Chorus
“You.”
A voice creeps in the light.
“You’re responsible for all of this?”
The room is white, and tiled. Cold, like snow.
“Well?” comes its depth once again. “Say something.”
The brightness of the room is exhausting. That voice is exhausting. Isn’t there anything else here?
“Let’s start with your name.”
A mirror. There I am. Shackled to the floor, forced into submission. A ring is on my horn. It looks like Omega zero zero zero three. Eh. I’ve shaken off lower. Then again, I had lied about that. I do remember lying. Other than that, as far as my tired eyes can see there is limitless, blinding void. Not so much as a shadow on this solemn white glacier.
“The Princess is coming. And she won’t want her patience tested for this kind of treason."
Treason? That’s exciting. To sate the poor pony behind the mirror, I mumble. Admitedly, I’m having a bit of trouble remembering what I'm supposed to be called.
“Speak up. The sooner, the better.”
Ah, but I’m not one to deny the thrill of a little dramatic pause.
“Trixie,” I say. I cannot stand, and I can only barely hold my head up with these shackles intact. And with my magic restrained, I can’t conjure any fireworks or whistles. No stage lights, no royal tones, no marveling spells. A tragedy upon this empty blank canvas. But, and I mean to emphasize this point, I am not about to give my audience the pleasure of my name without a little flair. So, I let my name linger and echo on this bleak white prison. And I glare, staring at the mirror for only a moment at my own figure. As I repeated myself, I moved my piercing eyes to the captor behind it.
“The Great and Powerful Trixie.”
I could see his mana’s impression in Metaspace, past the one-way reflector. I am a powerful sorceress after all. It may have been a tactical lapse, if I’m to have any hope of escape. Keeping my prowess hidden would have served to my advantage. Then again, I don’t make illusions anymore.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Well, let us think, shall we?” I begin, my voice a little hoarse from exhaustion. I still keep my head high as I can, pulling my shackles to their limit. “You say ‘treason’, and speak of the Princess, so she might expect that she did something… illicit, is that right?”
I receive no answer. No matter. I always have more to say.
“And you’ve locked her up," I continue, gaining confidence. “You’ve shackled her, and bound her magic. And here she is in this interrogation chamber alone, with her senses almost completely deprived in this bright monster of a room. Which indicates, of course…!”
I take a small gasp of surprise as I arrive at my own conclusion, sparks of wonder flashing before my eyes. Exhausted, strained, nigh strangled of strength, I am imprisoned by light and my own reflection. All this in addition to whatever ordeal escapes my recent memory. Something had happened. At this revelation, I take back a piece of pride so rudely shaken from me. How wonderful. I smile.
“You are afraid of her. You’re afraid of me. Of my power.”
My smile grows, and my teeth show.
“Trixie did something amazing, didn’t she?”
The words nearly catch on my aching chest and lungs. I almost laugh. There was something of relief in saying them, hearing them, regardless of my circumstances.
“This book. What is it?” he returns.
Ha. He changed the subject. “She’s right, isn’t she?” I tease. Somehow, this shade of relief manages to calm me down, and my gasps from earlier settle into a sigh. Finding my situation suddenly much easier to accept, I settle my chin over my shackles, laying down casually on the chilly floor. “How funny.”
“The book, mage. This one called ‘The Last Illusion’. And why won’t it…?”
The stallion’s voice fades, in small surprise. My eyes are already starting to close. Though this ‘book’ business began to sound sort of familiar…
“What is this?” to his surprise. "And who is Ditzy Doo?”
“Of course!” I boom, back to life. With interest, I glance at the mirror. “Miss Doo! And my scribe! Do you have it? What’s it doing?”
There is a pause before he continues. "So it is yours?”
“Yes! Now please, sir, answer me.”
“What’s it’s purpose? Why could it only be opened now? And why only the first page? Are you doing something, mage!?”
“Whoa, hey now,” I say, trying to still his harsh tone. “Trixie is not doing anything. She has never known it to ever be locked. And it is not dangerous!”
