Demon's Burn
It was a bright, sunny day in Manehatten. The soft caress of Spring was in the air, frolicking past the noses of the denizens of the city with the scents of bloom and growth. It was the type of day that glittered with sunlight and powered the wicked desires for the sin of ice cream or perhaps the need to take in a stroll. It was a beautiful day and one that was complete and totally overlooked by Beatrix Lulamoon.
Trixie meandered through the town with her head held high like usual. Her cobalt frame buried firmly in the long, fluttery cape she wore and her grinning muzzle was well hidden under the wide brim of her magician's hat. She looked like a rogue stage performer from a magic show that had long since stopped in its production. But then again, Manehatten had certainly seen weirder and worse; hardly an eyelash was batted as she quietly meandered down the street towards her wagon.
The day's beauty held no sway to her, not the fantastic scent of fresh earth, nor the lovely shimmer of the sun's rays. Her mind was completely set upon her task and long hours of concentration had left it's mark on her pretty face. She kept her head down, refusing eye contact with anyone, lest they inquire about the large, heavy bags that stole away at the beauty of her lovely cheeks, the tired gaze in her spectacular violet eyes or the stuffy nose at the end of her face, announced by quiet sniffles and clear amounts of copious liquid that seemed to flow endlessly from it. She'd caught a cold in her long nights of study, but today would be the day it all paid off. She was sure of it.
The night previous, and the one before and a legion before that, had been spent in the throes of manuscripts, musty tomes and decrepit volumes. All of it leading to this point, all of it preparing her for her masterpiece of skill. The little unicorn moved along a little bit faster, burying the growing sensation of anticipation bubbling in her veins. Not that she was worried she'd be assaulted by the sensations much longer; she was getting decidedly close to her wagon. But that was well on the other side of town. Her destination was the small trolly stop just in front of her- which she stoically marched up to.
She stepped on to the trolly without a word to the pony who stepped in next to her. Her visage hidden by her outlandish clothing choices and her demeaning posture was more then enough to keep the ride uncomfortable and quiet. Just the way she'd hoped, she'd no time to tarry or meander through the winding pointless trails of small talk. No, no, she had a task to complete for personal satisfaction, and she intended to do just that without distraction.
The trolly stopped, and she got off, listening with a perked ear for a sigh of relief from the other passengers. It came just as the doors were sliding closed, and she found her lips contorting into an almost cruel smile despite her desire to keep herself focused.
The door to her empty wagon creaked open with a sorrowful announcement of her arrival, as if begging for a cool drink of oil and screaming at the same time. She ignored it, like always, slamming the door shut and drawing her hooves across the latches to slide the locks into place. Secure in her home, and consoled by her thoughts of privacy, she continued forward into the ebbing darkness of her wagon. She made no attempt to illuminate the place; nimbly stepping over clothing and dancing around dirty dishes and empty bottles of cider, she managed to pierce the sanctuary of her room without incident nor light.
The blinds were sealed, and the door closed, the room seemed completely devoid of light, save the few candles that flickered and danced carelessly on her table. There, in the gloom and caressing beauty of darkness in her room, she reached into her pocket and fished out a small brown bag, given to her by magic shop down the street. The old donkey was a stingy one, but she had the final ingredient for her desires; a small vial of demon's dust, scraped from the floor of Tartarus itself. She stared at the expensive little tube for a ponderous few moments, letting the concept of what she held tumble feverishly in her mind, before she shook her head; silver locks swaying back and forth. She would not get distracted. No. She had to do this.
It was a creeping desire that took hold of her. To be the best. The very best there was in the entire world. The most powerful unicorn in Equestria, and now, with the tiny vial in her hooves, she would summon the answers to her question: How to reach that goal?
She sat down slowly onto her haunches and drew in a deep breath. Soon. Anticipation of finding answers would soon turn the agonizing pain of her life into a blissful existence of power. She uncorked the small vial in her hooves, and nervously let the crimson dust drift down onto the dreaded circle: a large pentagram that rested, waiting patiently for it's mistress to return. Trixie swallowed quietly, closing her eyes while the spidery language of magic began to slip past her lips in a hushed whisper, and her horn began to glow...
Most little girls had heard the story of Rapunzel, the poor princess locked away in a large tower by a witch. Princess was the term most little girls picked up on. Most little girls wanted to wear a pretty dress, own several castles and rule a kingdom. Trixie wanted to become the witch. Odd was the understatement often used to describe her childhood. But it was hers, and having met the terrible purple pony whom ousted her, defeated her, humiliated her- only served to fuel Trixie's lust for power. A lust she would finally sate with this ritual!
The flow of magic from her lips came to a slow, staggering halt, and her heart sped up in her chest. If there was a sensation of dread, anxiety and horror all mixed into one, she was feeling it now, as the only lights in her room flickered to nothing, and left the room defenseless to the darkness. Her silver colored mane whipped into tangled, angry lashes from an unearthly howl of wind, and her wizard's hat blew to the ground, skittering wildly across the floor before seeking refuge under her bed.
She'd made a mistake. The moment she'd stopped casting her spell, she knew. She knew the moment she opened her eyes and the unnatural darkness of her room peered back; unwavering, and unshaken by her powers. She'd been foolish to think she could summon one of Tartarus' denizen's for her own personal desires, and now, looming in front of her, was the grim finality of her error.
It stood at least six feet tall, if not more, glaring with an piercing set of crimson orbs that glowed with a fire born from Tartarus itself. It's fur was a pale, sickly white, as if it's color had dried up and lost it's sheen from the long years spent out of sunlight and under the duress of intense heat. It's frame, horrific and skeletal, was covered in darkened rags, tattered and torn into shreds that formed a frightful looking robe. But what was the most terrifying, was the object held in it's grim and wicked hooves. A scythe. A scythe made from bones and fashioned together by the madness that descended upon those denizens of Tartarus that considered the living a legend of the dead. An alabaster blade that drew tears to her eyes just by glimpsing at it's existence. A scythe no creature had any right to possess except for one; the one that was slowly, but surely, reaching for her; Death itself.
With grim resolution, Trixie forced herself to open her mouth, to command the demon in front of her to explain the answers she desired for her existence. This is what she'd always wanted! This was it! The power she craved!!
"TELL ME, DEMON! I, THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE LULAMOON, HAVE SUMMONED YOU TO DO MY BIDDING! I DESIRE RESPECT! I DESIRE GLORY! I DESIRE MY ENEMIES TO QUAKE IN FEAR WHEN THEY HEAR MY NAME! HOW DO I GAIN THIS POWER, THIS RESPECT, THIS FEAR?! TELL ME WHAT MUST I DO!?!" Trixie screamed. The demon thought for a second, then simply nodded his head with a shrug.
"Change your name to Twilight Sparkle."