> In Her Blood
>  by Ardensfax
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> I: The Escapist
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
By Ardensfax



*


This forest will be the death of me; I have known that much from the start. I fled, not from my fight, but from myself. I came here first with ragged hooves and aching lungs, the bitter earthen tang of pyrotechnics still rich and choking in my throat.

To sleep, and know that all I own is little more than splintered wood. To live, and live free of vicious comfort, free of the soulless everyday existence that for so long held me back.

It is beautiful.

I could leave this forest, but I choose to stay. More than that; I chose to return. I know all too well that the value of art is measured in the artist’s blood, that no unspattered work will last long before shriveling beneath the public eye. However, I had no blood to spill; no soul to pour. I had no hurt inside to draw on, nothing but broken vanities and the dull-white ghosts of lost opportunity; a victim of a comfortable youth. 

I had my masks; my lies and boasts, but lies never lie unmasked for long, and boasts ring hollow on all but the most gullible of ears. I had lived so long as a cheap conjuror in a world of magi, capable of illusions and fakery where those around me could split mountains.

I stay here because I can go on no longer.

I did not come here to find myself; I knew that I had no self to find. I came here to be created.

Perhaps one day I will earn my greatness. Perhaps, one day, I might speak of more than the meagre power that I hold.


*


Chapter One
The Escapist

It is strange how, eventually, even survival can become merely a routine.

Trixie’s eyes cracked open, her pupils made sensitive by the darkness of sleep, and momentarily blinded by the dappled, leaf-cut light. The air chilled her skin as it bit through the frost-blue fur; there could be no denying that the year was rolling onwards. Winter’s fist was closing.

She blearily shifted in place, and felt dead leaves crackle beneath her prone form. The leaves helped to shield her from the bare earth, but still did not do enough to protect her from the dozen aches that every night’s sleep seemed to bring.

“Rosemary…” the name tumbled from her lips, the errant product of a brain still half-asleep.

Edging out from under the makeshift blanket of rushes, the mare, who had once called herself a showmare, climbed to her hooves with a groan, shaking out the stiffness brought on by the biting cold and the hard ground. The winter sun was blinding, and the million sounds of the waking Everfree surrounded her. She tentatively passed a magical tendril over the calf of her left hind leg, ensuring that her reliable, weathered knife was still strapped firmly into place.

You were dreaming about her again, weren’t you?

She’s not easy to forget.

She’s gone, Trixie. Accept it.

Her journal lay open by the side of the rush-bed, one of the few items Trixie had brought into the Everfree with her. The book was ragged and stained now, and the pages crackled with age and wear when turned. It scarcely qualified as a journal; on reflection, it was more a morbid collection of autobiographical snippets and pretentious, self-absorbed reflections, comforting words scribbled in solitude to keep the dark of the night away.

However, it was somehow reassuring to know that, should the forest eventually claim her life, as it had tried to do on so many occasions, she would leave something behind. She would leave something that could be read in the all-too-faint chance that her remains were found by another pony; something that meant that somepony, at some time, might yet remember her name.




It would be easy to call this life an exile, but I prefer to think of it as an education.

Whatever it is, it most certainly is self-imposed. My caravan had been my home, but without it… well, without it, I could still have lived a comfortable life. A few thousand bits in a half-forgotten building society account, combined with the trust fund left by my grandfather, I’m the first to admit that life did not need to be difficult. I could even have started again. Had I felt the urge for more permanent accommodation, I don’t doubt for a second that my parents would have allowed me houseroom back in my native Trottingham, until I found my hooves again.



Trixie stumbled out of the makeshift shelter. The strands of willow above her head, woven to keep the rain out, bent a little as she brushed against them. It was one of the many things she had learned to make for herself during her stay here. 

The clearing that had been the unicorn’s home for the last two weeks was much as it had been the previous night. A pile of ashes, contained within a loose circle of stones, marked the centre of the camp. A dented and much used cooking pot, which she had discovered half-buried in another clearing, perhaps a relic of a less fortunate resident who lived out their life beneath these dark, oppressive trees, stood on a rough stand above the heap of ashes. After the sun fell below the horizon, fire was the best chance at keeping the cold and the wildlife away. Even so, the animals would not always stay away, and she had been forced to become accustomed to relocating on a regular basis.




A comfortable escape back to an ordinary life… it was not a course I ever considered. The prospect of such normalcy stuck in my throat. To tell the truth, the exposure of my act for what it was had caused it to shatter beyond any chance of repair, and had broken my mask once and for all. I had no way of hiding from myself. I had never felt more lost than when, sobbing, I ran to lose myself in the Everfree on that first night. 