He goes quiet, again.
“She is locked up, her horn bound! With clearly some mild amnesia, too; she could hardly recognize it before moments ago.” I muster kindness to my voice. “Good stallion, you will have to trust her.”
He is still quiet. No doubt mulling it over.
“Fine," he seethes. “Just answer my questions.”
My head lowers, and I bite the corner of my tongue. Not my favorite kind of crowd. “Very well. Trixie will do her best.”
He begins. "What is this book?”
“It is Trixie's scribe,” I recall, remembering as I continue. “It follows and writes down all the history it encounters. Trixie brought it with her so… so she could sell a novel from its inscriptions.”
“You hesitated.”
“It seems silly in hindsight.”
“Why?”
“A lot has happened,” I say with a shrug. “She has made a lot of… progress since then.”
“What happened?”
“A lot, good sir! Look for yourself, if you have it so close by.”
“How do you open it…!?”
“She does not know; Trixie has never known it to be locked, as she said.” My brow furrows, until I wave a dismissive hoof best I can. "It is an ancient relic from eons ago. Trixie has always had trouble getting it to cooperate.”
When he becomes silent, I let my head droop and relax. My shackles aren’t very comfortable. Rusted, too. This room was an absolute assault on my senses, both physically and in its obscenely bright light. Goodness, how it blinds me like a morning snow. But at least I can close my eyes, do what I want. As far as I’m concerned, this prison is mine. Nopony but me and my reflection, and she wasn’t bothering any. I drift, a bit, in the comfort of my closed eyes, as he continues.
“Who is Ditzy Doo?”
“Hm…?” I tilt, still dozing.
“It says, ‘Starring The Great and Powerful Trixie, and the Lovely Mare Ditzy Doo’.”
“She is Trixie’s close companion,” I answer. A flash of worry rises in me. “Is she here as well?”
The answer is distant. "No, she…” Quite distracted, is he? His answer will do for now. “Do this book’s pages turn when read aloud?”
“Ha.” I sigh. “Sounds like something that rag would do.” I settled back down, aching but too tired to notice.
“You seem oddly content.”
I speak through closed eyes. “She is exhausted beyond measure, likely due to this ‘treasonous’ action you blathered about, bound and sealed in this irritating room, subject to your scrutiny. Yet, Trixie is recognized for her power at last. And since you seem satisfied not to share, and a Princess is coming soon enough, she assumes you’re just here to flatter her for information. Rather than fret over what little control Trixie has left, she would instead rest her weary head.”
I open an eye, to look at him through the mirror again. “And since you, sir, are nigh to read the epic saga of The Great and Powerful Trixie, akin to any of Equestria's greatest heroes or heroines, she may rest to a thrilling and marvelous story at the same time. Trixie is indeed content, good stallion.”
Ha. Nailed it. I silence him for almost a full two minutes. Or, perhaps five. I am still very tired. Heavy eyes, heavy chains, and something else weighing on my mind as well…
“Don’t get comfortable.”
I stifle the small smile on my lips. “Trixie wouldn’t dream of it."
"Come one, come all, for true Greatness awaits!”
“Power never before seen and never seen again!"
“But don’t look this way too long, my little ponies…"
“Or you may find yourself gazing at the stars!”
The crowd roared for the showmare, the only thing alight in a suddenly dark universe. Her eyes, closed, looking up in splendor. An azure coat, with shining silver mane streaming from beneath her garments like tufts of milky way. She was a silhouette of light. Perfect grin, poise to topple galaxies, ponies young and old at the tips of her hooves; this was her element.
She let an eye wander open, to a book backstage. Its own magic was active, writing everything down.
