The once Great and Powerful Trixie huddled in her room, a small space over an inn, engrossed in uncharacteristically deep thought. A short stack of blank paper rested in front of her, barely weighing down the bedspread on which it had been laid. A small bottle of black ink perched precariously on the constantly-shifting bed. A quill—a fine brown feather from a golden eagle—was clasped between her teeth, her incisors working at the intruder curiously.
Trixie’s few possessions—her pointed lavender hat, a small bag of toiletries, a leather saddlebag, and a sack of bits—were strewn across the room with little regard for neatness. Her eyes flicked to a large spider crawling up her hat, which had been carelessly tossed to the floor. Normally, her arachnophobic tendencies would have elicited a screaming fit at the sight, but her senses didn’t seem to care that one of her greatest enemies was making a home in her headgear.
The cold began to set in—the innkeeper had strongly forbidden the lighting of fires in the rooms, despite the fact that there was already a prebuilt hearth built into the far wall. Trixie drew her newly-reclaimed cape closer around her, and allowed her eyes to drop back down to the parchment in front of her. During her lapse in attention, a glob of ink had dropped from the feather, landing in an ugly blot on the white surface of the paper. She watched as the atramentous liquid soaked into the page, spreading slowly across the alabaster plain it had been deposited on.
Shaking her head and sighing to herself, Trixie lit her horn, picking up the ruined page and tossing it to the side. It came to a halt on the floor, partially under the bed. The unicorn focused her attention on the next page—the bare outline of the ink blot was visible, leaked through the previous page, but not prominent enough to deter her.
Trixie lowered the quill into the inkwell once more, allowing the stygian ink to permeate every contour of the feather—she was going to need it all. She then withdrew it quickly, and before the ink could start to drip and ruin another page, touched the tip to the paper.
Trixie then began to write.
One incredibly beautiful and talented unicorn. Oh, and not to mention extraordinarily charismatic and resourceful.
Ten years of buildup. Ten years of my life that I devoted to helping myself out of the rut that I had been born into.
Two thousand bits, extracted from my life’s savings to pay for the cart and fireworks. Twenty-nine more for the hat and cape.
Eight small towns I traveled to. Eight Successes.
Three hundred and forty-eight ponies, impressed to no end by my unfathomable tall tales and feats of flashy magic.
Four thousand, six hundred and thirty bits earned from my performances. Eight hundred and fifty of which were put into another savings account—just in case something ever happened. Force of habit, I suppose.
The ninth town—another guaranteed success, in my mind.
Ponyville. A quaint, rustic collection of overly-familial ponies who wouldn’t know the difference between real magic and my illusions. Well-executed illusions, but illusions nonetheless.
Ten minutes to prepare my act.
Three to execute the preliminary performance. To draw in the crowd.
Thirty-two awed onlookers, dumbfounded by the bangs and flashing lights.
The simple folk were always the easiest to win over.
Four ponies, who questioned my talents.
Three of which dared to accost me.
The apple farmer, Applejack, given a taste of her own medicine. Eliminated by a rope trick of my own.
The speedster daredevil, Rainbow Dash, who couldn’t handle the taste of the rainbow. Down for the count.
The perfectionist fashionista, Rarity. I showed her the true power of a bad hair day. Done and done.
My game, my rules.
My legitimacy, my superiority, reassured once again.
Two young foals, fools, begging for my attention, and more feats of incredible magic.
Dozens of times I denied them, operating under the guise that “The Great and Powerful Trixie needs her beauty sleep”.
I exuded the impression that I slept all day, and came out only at night. In their eyes, I was a vampire. Albeit, a beautiful vampire, who can do no wrong in their adolescent eyes, but a vampire. It was demeaning, but I could tolerate the implication.
One night, where Snips and Snails decided to put my honesty to the test.
An Ursa was introduced to the playing field.
Several fruitless attempts to save myself. All in vain.
Seconds before my defeat—and therefore death—another player emerged. A pony who saved my life, but in the exact same moment, ruined it.
You.
My image was tarnished forever.
My reputation was wounded beyond repair.
Word traveled quickly—no other town would take me. I was shunted aside, without my cart, my costume, or my pyrotechnics.
Ten months, eleven days, and sixteen hours I lived in exile. In solitude. In loneliness.
One can only go so long before the hatred starts to command your actions.
One salespony who didn’t recognize me. The only pony who hadn’t thrown me out of his store upon my crossing the threshold.
An amulet that caught my eye.
Roughly six hundred bits, paid to take the artifact off of the shopkeeper’s hooves.
A new destination decided.
Revenge exacted.
Ten minutes to turn Ponyville on its side. Ten minutes to appoint myself as supreme dictator. Ten minutes . . . to avenge my humiliation. To banish you forever.
Thirty-six hours in which I had more power at my command than even Celestia herself.
A mere twelve hours, in which you got to experience what my life had been.
A lifetime sentence, cut short by your unexpected return with a zebra.
A duel was requested. Same players, same playing field, but a new game entirely. A potentially amusing activity for my newfound power.
Out of my overwhelming generosity, I agreed.
But through magnificent trickery that rivaled my own, I was defeated once more. Blatant cheating that “old me” would have utilized without the barest hesitation. “New me”, however, was only indignant.
My failure was not nearly as bitter this time, though.
One pony, who decided to give me another chance.
One more chance to make things right. The redemption that I never thought I would receive. And I was—am—determined to seize this opportunity.
Twilight Sparkle, I speak directly to you now.
I’m sorry.
And thank you.
~ Trixie Lulamoon
Twilight Sparkle, standing at the doorway of the Ponyville library, allowed her eyes to finally break away from the paper that hovered in front of her face. The page had been covered in a fine skin of magenta magic, but it now dissipated, allowing the unexpected document to drift to the ground.
Twilight hadn’t moved an inch since the mailmare had showed up with the daily mail. One of the enclosed items had caught the librarian’s attention—and upon seeing the signature, she quite literally dropped everything to read it.
Trixie’s name, scrawled at the bottom of the page, burned into Twilight’s eyes. It had been three months since the showy unicorn had made her not-so-graceful exit, and—though she wouldn’t admit it to any of her friends—Twilight had been giving her self-appointed rival more thought than she would deem logical. In all honesty, she had been worried about Trixie.
Slowly, deliberately, Twilight’s advanced magical aura wrapped around the smattering of papers she had dropped on her doorstep, Trixie’s letter being one of them. She lifted the pages off the ground, allowing a magical wipe to eliminate the dirt and dust that had accumulated during the time that she had been reading.
A smile broke across the Element of Magic’s face.
You’re most welcome, Trixie.