Warmth washed over the frail form of Trixie Lulamoon, a sensation she relished in comparison to the deathly chill of the winter outside.
Where was she?
Eyes slowly scanning the quiet interiors of the cozy setting, Trixie caught sight of the softly blazing fire glowing in the cement hearth. A tall polished wooden desk with metal cabinets stood at the back of the area she assumed was a bedroom or shifted and tidy living room. The scent of a dandelion soup wafted into the room, causing Trixie's mouth the slightly drool and her hollow stomach to rumble.
Shifting to the edge of the bed, Trixie tentatively set a shaking hoof on the plush carpeted floor, shifting her weight uneasily onto her right forelegs before a shockwave of pain bolted up the weak appendage and into her core. Letting out a faint whimper, the cerulean showmare allowed her foreleg to simply dangle over the side of the bed.
Hoofsteps' faint clpping were heard soon after resounding of the wide hallway as they briskly crossed from the stone floors of the kitchen into the living room. A tray was levitated from in front of the pale-coated stallion, a silvery aura shimmering around it, slowly lowered in elevation till it was level with Trixie's resting position.
"Here, Miss Lulamoon. This should replenish you."
Trixie's breathed in the savory scent of dandelion petals and shredded lettuce floating atop or drifting beneath the surfaced or the brewed water, the meal still sizzling and steaming. Staring up at the stallion, she smiled in gratitude before accepting the dish. Her horn glowed a faint, flickering aura surrounding the ceramic bowl of delectable vegetation and entrancing warmth. The dish was surrounded by an encasing of shimmering translucent silver as the stallion assisted her in bringing the meal to her parched lips.
Slowly, the soup filled Trixie's famished body, the satisfaction of a meal being overdo nearly a week. Trixie slowly sank back into the now inclined backside of the bed, curiosity now abrew, "How ... did you find me?"
The stallion cocked his head, "When one is bored, they tend to wander. It was by grace I found you, Mis–"
Trixie shook her head, "Please, just 'Trixie' will do."
The stallion nodded his head before continuing, "Yes, Trixie, it was grace from which led me to finding you. I couldn't let an innocent soul suffer like that."
"Innocent," Trixie queried. "D-Do you even know me?"
The stallion sat on his haunches beside the bed, his eyes meeting Trixie's as he waved a dismissive hoof, "I do know of your past, this since words flies far on the wind. No, ... you are still innocent, only corrupted by the blindness of jealousy and spiteful rage. We all make those mistakes in our lives, Trixie, and forgiveness is provided for those who repent. True, not all are willing to forgive and leave it in the past – not even the perpetrator themselves, – but it is crucial to learn from your errors and grow into maturity."
Trixie pondered these words, her eyes drifting shut as she remembered a familiar lavendar unicorn staring back at her with both confusion and...
The stallion nodded, somehow knowing the mare before him was recalling her last conversation with Twilight Sparkle, "Miss Sparkle was willing to forgive you when you confided in her, is that right?"
Trixie somberly nodded, hearing her and Twilight's conversation play in her mind. Twilight had obliged to Trixie's plea for forgiveness.
"As long as there is somepony willing to forgive you, the others do not matter. What truly matters in repentance, Trixie, to turn away from those prideful urges. Do you understand?"
"But, ... she was the only one to forgive me. Everypony who heard of the incident ostracized me and shunned me out. I am here, in your home, recovering because of one of those incidents! How can you tell me there will be acceptance and a chance to move on?!"
As Trixie lashed out in her despair, tears rolled down her cheeks. she slumped, head drooping as she mourned her predicament.
The stallion placed a gentle hoof upon Trixie's trembling shoulder, rubbing it softly as she lamented, "Would you care to tell me of this ... situation?"
Trixie sobbed, hiccuping ever so often and grimacing in pain as her fragile body responded to the vigorous tremors. Eventually, she mustered enough will to recount her experience at the Ol' Shamrock's Pub. As she spilled out the details of that day, the stallion stiffened, his jaw clenched. Trixie could have sworn he growled at one point behind grinding teeth.
"I see..." the stallion finally respond, a grim frown stretched across his muzzle. "I am sorry for it happening..."
"No, don't be. I ... deserved–"
"No," the stallion firmly interjected, placing the tip of his hoof against her lips. "Though your deeds of old were corrupt and unjust, it does not – I repeat, NOT – give them the right to attack you and leave you to die. Understand this, Trixie: Never blame yourself for others' crimes against you, even if what you did was also of malice. Now, ... I implore you to consider what matters more to you: Forgiveness from one potential friend or the jeering insults and merciless, unrelenting hate others have towards you? What do you desire more: An accepting friend, ... or pathetic foes?"
Friendship. Rejection.
Two abstractions and existing phenomenon so influential upon one's life, having the ability to damage and isolate the individual or give them a sense of belonging and wholeness in their – the abstractions, that is – purest, truest states.
"I desire acceptance and belonging," Trixie concluded, straightening in her enlightenment and newfound hope. Determination flooded through her as she recalled the delight she expressed after Twilight forgave her.
"Then may Celestia bear witess, Trixie Lulamoon, as you grow great ... and powerful ... again in this aspiration," the stallion suggested, sincerity in his gentle tone. He rose and trotted out of the living room, galloping back with an elegantly-adorned box. Proudly presenting the item to Trixie, he gestured for her to not hesitate to open it.
A familiar cloak and wide-brimmed hat lay folded inside.
That night, Trixie slept peacefully, the new garments clutching lovingly in her hooves. A smile stretched across her muzzle as she dreamed of the wonders awaiting her when she recovered thanks to the stallion's assistance.
The stallion – Purgatio Torrent – approached his desk, levitating a slip of parchment, which he briskly scrawled a poem, then tucking away in his mane before scrawling a quick note for Trixie when she woke the next morning.
Silently creeping past the slumbering mare, he stepped into the night. Reaching to his forehead, Purgatio snapped his metallic, serrated – no, not tapered – horn at the base. A silve aura danced across the detatched horn's surface before glistening as a reflection of Luna's moon across its smooth, flat blade.
"Tonight," Jeffrey Woods whispered into the frosty air of Hollow Shades, "a mare sleeps soundly." Turning to the north, he regarded a pub in the distance, "You, however, will be waking up for a ... nasty surprise."