hind legs, confident her mother would catch her should she fall. Hoof held close to her chest she beamed down at the chuckling mare below her. "I am the great... and powerful... TRICTHIE!" she shouted with a gleeful grin as her hoof launched out in front of her, dramatically scattering a cloud of sparkling blue crystals across the cake and entire kitchen, the laughing mare shielding her silver eyes from the sugary spectacle.
An older, broken-horned Trixie realized she had just shouted the words, lisp and all, to the empty forest. She didn't care, though. Living the memory filled her with a warm giddiness she hadn't felt in years. The crystals dispersed across the small cake, smoldering campfire, and surrounding campsite. The dim light from the campfire and stars twinkled off the mess of sugar crystals surrounding her. She smiled and swallowed, letting the words escape her lips one more time, remembering that warmth she had felt saying them for that first time to the pony she had loved most in the world. "I... am the great and powerful Trixie."
She dropped back down to all fours and looked down at the tiny, white-iced, blue-spangled cake in the pot beneath her. There was just one more thing this needed. She trotted off to the edge of the clearing, squinting at the dry twigs in the dim light until she found one suitable for her purposes, snapping it off with her teeth. She returned to her cake and lowered the small piece of wood into the top, pressing it through the icing and the spongy matter beneath. She eyed the campfire until she spotted a stick that was smoldering on one end and cool on the other, picking up the cool end with her mouth and carrying the flame to her cake. She held it there until her makeshift candle had caught flame and then discarded the piece of firewood back into its dying blaze.
And with that, the broken-horned unicorn dropped down onto her belly before the tiny cake. Her features were illuminated by the soft glow of the makeshift candle. She crossed her forelegs in front of her in a calm posture as she watched the twinkling light refract off the sugary blue crystals shrouding the cake's white surface. One tear escaped her eye but she didn't fight it back, instead beckoning the sad memories merely take their toll and depart. While this special day hadn't been perfect, in this warm moment she could almost feel herself being drawn back in time. She could see that cake before her so many years ago, smell that tiny flame flickering in the cold air, and almost feel her mother's warm hoof draped over her shoulder. And that, she thought to herself, made this all worth it.
"Happy twenty-second, Trixie Lulamoon", she whispered to herself, puckering her lips and blowing out the candle.
A moment passed as she watched the gray ghost of the extinguished flame rise and dissipate in the darkness. She bit down around the burned twig that had served as her candle and tossed it off to the side. And then, glancing to her right and left to ensure nopony was around to see her, she smiled and hungrily shoved her face down into the small pot.
Her muzzle pushed through the creamy frosting as her teeth tore through the cake's fragile, membranous surface and spongy insides. Once she had plowed a canyon up to the top of the cake, she tilted the pot in her hooves and began to work around the sides. The smell and taste of the moist cake and buttery vanilla frosting enveloped her senses, wrapping her up in that tight blanket of memory for as long as she could sustain it. Her teeth gnashed against the sugary crystals, her tongue lapped at the burnt scars of batter stuck to the sides of the pot, and soon the delectable confection had been utterly devoured in every way it was possible for something to be devoured.
Trixie fell onto her back, giggling to herself in the warm memory of days long past, lazily licking at the mess of frosting that shrouded her face. She watched the stars far above, a thousand tiny pinpricks in that purple veil of night sky. In time, her giggles slowed and subsided, giving way to a calm, relaxed smile. She watched the colors and lights above her with intent awe. In that moment, she thought, she wasn't a broken-horned unicorn or a hungry performer. She wasn't The Great and Powerful Trixie the or Great and Apologetic Trixie or Trixie the Second Best. For this moment, she was just happy, and that was enough.
She remembered all those years ago, the tiny unicorn filly lying on her mother's lap, looking up at those same stars from their outdoor balcony. Around them, two icing-smeared plates and the remains of an excitedly-gobbled birthday cake littered the table. Bellies full, the two unicorns had moved onto a more somber activity, the mare's hoof running through her filly's mane as the young one gazed with awe at the faraway stars beyond. The moment was peaceful, and in it the mare hesitated before finding the courage to speak her mind.
"It's your first birthday with just the two of us," she said with an oddly hollow tone. It wasn't an apology or any particular attempt at conversation. It was just a statement, unadulterated by emotion, directed at the mare herself as much as the filly.
The tiny blue unicorn hummed a tired sound of acknowledgement, lazy eyes still watching the spectacle above. Noticing something sad in her mother's eyes, she felt the need to continue. "Not just uth," she sleepily mumbled, still whistling the slightest bit through her missing tooth. "There'th also the stars."
It took the mare a moment to decipher her daughter's quiet words, but soon a smile spread across her face and she, like her filly, turned her attention upwards. The endless mesh of stars transcended into the unknowable depths above them as the two unicorns held in silent embrace, silver and violet eyes exploring that vast expanse that the filly, like her mother, loved so much.