But… in hindsight, they did me a favour. In hindsight, those were the worst times, those times when I fell so deep into the act that I began to believe it. To believe that what I did was anything more than tawdry and worthless. In the end, I found Twilight Sparkle to be a name worthy of my gratitude and respect, not my hatred or jealousy.



Stretching her neck out, the sapphire mare could feel the dusty crack of the dirt which matted her mane and fur. Forcing herself into awareness, she trotted away from the makeshift camp, deciding through force of habit to follow the sound of water splashing over rocks. The gentle tinkling reminded her of her early-morning thirst.




In the beginning, I had no wish to remain in the dank, gloomy forest. I left the Everfree and went out into the world. For a time, I tried to lose myself in the age-old pretension of the wanderer, heading northwards out of the forest to Canterlot, taking out a little money here and there to see me through. I had wandered the streets of Las Pegasus, straying north into the mountain ranges, near the border of the Griffon Territories. I had crossed the unending desert plains; I even ran with the nomadic buffalo for a few wearisome months.



After a short walk, edging from tree to tree and dodging around patches of leaves in a well practiced technique to minimize any attention that she drew, Trixie arrived at one of the Everfree’s treasures. 

A glimmering pool, cut into a basin of stone by the unerringly gentle caress of water for uncountable years, stood before her. It was fed by a small waterfall, and two trickling streams flowed away from where the liquid overran the sides of its bowl, serving to keep the water pure and fresh, unlike the other stagnant, dank ponds which dotted this forest. It was the perfect depth for a pony to submerge herself up to the shoulders. 

After the local wolves had begun encroaching too closely upon the cave in which she had spent much of the autumn, she had known it was time to take what little she owned, and make a new home elsewhere. This little oasis was the reason she had chosen to make her most recent camp here.




But this place… This forest exerted a pull over me, no matter how far I fled its clutches. This was not where my troubles had begun, but it was where I had, for the first time, seen them with true clarity. I might have called it a dark night of the soul, were I of a spiritual mind.

In the end, I could resist no longer. I put away my money, left behind my wanderings, and returned that spring to the Everfree’s embrace. I knew at the time that it was likely suicide, and yet even now, with December drawing down its blinds, with my scars and pains and hunger, somehow I live on.



With a sigh, she stepped forward into the pool, and sank down into the crystal-clear water, plunging her head beneath the flow of the fall. The water was cold, but that was something to which the unicorn had become accustomed over time. Now, it barely drew a gasp from her lips, and the sensation of the encrusted dirt sloughing from her coat and mane made the icy chill utterly worthwhile.

Humming with a quiet, simplistic pleasure, Trixie dipped her head beneath the surface for the briefest of moments, her mane clouding around her eyes like shimmering, silver-blue waterweed.

As she broke the surface again, and lay back against the rocks of the pool, she wondered what was to become of her. Her immediate survival was becoming more and more of a pressing issue. Winter was well on its way, and food was growing extremely scarce. Only the toughest of berries and roots were still growing in the hard ground. She had stores for maybe three or four more days, but her rations were becoming ever more meagre. The cold was getting worse too; soon the snows would come, and Trixie had to admit that she had no idea what she would do then.

She closed her eyes, feeling the crushing grip of perspective tightening around her again. She realized this was not something from which she could escape. It was not a fact that she could hide away from; she could not hide herself any more thoroughly than she had already done.

In truth, the forest’s peculiar hold over her had weakened as of late. Life here had always been difficult, but the hardship had always felt compensated for by the solitude and experience it gave. However, it now felt as if the forest had given her all it could offer, and her retreat was rapidly becoming her cage.

This is insanity, Trixie, and you know it. You need to leave. What are you trying to prove?

I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to live.

In truth, try as she might, Trixie could not fully say why she had returned to the Everfree. She had, in her life, heard of ponies who had chosen to live in the wilds, but their reasons had always been quite self-evident. They had wished to become closer to nature, or to live as hermits, far from society. Some had wanted to leave behind material possessions, and some had simply wished to challenge their own wits and instincts.

Trixie, on the other hand, had no true understanding of why she chose to live this hard, dangerous life. She had written a hundred airy, florid excuses into her journal, and many of these encroached onto the truth without quite breaching its insubstantial lining. Yet, none of them quite resolved the matter. She could not justly call herself happy or fulfilled here, but then again, comfort was something she had always railed against. The idea of normality terrified her. Maybe she really had come here to be forged anew, to build a personality and a body of experience to replace the Great and Powerful Trixie, who she knew lay broken and dead in Ponyville square. That piece of her life was far beyond salvaging.

She had grown up in a quiet, comfortable house within the suburbs of Trottingham. Her parents were not rich, but they had always been able to give her more than enough to satisfy her needs as a foal; perhaps even spoil her a little. Throughout her adolescence, she never knew want, hunger, loss or genuine fear. She had weathered the thousand petty little grievances that came with every average foalhood, but none of these had ever truly amounted to hardship. Her life had been easy; she had felt superficially happy, yet utterly empty. It was not a life to which she ever wanted to return.