“Ha!” She boomed, twirling once with her cape. A bright flame saw her disappear completely, leaving only soft, fizzling fireworks in her wake. The darkness was replaced with their light. But where did she go? wondered the audience to each other. Where had she gone indeed? So soon? The story had only just been beginni—
“Behold…!” came her resounding song, from all directions and at volumes whispering and roaring. So, too, did all the world's wonders fall in from above the horizon. Sugar-mints and strawberries; airships and steam engines; dragons, princesses, and manticores galore; so did visions of grandeur descend upon all who would witness. “All is revealed!” returned her voice.
“I speak not fictitious things,”
“Only that which is certain and true!”
“By the stars above and our friendship below,”
“I can promise the mysteries of the world, illuminated at last!"
“However… don’t look this way too long…!”
Streams of white and gold joined the fluttering visions, coalescing towards center stage. The scintillation grew, making tremors and waves as it became too bright to see, too much to bear.
“Or you may find yourself gazing at the stars!”
It burst! Releasing from its cage of light a thousand glowing butterflies, leaving the heroine, once again, in its wake. She sparkled in her own way, not just her eyes but the figures on her cape and hat. Through these gestures, she shouted confidence. She shouted skill and majesty, this mare of the sky. None could quiet her. Who was this sorceress, this epitome of wonder?
“Now…" she continued quaintly. The illusions followed suit, calming to match her. It was the rising action of an impending crescendo. “Welcome. A humble welcome to the show! That of…”
“The Great,”
“And Powerful,”
“Trixie.”
“Horseapples!” Her hoof slammed firmly on the table, rattling a vanilla milkshake. “What kind of scribing tool are you supposed to be? How can you capture Trixie so beautifully and blatantly only to silence yourself for the remainder of the show!? Isn’t that the point? Did you miss the part where Trixie was stupendous and amazing!? Wretched rag! Easily, she could put you back right where she found you! Ugh!”
How scary she was, shouting at a book. She had soon given up, bonking her forehead down in defeat. The show had ended two hours ago, not another word until these moments. She had come to a brief rest, settling on a quaint table outside. She stood out against this small hamlet. This must be what she is like. This “Trixie”.
“Why now? Why the milkshake, the table, my hoof? Why stop right after my name and begin again in this mundanity? And don’t write her profanities!” she added, noticing as it recorded more recent events. “Trixie’s readers do not need to think of her that way!” she groaned. "Ugh. Trixie will edit you later.”
“Mummy, look!” shrieked a nearby unicorn foal. “It’s Trixie!” She tugged on her mummy’s leg. The mummy in question looked to the showmare, who waved politely.
“Wonderful,” Trixie muttered through a gritted smile. Her fans were approaching. No doubt an interview was nigh.
“Thank you so much for the show!” she whispered. A little blush was on her warming pink cheeks. “You're so good!”
“Yes, well hard work and practice can take a unicorn very far.”
“Can I ask her, mum?” prodded the young one.
“Um, sure,” she replied. “Maybe she’ll get what you mean better than me.”
“And what, may I ask?"
“Um… just…” the foal meandered some dirt with her hooves. “Do you know…! Do you know the biggest Omega you ever got!?”
Trixie’s eyebrow lifted. “You mean Trixie’s highest Annihilation Quotient?” she raised, real surprise on her tongue.
“Yeah, yeah! My teacher says mine was zero one four!”
“Wow.” The word stretched with a tinge of awe. "That’s pretty good for a foal your age.”
The Annihilation Quotient (often symbolized by an Omega) is equal to the length of a object’s mana vector divided by that object’s mass. To remember, young unicorns say “mind over matter”. This Quotient is often used among unicorn sorcerers and sorceresses to measure the magic applied by items, ponies, or other material. Since it is forbidden by nature’s laws for the Quotient to exceed or equal one (or 1.000), and all matter behaves similarly for any Quotient it adopts, it is a very useful tool to objectively measure the magic being elicited by any thing. A unicorn’s horn glows at one three one (0.131). The sonic rainboom phenomenon reaches a peak of six eight six (0.686) in the nearby area, though pegasi cannot do any better than earth ponies otherwise, capped at approximately one one seven (0.117). It is not recommended (nor always possible) for a unicorn to achieve Quotients above five three zero (0.530), since a pony’s necessary biological functions are at risk for irreversible damage as matter begins to mystify. Typically, one will not exceed three zero zero (0.300) during daily activities; any more causes psychosomatic duress. In the end, however, it is only a number contrived by scholars. It often has no common applicability.
