Addicted
It's like a drug, you know? It really is. It's the best kind of drug, and it's there, waiting for me every night. The hush of the audience, before I step onto the stage. The wild applause, and the way my name echoes into the night, cast to the stars and back again. Oh, God, there's nothing like it! It's this shiver, that runs all the way from my horn to the tip of my tail. A creeping excitement that tickles and tingles, like a fire spreading from your tummy and branching out to every appendage. I start with the opener, something small, something easy. Flowers out of nowhere. Throw them into the audience, have them turn to glitter. Maybe a scarf that has a multitude of colors, leading to a pair of boxers. Toss out a joke about how sorry I am, and hand them to the gentlecolt in the front row. The crowd loves it. I love it. God, I love it. Now my heart is beating wildly, pounding in my chest. All eyes on me, wondering what I'll do next, and I don't disappoint. No, I throw out my hooves, and ask for silence. They react instantly. Under my control, listening to my every word, spellbound by me; the great and powerful Trixie. I'm drunk with the knowledge they can't turn their eyes away from me. Can't get enough. I'm their entire world, on my little stage. They all love it. And I love it too.
Another trick, a skillful display of cards. Make them change colors. Hand them out to fillies and colts in the audience. Flip them over, to discover the numbers are gone, and instead a picture of a candy bar. Flip them back over, shake the card, candy bar drops out. Oh, they love it. Love me. I parade around the stage, telling some jokes. Not terribly funny, but they laugh. All of them laugh. Mob mentality. They're caught in the moment, can't do anything but laugh, and watch, and be amazed. I'm making them so happy. All of them, loving every second of the mystery I put them though. And I love it too.
Another trick. Body double illusion trick. I cut myself in half. Lady in the box routine. My hind legs sticking out, my head sticking out. Another joke about losing my head. Mother said I'd lose it if it weren't attached to my shoulders. They giggle. I have a volunteer from the audience cut me in half. A plant, can't trust a colt or filly with a bladed saw. I'm cut. My hind legs wobble and hop up, starting to walk off stage. I yell at them to come back, or at least bring me a sandwich. The legs in the box walk out into the audience and then disappear off stage. They come back with a sub they got from somewhere and try to feed it to me. I complain about the pickles. The crowd loves it. I love it too.
The grand finale. They want something huge. I want to give it to them. Something to drop their jaws. A show stopper. A curtain caller, the end all trick to complete the experience. They're drooling, waiting to see what I've got. Eyes locked on me. Eyes glued to my every movement. And my heart is slamming away inside my chest. Is it going to be good enough? Will they cry out and gasp? Will they applaud and cheer, or boo and sigh in boredom? I don't know. I can't know until I perform it. Anticipation you could cut with a knife, fueling my resolve, coursing through my veins. I want it. I need it. I can't live without it any longer. I have to have it! I throw caution to the wind, and I pull out all the stops. A trick like they've never seen before. A mix of true magic and stage craft. Drawing a constellation in the sky, to look like an audience member, that even winks. Illusion magic of the highest caliber. It's a punishing spell, and it pushes me to the very brink, but It's the drug that I crave. The wild screaming, the deafening applause, the burst of gratification and the rush of success. The crowd loves it. I love it too.
I can't get enough of it, you see? I'm addicted. I can't stop, and I don't want to. It's my favorite drug. Well it was. Until I met her. The nerd. The dork. The bookworm, so hopelessly boring that I can't sleep at night. Captivated by her. She's got me under a spell, and I've tried every trick in the book to escape. But I can't. Now my shows are shorter. I don't travel quite so far. Sometimes I can't even wait to get off stage so I can see her. She knows I'm coming, and loves the look on my face, when we finally see each other again. I love it too.
She smells like lilacs, you know? With hints of lavender. She smells like home. Like the place I want to be every night when I close my eyes. She's got me under her spell. She's the worst kind of witch, you know? The very worst kind, with the most powerful magic I've ever come across. She's very good at what she does. Almost as good as I am on stage. Sometimes it feels like I'm on stage when I'm near her. And sometimes it's the other way around. I'm in the audience. I'm the only one in the audience, and she's performing for me, and I can't take my eyes off of her. I laugh at her stupid jokes, and watch in awe as she does the most mundane, boring things. And I'm transfixed by her magic. Can't pull away, can't look away, can't get away. She knows this. She's aware she holds my heart captive under a spell. She loves it. I love it too. It's like a drug. It really is.