Snorting with sudden anger, she hauled her body out of the pool and shook herself dry, sending a misty rainbow spray of water arcing up into the weak, dappled winter sunlight. The air around her was cold, and her damp winter coat, though growing thicker, could not keep out the chill. Her stomach rumbled warningly, and she sighed. Although the fur of her coat made her appear well-fed, in truth she was becoming emaciated and she would often go to sleep hungry.

“You need to make a decision,” she told herself in a low voice. “Starving to death won’t make you any stronger. You need to get out of here and get your head straight, Trixie.”

Edging slowly between the trees, she made her way back to her makeshift camp. The only nearby town was Ponyville; any longer journey would require food supplies that she did not have. She had no money, and her years on the road had taught her to never count on the kindness of strangers. Yet, although Ponyville was where she could get the food she needed, she had no great wish to return to the town. It had been the town where her act was finally broken, and aside from the memories of the place, she knew that she could not go unrecognized there for long. She understood now that she owed Twilight Sparkle, and those two young fools, a debt of thanks for pulling her out of the crippling downward spiral that her life had become. Yet, she doubted that the citizens of Ponyville would be the least bit welcoming to her now.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that if she returned to the town, it would be to steal food before sloping unseen back to the forest. She knew that she could rightfully expect no charity from a town upon which her boasts had brought down a monster, and she had no hope of anonymity. Small towns had keen eyes and long memories; she knew that all too well. 

However, to be caught stealing on top of all she had already done would surely be the final straw for the townsponies. Horrible visions of pitchforks and lynchings flashed before her eyes, and once again she cursed her inexplicable attraction to this forest for getting her into this mess.

Collapsing down on her blanket of reeds with a groan, her composition and hard-won survivalist’s strength suddenly crumbled away to nothing, and she began to cry silently.

These mood swings were another fact of life that she had been forced to grow accustomed to lately. Barely ten minutes ago, she had felt quite contented with her lot, too engrossed in the rituals of checking her camp and bathing to contemplate the reality of her situation. But now, the tears no longer surprised her. It did not take much to make the blackness descend on her fragile psyche these days.

Truth be told, it was the first time she had really stopped to think about the encroaching winter, and now that she was, she realized that she had never been in a more dire situation. She was trapped in an inhospitable forest, facing starvation, and the only place she could escape to was a town that would probably, and quite rightly, be equally inhospitable. Sadly, it was a dose of perspective that had come far too late.

You stupid bucking fool, Trixie. Your life’s just been one pretence after another, hasn’t it? An empty, mollycoddled foalhood, all those years trying to pretend that a taste for the theatrical equaled magical ability, all the hidden jealousy, all that time you tried to convince yourself you were great and powerful. But it was never really you, was it? 

Maybe that was why you could never call yourself “I” when you were on stage. The Great and Powerful Trixie was never really you; she was somepony you created to hide your own inadequacies, and you knew it. Even towards the end, even when you actually started believing in your own boasts, you knew it could never last. And look at you now.

Her thoughts were full of self-disgust.

Just look at you now. When your mask broke in Ponyville, it didn’t leave you with nothing. It did more than that; it showed you that you had nothing all along. So you can tell yourself that you came back here to make the soul you never had by facing hardships, but that’s not true, is it? You came here to hide away from yourself, and forget that you ever wanted to be more. You wanted to forget your ‘greatness’, and forget your ‘power’, forget that you’d ever deluded yourself that you might amount to more than the average pony. 

Deep down, you wanted to die here, quietly, and be forgotten, be buried by the trees and the leaves and the snow, and end a life of smoke and mirrors with one last vanishing act.

All was silent. Even the wind had fallen still, as if holding its breath.

Tell me, Trixie. Have you ever done anything you’re proud of? Have you ever done anything in your life that you can look back on, and feel that it was worthwhile?

Her eyes flickered open. Somehow, inexplicably, the thought gave her a weak surge of hope.

Once, she thought to herself, simply. I did once. Then she stood, forcing back the weakness, the self-loathing, and the anger. This, she decided, was not going to be the end of her.

A plan began to form in her mind, forcing back the clouds of crushing depression. She had outstayed her welcome here. It was time to go.

I’ll start stockpiling as much food as I can, from Ponyville if need be. There are bound to be unattended vegetable gardens and stores. I’ll stock up, and head out for Trottingham.

What’s this? Another ‘new life’? Are you going to ‘start over’ again? This pattern seems all too familiar. The nagging voice in the back of her mind was as cynical as ever.