“Do you know yours? It... it’s okay if you don’t,” the fan spoke, crestfallen. “My friends all say I’m a nerd because I know about it, and…”
“Humph,” Trixie sneered, putting a hoof to her chest and puffing out proudly. “Perhaps your friends have never met Trixie.”
“Really!? Tell me, tell me…!”
Trixie played the part. She shifted eyes to the right, suspiciously, then to the left. “To tell you the truth,” she whispered like a secret. “Trixie’s is six five eight. She measures almost every week.”
“WOAH! That’s so high! Doesn’t it hurt?”
“It does a little, but with a lot of practice and very, very rigorous safety precautions...” She paused to advocate this, pointing a hoof. "Trixie is well on her way to surmounting the world record!”
“Oh gosh! I’m rooting for you, Trixie!” The mother had wrapped up their meeting; the two were now on their way.
“Aye, and Trixie for you, too!”
Trixie watched as the pair turned a corner, the foal speaking more mathematical jargon to her mother in excitement. Trixie leaned back, smugly, and took another swig from the straw of her milkshake. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she frowned. “Never thought… I’d meet a foal like that. Ha. Or anypony.” Her gaze then drifted, reminiscing on memory.
“Ah, but you!” she spat to her scribe back to reality. “Trixie will keep you for now. It is no fur off of her back. Your eloquence is at least quite satisfying. Ugh. But try not to bore readers with studies in mesophysics.”
Trixie got to her hooves, and pushed in her chair. She did, however, leave the empty milkshake glass at the table like a rambunctious ne’er-do-well.
“Oh, it looks like you have some humor to you, hm?” she began, noticing the comment. "Trixie wonders how humorously you’d take to a bath?”
And so did that beautiful, smart, talented mare travel. She headed straight to the edge of town, undoubtedly time for the busy showmare to venture to continue her quest for fame.
“Fame and influence,” Trixie added, hovering the book at her side with her magic; it was time to focus on the task ahead. “My time on tour is over. Her next show is in Canterlot,” she hyped to herself firmly. “This is her last stop as a B-list pony. You shall witness it, scribe, and so will history.”
Soon, the small town’s gate was behind her, its low wooden fence clicking shut with a nod. Low afternoon, the rays of the sun were just beginning to burn orange on the leaves of the trees and grass. A well-worn path stretched before her, and Trixie took it in stride with her head held high. Her eyes were focused, dead ahead. No time to notice the gentle wind among the leaves. Rustle rustle, it went, billowing that magical cape of hers. And certainly no time to feel the afternoon heat, let alone notice what bit of it made the dirt path tread hot. No, her hat kept the sun from stinging her eyes. Her eyes indeed; the wind was singing and the sun was humming, but Trixie was glaring forward with enough intent to frighten the cicadas into whistling a little more quietly.
Perhaps this intense and casual focus is what distracted her from the pony falling from the sky. Falling, turning, twirling like a leaf. Or a paper plane with one ear bent. Nevertheless was the pony spiraling downward, and the heroine Trixie did what any pony given a hurdling projectile and half a second would do.
She conjured a dozen balloons for the falling pony to land on. A flourish of her horn saw them enter the scene.
“Oof!” squealed the fallen pegasus, accompanied by a short, loud squeak from each of the balloons involved.
“Humph. And you’re very welcome, indeed, my little pony!” Trixie began in her grandiose tone. “That I was here where you would be falling, such that a fateful meeting could take place between us! And that the Great and Powerful Trixie, most capable of all unicorns, was able to arrive at your rescue.”