Trixie looked up at the night sky and exhaled softly. Once again she was alone in the forest with her broken horn, her only company the majestic motes of light holding their intricate poses above her. She wanted to feel the same way she had felt as a filly, looking up at the stars and seeing a thousand silent friends smiling back at her, but she knew something was missing. She knew that she would never again feel that warm, encouraging hoof she still missed so much draped around her shoulder. Feeling the beginnings of a knot emerging in her chest, she decided it was probably time to turn in for the night. Today had been special, after all, and she was thankful for that.
The broken-horned unicorn picked up the small pot in her mouth and walked it back to her rickety wagon, stuffing it in the box under her bed to be cleaned once she had access to running water. She retrieved the bowl, licking the tiny remaining bit of icing out before throwing it in the box as well. She carefully braced her forelegs against the wagon's inner walls, hoisted the net back over its hook, and deposited her clean pots and half-bit pans back within it, one-by-one. She halfheartedly screwed the metal cap onto her mostly-empty whiskey bottle using her mouth before tucking it into the space beside her bed. She lifted the toppled milk bottle up between her hooves and slurped down the last bit remaining inside before carrying it in her mouth back to the cart and carefully placing it in with the other dirty cookware.
Thump.
Trixie's ears perked and head shot around as she picked up the soft sound behind her. Ready to dive into her cart and latch the door if need be, she cautiously drew her eyes across the thick, dark forests surrounding her, the dry bushes and grass closer to the clearing, and the dying remains of the campfire directly on her tail. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, she thought to herself, until her uneasy eyes landed upon the source of the sound: a box wrapped in metallic blue paper and silver ribbon had appeared next to the smoldering fire.
She surveyed the surrounding forests again in disbelief, but there was no pony in sight. Jagged horn held in front of her defensively, she swallowed and crept toward the box, a troubled caution evident in her every step as though she feared parcel would grow legs and pounce at her any moment. Waves of white moonlight washed across the reflective paper as she approached, giving the package an ominous quality.
When the box was finally right beneath her chin, she risked a more careful look at its surface. The silver ribbon was tied in a simple bow, a folded tag sticking out from underneath. She raised a shaky hoof onto the box and, fearing the worst, spread the tag open to read the graceful cursive inside.
"From one underappreciated artist to another. Happy birthday, Trixie Lulamoon."
Trixie blinked with momentary bewilderment. An eyebrow raised, she scanned the dark vegetation around her, squinted at the dusty ground of the campsite, and finally lifted her eyes to the beautiful night sky where she saw nothing but the moon, stars, and a few wispy clouds. She looked back down at the blue box, then back up at the night sky, and a sudden smirk spread across her face as she understood.
Ribbons fell to the side as her teeth pulled the bow open and blue hooves ripped through the crinkling paper. She flipped the box open with a touch from her nose and from inside withdrew a small plush pony, its floppy body stretching just short of two feet long head to hoof. It looked like it was probably store-bought, its sable coat expertly manufactured and soft to the touch and sewn eyes staring back at her. Trixie expected herself to snicker at the foalish gift, dismissing it as nothing more than a comfort for lonely fillies. Such a gift could be construed as nothing short of a laughable attempt at insult.
And yet, laughter didn't come. She hesitantly looked down and found herself holding the soft creature tightly against her chest. She blinked, a blank expression on her face. She knew it was foalish and she knew it was silly, but as she sat on her haunches deep within that empty forest beneath the vibrant night sky and clinging the soft black fur to her body, she realized that for the first time in months those haunting pangs of loneliness had quieted to a dull, ignorable pain. The Great and Powerful Trixie gazed up into the night sky with a smile and gave a brief nod of thanks. And for the first time since she had begun to take solace in the inky depths all those years ago, she knew for certain that someone just out of sight was nodding back.
Stuffed animal held in her mouth, the tired and emotionally drained unicorn ambled back to her wagon. She curled her body around to pull the door shut with her front hoof then latched it for the meager amount of security it offered. She kicked her scratchy blanket up around her body and lowered her head onto the worn pillow. Her forelegs wrapped around her new friend and held him close to her neck, his nose just barely touching the jagged tip of her shattered horn. With a warm glow inside her and the soft sound of forest wind around her, she shut her eyes and drifted off to a peaceful slumber. Today, she concluded to herself, had been special.
Far above in the cold night air, a dark blue figure lay serenely on a wispy cloud, a foreleg lazily hanging off the edge as her keen eyes surveyed the scene below her. She felt a soft, barely-perceptible wind rustle her coat as an ivory-hued body fluttered down beside her on the cloud. The Sun Princess dipped her head in greeting before lowering herself into a sitting position as well.