I don’t know what I’ll do, she thought, curtly.She looked around at the forest, and shivered. I’ve wasted a year of my life in this place. I don’t need to be great, I don’t need to be able to perform incredible feats of magic. I don’t need to build a new persona for myself. Because now I’ve seen enough of the world; I’ve gathered up and lived all of my precious experiences and hardships. Maybe I can move on from all of that.

She felt a little better now that she had formed a plan, even one so tenuous that it relied on simple hope and petty theft. For the moment, it was enough to keep her going and stem off her tears. She had time. She had enough food stored to stay alive for the immediate future; a stack of oyster mushrooms, dandelions and even some hardier crab apples that had survived into the winter. If she came across some kind of windfall to set her up for the journey to Trottingham, she might not even have to resort to stealing.

With renewed energy, Trixie stood, and began to sweep aside the ashes of last night’s fire, a small smile on her lips.

Maybe she would never have to see that town again after all, assuming nothing went wrong.

Of course, simplicity is a rare and precious thing.


*


“Bastards!”

It was two days later, and everything had gone wrong. The angry, despairing cry cut through the air of the chill winter’s morning. A flock of birds took flight at the sudden sound and rose, screeching and clattering, into the sky above the forest. It really was remarkable how even the flimsiest, vaguest of plans could collapse so easily and with such devastating consequences.

Several crisp, clear inches of snow lay upon the ground now, but that was not the only source of Trixie’s infuriation as she stood, snorting, ankle-deep in the chill whiteness, looking around for the horrible little thieves. She picked up a stone with her magic, and sent it shooting after what she imagined to be a flash of grey between the trees, but it was more a petulant, futile gesture than any meaningful attempt to recover what she had lost.

It had not been a pleasant morning. The entirety of the previous day had been spent fruitlessly combing the nearby forest for food, a search which yielded nothing but a few icy roots, scarcely enough for a single meal. To make matters worse, the exhausted and irritable Trixie had been rudely awoken by half of her makeshift willow shelter collapsing on top of her under the sudden weight of snow.

With teeth chattering and a murderous gleam in her eyes, she dragged herself out from beneath the mass of snow and sticks. Turning to reach for the damp, icy journal that still lay under what was left of her shelter, she came face-to-face with an exceptionally guilty-looking rabbit. The rabbit wiggled his nose insolently at Trixie, and fled away into the shadowy trees. 

If the tracks covering the fresh snow were anything to go by, this was only one of many that had visited during the night. 

It was easy to see the source of its guilt; every last scrap of Trixie’s food was gone, but for a few crabapples that lay pathetically ignored within the half-covered pit in which she stored her food supplies.

Rabbits. Trixie could have dealt with being defeated by some worthy foe, perhaps a dragon or an ursa, (neither of which she had, thankfully, encountered thus far during her time in the forest) but to be scuppered so thoroughly by rabbits, of all things, was simply an indignity.

The unicorn collapsed to the snowy ground, mind numb. Her anger morphed swiftly into resignation. This was it; the combination of the sudden snow and the loss of her food presented her with a stark choice: Steal food and try to live through the winter in the forest, or die of starvation and exposure. Hot tears rose in her eyes again, but she blinked them back. There was no time for weakness now.

Even if she took the time to stockpile food at this point, the weather was so bad that any chance of attempting a long trek to Trottingham or Canterlot was utterly quashed. At least here she had some semblance of shelter and would most likely avoid freezing to death. Whether she liked it or not, for the time being, the forest would still be still her home.

She knew one thing about herself, though. Trixie was, as of today, no longer a mare who made plans; her every failure in life had seemed to stem from an irreverent need to reinvent herself. The cosseted youth, then the showpony’s life, then the traveler’s life, and finally the exile’s life. Now, she supposed, she was sliding swiftly from exile to full-blown criminal, a descent that fitted all too depressingly well into the pattern of her life. Every reinvention, every ‘new life’ she had chosen had ultimately greeted her with the exact same nagging sense of incompleteness, and each one had, in the end, made her life a little worse.

The truth was, she no longer knew what she wanted, she was no longer even capable of analyzing her own motives in life. Every self-contradictory explanation for her actions plunged her a little deeper, made her trust herself a little less. Maybe, she reflected, there was no explanation. Maybe she was simply a loose cannon by now, capable only of ricocheting from place to place, from life to life, on the back of meaningless whims as her mind gradually unraveled.  

Maybe she would think about all this one day. Perhaps when the winter passed, she would head into Trottingham, extract her savings, and try her best to find a therapist who liked a challenge. She had told herself a million times over the years that she could not go on like this, but she had never seen quite so clearly, as she did now, just how true that was, mentally and physically. For the moment, though, the greatest issue was food.