“Oh! Yes, thank you…!” The fallen gray mare tried to stand, but she instead elicited a loud and inconvenient “honk” from one of the balloons. “I, it was…” Honk. “I tried to swerve away from a…” Honk. “A bird. But I guess we swerved…” Honk. “We both swerved instead! Isn’t that…?” Honk. “And I lost control and…” Honk. “… … Could you…?”
“But of course,” she replied. With a flick of her horn, the balloons each burst into four to six bubbles, floating away or popping politely.
The gray mare, with nothing now below her, then fell unceremoniously. “Aha. Neat. Thanks,” the fallen mare sighed, now unfortunately face-first in the dirt.
“No…” the showmare began, holding her forehoof to the downed mare dramatically. “Problem!” Trixie beamed to the mare below, and she looked up to meet her. Trixie and her eyes met, the focused grin on Trixie’s side clashing with the disgruntled smile and crooked eyes of the gray pony on the ground. All things considered, they were a fine pair. Trixie was bold and proud in the way she stood. But she did not look down on the mare below. No, not a look of pity, but of anticipation. As if she could not continue without a cue delivered from her observer's sincerity. And this mare, this fallen grey pegasus, though her smile was strained by wear and her gaze twisted by fate, surely a pony requires a certain special something to keep both or even either in any state called “normal" after such a celestial venture. Dynamic duo indeed. These two will do quite nicely.
“Ah, I’m Ditzy Doo!” she sputtered, taking Trixie’s hoof back to her own. “But you can call me ‘Ditzy’.”
“The Great and Powerful Trixie,” returned the showmare. “It is pleasant to meet you, Miss Doo, but Trixie must be going if she is to arrive in Canterlot in time. Goodbye!”
Miss Doo stopped her after a hoofstep. “Wait, hey!” Miss Doo gestured to her saddlebags. “I’m going there, too! Do you want to travel together?”
“I… she, um… Trixie is not in any need of traveling companionship at this time, Miss Doo; she must decline.”
“Aw, are you sure? See,” as she began her rambling, “All of my stuff is already ahead there, and my aunt packed me a bunch of food, including stuff to make s’mores, right? And I know they always taste a little better with company! Of course, with my luck I’d probably set the whole forest on fire, anyway, so I could probably use some help with that… and also, I’m not exactly even sure how to get to Canterlot in the first place, but don’t tell my mom I said that ‘cause—“
“Enough.” Trixie stopped Miss Doo with a hoof to her lips, and an eyebrow raised. “Trixie has decided that she will escort you, the kind and generous mare that she is. But hold fast!” Trixie then scuffed her hoof on the path, kicking up dry dust. "For a path trod alongside such a daring mare as Trixie is sure to evoke some excitement and danger. Who knows what the road between here and our destination has in store?”
Miss Doo’s gaze came up from Trixie’s hoof in the road. A confused eyebrow marked her face. “Yeah…”
“Not a moment to spare, Miss Doo,” she called, already several hoofsteps ahead. “Come along; greatness awaits."
Miss Doo stared for a moment longer before noticing a book floating alongside her. It hovered of its own accord, a feather quill scrawling autonomously along its pages. “Hey, what… what’s this book?” she asked, hustling to catch up to Trixie.
She answered, “That is my scribe. It follows Trixie closely, recording her triumphs and ventures. She will release a novel using what it has recorded. Certainly, it will work in her favor somehow or another.”
“Oh… huh.” Trixie and Miss Doo continued to stride along the path, and the light of dusk was soon sweeping over them. Miss Doo peered over at the scribe, trying to watch it write as it followed above them, pages at this time just outside her field of vision. She peered at Trixie, too, though the showmare always faced straight ahead, not bothering to look at Miss Doo for the most part. Miss Doo’s peering meandered shyly about the darkening sides of the road, occasionally noticing berries or glowing insects. But she still ultimately returned to the royal flow of Trixie’s cape. Blue and gold stars on a lavender sky.
“She really is for real, huh? Wow."