//------------------------------//
// Practice Produces Progress 
// Story: Something to be Proud of 
// by Eighth 
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It's dark by the time Trixie gets back to campus. Her stomach reminds her that it's well beyond dinner time, so she speeds up her beeline for outside the kitchen. The school is relatively trusting as the security for the grounds is nearly non-existent. Two guards patrol the entire campus at night and one during the day as the student body has never been the type to be trouble-makers. 

Many come from fine rich and or noble families so good behaviour is already instilled into them, or they might have made it through a scholarship so the pressure is on to do well. A thought occurs to Trixie where she might be the first little rebel this school has had. Or at least the first in a long time. Mentally, she gives herself a pat on the back with a sort of pride.

Sneaking in is easy. A window was left slightly ajar with a tiny sliver of wood so no one would notice unless they knew to look. This has become a habit for Trixie after she very nearly didn't make it back in time because of an adventure in the Witching Thicket earning her a very stern lecture from Professor Inkwell about the improper behaviour for young ladies. 

Trixie slips into the kitchen, and then quickly ducks under a table when she hears a noise. 

"It doesn't sound like a hoofstep, maybe a door closing, it's hard to tell as the noise continues its echo through each room," Trixie thinks to herself once she arrives at the fridge, "I guess something small would be a good idea,"

Then she forgets all about the rule she just set once she grabs a bit of cake, an apple, a bowl of salad to snack on later, a peppered steak, and a slice of bread for the trip to her room. Pleased with her haul, Trixie expertly dashes back to her room in silence. 





"I'm back," Trixie whispers into the empty space.

Each student gets his or her own room but when she lived at home, she would always declare her entrance for her mother. Even if she's not here, it provides a small bit of comfort to continue this ritual. She places the food on a desk and then throws the tome on the bed. After pigging away on her midnight raid, Trixie stares at the tome as Anonymous' words replay in her mind.

"Go back to school and write down what you've learned."

His voice was calm, he was composed, and then he smiled as if Trixie hadn't just yelled at him in anger. Trixie makes a mental note to apologise to Anonymous later, as soon as she can work up the nerves to bring up the topic. 

"Maybe we can just sweep it under the carpet," she thinks to herself, "We did just meet today, what relationship is there to damage?"

She nods to herself, ignore the blatant flaws in thinking this way. She'll just do as she's told, and then it'll be fine. So she opens to the first blank page and begins by marking the date and page number. Then she stares up at the ceiling unsure of what to write. 

Now that she was having a moment to think about it, Anonymous made less sense than Professor Inkwell most of the time. At least with the Professor there was sound logic, even if Trixie didn't get it. Trixie shrugs and begins to write how she recalls Anonymous describing things to her.



In-two-ition, Is the ability to use magic without needing to know the science. Knowing the science, components of magic, and the rest of that heavily logical approach is called in-one-ition.



The quill holds still on the page as she makes the full-stop, bleeding ink all over the page as Trixie thinks.

"Maybe... He had to have meant intuition, but how--" She says aloud to aid in the thinking process before reaching for a Pradford Dictionary.


Intuition
noun
The ability to understand something instinctively, without the need for conscious reading.
synonyms: instinct, divination, hunch, feel
antonyms: intellect, comprehension


Trixie slams the book shut in a huff.

"You can't teach instinct... Can you?"

Opening the dictionary back to double check the meaning, Trixie tries to entertain the idea. If anyone thought they could teach instinct, it would have to be that senile creature.

"Stupid studying!" mumbles Trixie.

She slams the book once more. The more thought she gives it, the more convinced she is that Anonymous had to have meant intuition. Repeating the meaning and the synonyms do cause ideas to swirl and whirl in their primordial forms then the addition of focus ages the little nuggets of wisdom until they evolve into full-fledged bits of curiosity and wonder. Trixie sits still at her desk, lowers her head, and thinks of warm thoughts.

Fire. Then she holds onto the image. At first, it's a small flame but then it grows and spreads. It begins to billow large amounts of smoke. The crackling of the fire flicks about, sending sparks of flame all over the place as it consumes both the air above it and the wood below. The fire in Trixie's mind grows so large even the air around it feels intense enough to burn. Then she tries imagining the feeling as if it were real. Imagining a heat that'd be so dry her lips would crack in an instant, a roaring sound that rage in her ears, the suffocating air as smoke fills her lungs. The sensation holds vividly in her mind and she begins to push it. She pushes it to the front of her mind where her horn lies and heaves with all her willpower.

Then a flame sparks out from Trixie's horn and onto the desk with a force that knocks her off her chair. With cat-like reflexes, she leaps up to admire her accomplishment but it is quickly snuffed out when she sees the fire burning into her desk. In a panicked haste, she grabs her blanket and fans out the flame before opening a window to air out her room.

"I did it," she states with a swelling sense of pride.