Her stomach grumbled, and she sighed. “Well,” she muttered to herself, looking balefully between the trees in the direction of the trail she knew led to Ponyville. A twinge of guilt and fear contracted sharply in her chest. “No time like the present.”
> II: The Enchantress
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
By Ardensfax



~
I just want to turn the lights on
In these volatile times
~


Chapter Two 
The Enchantress

The night was chill and crisp, the sky a perfect field of stars, free of even a scrap of cloud or errant light. After almost a year of oppressive tree canopies, the sense of openness was both breathtakingly beautiful and a little frightening.

It seemed prudent, after all, to wait until darkness fell before undertaking this kind of activity.

Trixie crept along the shimmering, snowy track to the low, glowing collection of houses that she knew to be Ponyville. Her plan, in the end, was a very simple one: first, she would try to find a vegetable garden with more than enough to spare, filled with winter produce, such as it was. Secondly, she planned to take enough to last her for a few days, but also hopefully an amount small enough to easily be blamed on garden pests. Then she would return to the forest until the food ran out, and repeat the endeavor until the weather’s anger eased.

Her stomach clenched almost painfully at the ‘plan’, but she knew that she had no choice.

Of course, it was demeaning, having to resort to these means to survive, but Trixie’s entire stay in the forest had been demeaning in one way or another, and this was not so much of a greater stoop. What rankled most was the guilt, knowing that she was stealing from ponies who already had enough perfectly understandable reasons to despise her.

Promise yourself, Trixie. Promise yourself that once this winter’s over you’ll get back to civilization and find yourself a decent shrink before you end up killing yourself.

I fully intend to. I just wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Isn’t this what cutie marks are for?

She never had the chance to answer her mind’s own question, because at that moment she caught sight of a house ahead of her. Its location surprised her; it was beyond the outskirts of town, nearer to the Everfree border than most ponies would feel safe building. Were it not for the warmly glowing windows and smoking chimney, Trixie might have mistaken it for a hillock in the moonlight. The roof was almost entirely covered in grass and shrubbery, blending the place down smoothly into its sizeable and lively gardens.

At the sight of the house—obviously somepony’s home, somepony who lived their daily life in warmth and comfort—Trixie was seized by an insane urge to simply gallop up to the door and beg for forgiveness and lodgings from whoever lived within. Instead, she shook her head, forcibly suppressing the thought. She had no right to expect forgiveness from these ponies, let alone houseroom.

What did pique her interest, however, was the spacious back garden. In fact, a closer inspection revealed that to call it a ‘garden’ utterly failed to do the place justice. It could only be described as a menagerie. It seemed that every animal imaginable was hopping, flapping or crawling dozily around on the lawn, the sun-loving creatures settling down for the night, and those of a more nocturnal bent sluggishly beginning to awaken. A squat wooden chicken coop sat beside the lawn, but beyond that the area was remarkably unrestricted.

Some of the animals were evidently just visitors in need of food or rest, rather than more permanent residents. Trixie noted that these passers-by would occasionally edge in or out of the garden through a clearly-deliberate gap in the fence, before heading back out into the meadows or the Everfree.

Why don’t the others just escape? Trixie wondered idly, as she approached. What’s stopping them?

Around the edge of the well-populated grassy expanse stood various stone bowls, dotted here and there for the perusal of the animals, each one laden with various fruits and vegetables. If the spacious and well-tended allotments around the front of the house were anything to go by, whoever lived here provided not only for themselves, but also for their veritable army of pets.

Trixie let out a sigh of relief. As long as she did not alert any guard dogs that might be lurking amongst the huge variety of animals, then this outing would be far easier than she had ever imagined.

And it’s not as if it’s wrong to take some, she thought to herself. It’s obvious this food’s set out for any animal in need, so surely whoever put it out wouldn’t mind me taking a few stalks of something.

So that’s what you are now, is it, Trixie? An animal? This is what it’s come to?

She had reached the fence, and with utmost care edged around the perimeter of the garden until the reached the narrow gap in the fence.

I’m living like one, eating like one, and surviving like one. At this stage I might as well be.

Staying low, she squeezed between the wooden posts. A few animals glanced her way, but for the most part they were too sleepy or preoccupied to bother with her. A wallaby chattered a little questioningly in her direction, but she ignored him and presently he returned to his rest.

Don’t whine about it, you chose this life.

And Celestia strike me down if I know for one second why. It’s true. I need help.

A sudden noise of creaking wood snapped her out of her introspection. The front door of the cottage, out of sight around the front of the grassy building, had swung ajar. Somepony was coming.

Her heart racing suddenly, Trixie looked around wildly for a place to hide. Gentle hoofbeats were fast approaching, and with no other option open Trixie dived behind the chicken coop and, dropping herself to the ground, prayed that the silvery darkness would make up for the utterly inadequate concealment that the raised wooden boxed offered. She watched fearfully, looking out from under the coop, chest leaping almost visibly as the hoofbeats grew closer.