Princess Celestia peered over the edge of the cloud at the quiet campsite far below. "I assume this is the unicorn filly you told me about?" she asked with calm curiosity.
"The unicorn mare," Princess Luna corrected in a whisper, her half-shut eyes still on the wagon. "And I beseech you keep your voice down. She is in one of the most peaceful dreams she has had in months."
Celestia nodded. Though she could not see into dreams as her younger sister could, she nonetheless appreciated these brief rendezvous on the cusp between night and day when the two of them could be together. She put on the relaxed smile she so often wore, lowered her head to the edge of the cloud, and joined her sister in silent observation. A cool breeze whipped through the thin air around them as the two royal alicorns lay side by side, one form gleaming brightly against the night sky and the other all but invisible.
"Did your gift go over well?" the Sun Princess asked, noticing the unwrapped, empty box standing just outside the wagon.
"Mm-hm," Luna hummed quietly.
"It seemed like an unusual gift for a grown mare."
Luna's eyes remained transfixed on the wagon, her mind no doubt deep within the sleeper's dreams. "It was a simple gift, but it was what she needed right now. An ear to listen to her fears without judgment, a soft body to cry into, and a small reminder that there is still someone out there who appreciates her." An uncomfortable smirk hesitantly illuminated the alicorn's stoic expression. "I would have found it nice, had I myself ever been a lonely blue mare who struggled with feelings of being second-best."
Celestia cast an aching glare at her sister, but the sad smile she received in return let her know that no hard feelings were held. Deep down, though, they both knew it would take many more years for the wounds to heal completely. Wordlessly, they both let their gazes drift back down to the serene, star-lit scene below them. Though Luna had always harbored a surprising degree of empathy for her subjects, Celestia began to understand why her sister had taken such an interest in this mare in particular over the last week. The Sun Princess' smile faded as she lay quietly on the cloud with no company but her own thoughts and her sister's presence. She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated, before finally breaking the silence.
"Sometimes I envy you, my little sister."
Luna turned a glance to her elder sister, a raised eyebrow beckoning the white alicorn to elaborate.
"For thousands of years I have ruled Equestria with the simple promise that the sun would always rise in the morning. I kept my gaze ever forward, striving to create a brighter tomorrow and assuring my subjects that even the darkest times would be succeeded by an even greater future. I told them that time would heal all wounds, and I came to learn that was often the last thing a wounded pony wants to hear. When one has lived as long as I have, it can be hard to remember just how far away the future can feel.
"But you have always thought as they do. After all these centuries you can still see each moment as a precious gift. While I am amending laws you are helping a foal through a nightmare. While I raise the sun so the earth ponies' crops may grow, you paint the night sky so that creatures may appreciate its beauty." The Princess paused, her gaze shifting down to her hooves in front of her. She swallowed, then continued. "Sometimes I wonder whether Equestria would be a better place were I the one who all but vanished for a thousand years."
For a long minute the two Alicorns sat in silence, Luna's eyes on her sister and her sister's eyes diverted, weighed with an uncomfortable note of buried emotion that rarely tinged the Sun Princess' warm facade. But with her heart calling her into action, Luna shifted toward her sister and wrapped a dark wing over her large body, speaking in the softest tone she could muster. "They need us both, sister. One who may hold them through the darkest nights, and one who may guide them to brighter mornings."
Celestia's iconic smile slowly crept back onto her face. She turned and nuzzled into her younger sister's neck, the midnight-blue alicorn warmly returning the gesture and feeling the slightest hint of wetness from Celestia's eyes against her coat.
After an affectionate moment, the Moon Princess broke contact and slowly got to her hooves, eyes looking to the distant south. "We should be leaving for Canterlot soon, else our absence will be noted."
Celestia nodded in agreement, though she didn't stand. "One moment," she said, reaching her muzzle under a wing and withdrawing a small package wrapped in golden paper. With a gentle smile, she enveloped the parcel in a shimmering glow of magic and slowly descended it to the campsite far below, setting it down without a sound at the base of the wagon's door. "After you told me about this mare and mentioned you were bringing a gift, it hardly seemed right for me to show up empty-hooved myself. Though after your words, I confess I needed a bit of reassurance that my purchase was in good taste."
Luna cocked her head quizzically as her beating wings leisurely drew her hooves back from the cloud's springy surface. "What did you get her?"
"A horn file," Celestia said with a defeated smile, "and a big card reading 'from Princess Celestia' so she'll never forget it again."
Luna chuckled at her sister, the white alicorn so happily lost in her bright thoughts of the future. Celestia smiled back at Luna, the Moon Princess so cozily wrapped up in the present. And far below them in a tiny, rickety wagon, a blue unicorn dreamed warm memories about days long past.