Had she been spotted from a window? She could see no other reason for anypony to visit their garden at ten o’clock at night.

Then, a pegasus mare rounded the corner. Her primrose coat was made silver by the glowing night, her carnation-pink mane falling in a sweep around her face. She wore a striped scarf to protect her from the worst of the cold, and her eyes… her eyes stole the breath from Trixie’s lungs. They were the deepest aqua, and like the rest of her were made all the more magical by the moon’s gaze. There was a gentleness in those eyes; a genuine peace as she stood alone, looking around at her pets. No, not her pets. These animals were quite obviously her friends.

Trixie suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if she were observing something deeply private and personal. She tucked her tail in nervously, ensuring that she was as well-hidden as she could possibly be.

The canary-yellow mare picked her way across the garden with an astonishing, carefree grace, smiling gently at the drowsy animals as she made her progress. It was almost a surprise to see that she left so much as a hoof-print behind her in the snow.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a couple of bats flitted down and alighted upon the pegasus’s back, nestling into her wings and chittering a greeting in their scarcely-audible squeals. She smiled at them over her shoulder, fluffing up her feathers to offer them warmth, but did not break stride. Kneeling down, careful not to dislodge the bats, the pegasus eyed with sympathy a badger whose hind leg was bandaged right up to the haunch. It was clearly for this creature’s benefit that she had come out tonight.

Then, she spoke. Her voice was incredibly quiet, a murmur away from inaudibility, but it cut through the crisp night air like a knife and Trixie caught every word. “Is your leg feeling a little better now?”

The badger gesticulated a little irritably, but made no vocal response.

The mare sighed, gently raising the animal’s leg, inspecting the white bindings with an expert’s eye. “You poor thing,” she cooed reassuringly. “I know it’s itchy, but just be patient and you’ll be running around again in a couple of days. I promise.”

She sounded sincere, and after a moment, the badger jerked its head in reluctant acquiescence. The look in its eyes said quite clearly that it would accept this from no other pony, and only grudgingly from this one.

Trixie blinked in astonishment. She had never known it was possible to achieve such a rapport with wild animals. Here, she knew, was a pony with an extraordinary talent. At that moment, however, that fact only barely impinged upon her.

Something about the mare’s voice was incredibly soothing, almost hypnotic, and she could not help but be calmed by it. Her heart-rate was normal once more, and she felt, for the first time in years, a sense of genuine peace, a peace to match the calm in the unknown mare’s eyes. Life in the forest had never allowed her to lower her guard, even in times of relative relaxation, so the feeling now was almost alien to her, but no less wonderful for its unfamiliarity.

“Now then,” murmured the pegasus, “you try and get some sleep. I know it’s difficult, but if you can just drop off to sleep it’ll feel so much better by morning.”

The badger lowered its head a little uncertainly and curled up into a ball, although its wrapped-up hind leg kept twitching with the obviously unpleasant itching sensation. Its breathing was fast and shallow. Sitting at its side, the primrose mare fell to gently stroking the badger’s back. After a few more moments, she began humming a low, scarcely-audible lullaby that Trixie did not recognize.

She sat like that for several minutes, stroking and humming, until the badger’s leg ceased to twitch, and its chest began to move with the slow regularity of sleep.

Smiling fondly down at the creature, the pegasus stood almost soundlessly, and began to make her way back to the house. The bats slid out from beneath her wings, and took flight again, shimmering away into the night.

Part of Trixie’s brain was screaming at her to reveal herself, to fling herself on the mercy of this unknown pony. Somehow, she knew that she would receive nothing but unconditional kindness and help from this beautiful, enigmatic mare. She would be safe, protected, never left in fear of starvation or cold or the jaws of any one of the million monsters that filled the cold, grim Everfree. 

In the end, though, she did not move. Some irrational fear held her paralyzed in place, rooted beneath the coop until the sound of the front door closing sent her reverie shattering like sugar glass.

It was then Trixie realized, as she rose quietly from beneath the henhouse, that her cheeks were a burning scarlet, for reasons that she could not place. This mare’s menagerie of friends quite obviously meant everything to her, and something told Trixie that those quiet, intimate moments with them were not something that the pegasus would share willingly with just any ponies. These moments were surely meant to be seen only by those whom she trusted implicitly. This knowledge made Trixie feel every bit like the intruder that she was.

Hastily, not wanting to taint such a pure and peaceful place for any longer than necessary, Trixie scooped up, from the nearest bowl, a pile of random food with an absent-minded flare of her magic.

Maybe I was wrong about this place.

Squeezing back through the fence with her spoils clutched to her back by restraining tendrils of lilac flame, her thoughts began whirling, whipped up from the stagnant cycles into which they had fallen for so much of the last year’s repetitive, dangerous life. She closed her eyes for a second, as she began to trudge away through the snow.

Maybe next time. Maybe next time she would not be such a coward. There would be a next time; she knew that now. Her conscious mind insisted that her motive was the food so obviously set out for those in need, but when she closed her eyes, the eyes of the unknown mare swam in her vision, moon-kissed and enchanting.

As she began the trek back into the forest with her head slung low, she could not know that those same eyes were watching curiously from a half-curtained bedroom window, gazing at the dejected mare’s silhouette as she slunk slowly away. A single, sympathetic tear fell, leaving a miniscule stain on the wood of the windowsill.


*


With a sigh of magical exertion, Trixie finally allowed the enchanted glow which bore her prize to ebb away, and the food fell with a chorus of muted thuds into a stone-lined hollow that she had spent the day digging. She had also spent her time making a rough ‘lid’ of woven willow to cover her modest cornucopia as thieving rabbits were not an indignity that Trixie intended to suffer twice. Indeed, she took it as a point of pride to not allow the little sneaks a second shot at her supplies. 

There was enough in her makeshift larder to last probably two or three days; more, if she happened across some of the few provisions that a forest in the grip of winter had to offer.

The fire she had concocted was still burning well, and the tired mare tossed a few more logs into the flames, kicking up a cloud of embers and smoke with a satisfyingly sharp crackle.

The persistent heat meant that a large patch of ground was thawed and dry, and Trixie could not suppress a groan of relief as she pulled her rush-blanket over from the hastily-repaired shelter in which she slept. She then collapsed back onto it by the fire, the woven plants providing a little comfort compared to the rock-hard ground. Her stomach growled, and she half-smiled; tonight, at least, she would eat well.

As she threw neat slices of swede and broad bean into the battered old pot, waiting for the water to come to the boil, her thoughts kept drifting back to the odd, grassy house on Ponyville’s outskirts, and more specifically to its intriguing inhabitant.

Now that she had put some distance, and the best part of an hour, between herself and those eyes, she was growing more and more convinced that she had simply fallen victim to another of her all-too-common leaps of mood and emotion. Through the eyes of hindsight, the magic of the mare’s voice was dulled, her poise and grace diminished, and her rapport with nature a mere tawdry quirk.

She had not eaten properly in weeks, Trixie reasoned. Most likely, her spirits had been so buoyed by the sight of such plenty, to be freely taken by any creature in need, that she had naturally seen the pegasus responsible as some kind of paragon of kindness. She told herself firmly that she had, in reality, seen nothing more special than an ordinary mare going out at night to check on her pets.

Trixie wanted to be angry with herself for becoming so distracted on what proved to be a simple expedition, but the prospect of real food had lifted her spirits to the point where staying morose was nigh-impossible. Nevertheless, she vowed to make her next excursion in the daylight, and watch for the mare’s appearance from a distance, just to prove to herself that she was nothing but a normal pegasus. After all, a pony with so many pets would doubtless need to check on them with great regularity, so catching sight of her again would hardly qualify as a challenge.

The unicorn yawned widely, her eyelids heavy, idly stirring the pot with a tendril of magic, as midnight wore ever closer.


*


“I… I’m sorry, Trixie. I can’t do this anymore.”

A grassy hilltop road, the midsummer sun blazing overhead. The city of Manehattan spread out beneath them, glittering. Two hitched caravans, side-by-side, one cluttered with the wares of a trader, the other filled with the trappings of a stage magician. A tearful palomino mare, strong and rough-edged from her time on the road, and at her side, an immaculately groomed sapphire showmare, an expression of blank shock and hurt on her frozen face. 

The breath of time seemed momentarily to be held.

“I can’t live if I’m watching you get consumed like this. I love you, Trixie, but sometimes I don’t know if that’s who you are anymore.” Something close to anger flashed in her glistening eyes. “Can’t you see that you’re starting to believe your own act?”

“I’m not!” Trixie exclaimed desperately. “Rosemary, the Great and Powerful Trixie’s just a persona; you’ve seen the way she draws the crowds.” She tried to move closer to the mare, but the shafts holding her in place at the front of her caravan held her fast. “I’m still your Trixie,” she choked.

Rosemary shook her head, breaking eye contact and looking hopelessly down at the earth. “I’ve heard that once too often,” she said, quietly. “I can see it getting worse, too. I’ll hear you refer to yourself by name outside of shows, and you’re doing it more and more lately.” She sighed. “It’s not like we haven’t talked about this before!” she burst out suddenly, tears running freely down her face now. “Trixie, I can’t bear to see you destroying yourself like this. If you go much further down this road, you’ll end up in a place where there’s no room for anypony but yourself in your life, and I’ve got to stop this now before it comes to that.”

She looked up almost shyly at Trixie, her eyes and stained cheeks shining. “If this is what it takes to bring you to your senses, then I’ll… I’ll be doing you a k-kindness.” Her voice was broken with tears, and almost inaudible. “I… I’m s-sorry. Goodbye T-Trixie.”

With that, she began to walk away, her cart rumbling and jangling behind her. Trixie wanted more than anything to go after her, but she knew deep inside that it would do no good whatsoever, and in any case her hooves might as well have been cast in lead. She watched, scarcely comprehending what had happened, as the mare she loved walked down the hillside track, turned left into the trail through the woods, and was lost to sight.

Within ten seconds, the sound of the cart bearing her wares had faded out of earshot, and Rosemary had gone.

Trixie stood as if rooted to the spot. She did not know for how long she remained in place, as waves of numb shock crashed over her. Rosemary had gone.

All of the strength had left her knees, and she found herself supported only by the yoke that bound her to her caravan. Only then did the tears begin to fall. It felt as if a vacuum had formed in the centre of her chest. She had driven away the mare of her dreams; she had driven away the one mare who could see through her as if she were quite transparent. What hope had she now?

You don’t need her, spoke up a snide yet somehow reassuring voice in the back of her mind.

Of course I need her. I can’t live without her.

No you don’t, cooed the voice, remember who you are. You’re great. You’re powerful. You don’t need petty, ordinary little mares like her.

I don’t feel great or powerful right now. I love her; I still love her.

She left you because she’s jealous of you. Couldn’t you see the anger and the fear in her eyes when you’d tell everypony the amazing things you’ve accomplished? You’re the mare who vanquished an ursa major single-hoofed. 

I’m not! That’s just a story, and you know it!

You outgrew her so, so long ago now, Trixie.

But… she cared about me. I… I don’t understand why she’d…

The voice suddenly turned cold. She provided entertainment on the long journeys, and she knew the right places to lick. You, on the other hoof, are worth so much more than that little whore.

Don’t call her that… don’t you dare call her that, she wasn’t just…

The voice cut across her, snapping as if its patience was wearing thin. Listen to me. You’re the Great and Powerful Trixie, so dry your eyes, and show the world that you’re the most powerful unicorn who ever lived. Forget her. Forget her, and it’ll numb the pain.

The pain. The pain of losing Rosemary throbbed constantly like a dull ache in the pit of her stomach, draining her appetite, her happiness, her will to live. I need to. I need to forget her.

You wish you’d never known her, don’t you? You wish she’d never been a part of your life, so she could never have hurt you like this.

I do wish that. She hung her head, defeated. A rising anger was bubbling in her chest as she railed against the hurt. This… this is all her fault.

That’s right, Trixie. It is. But now, she’s not holding you back anymore. Become who you really are, Trixie. Become me, and I can help you to forget her.

Her final tear broke away from the bright blue fur of her cheek, splashing down inaudibly into the grassy lane below. The showmare looked up, a new determination burning in her eyes; a new hunger. She threw a contemptuous sneer into the trees, amongst which the mare who had tried all that she could to save her was even now walking away.

Become me. Become yourself.

She smiled; an arrogant, carefree grin. No further tears formed in her hardened eyes.

The Great and Powerful Trixie, she thought to herself, likes the sound of that.

Then, the scene dissolved, with such speed that she could not so much as scream. The mountains on the horizon melted into a liquid haze, the town crumpled and shattered, and then the earth beneath her hooves dissolved to nothingness, and she was falling, falling into inky blackness.

Then, silence. The midnight air was chill, the full moon bright overhead. She was lying in a meadow on her back, the grass pleasantly soft against her withers and haunches.

A soft, melodious voice sounded, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere.

“Shh, now. You’re alright… you’re alright.”

Somepony was stroking her mane and neck with luxurious, calming motions, whispering comfort in her ear. The fetlocks against her fur felt like warm silk. With what seemed an enormous effort, she turned her head to meet the eyes of whoever had found her in this strange, vulnerable state.

It was the pegasus; the unknown mare from the outskirts of Ponyville. Her long, carnation mane cascaded around her face, almost tickling Trixie’s forehead. Her empathic aqua eyes were dazzling.

“Who are you?” Trixie breathed.

“That’s not important,” murmured the primrose pegasus. She leaned down, her breath hot in the chill night air, and kissed the supine mare gently on the lips. She held the contact for scarcely a moment, an eternity too little for Trixie to even begin to appreciate the nuances of the mare’s intoxicating scent, before pulling back and smiling down at her. “What matters is who you decide to be.”

She began to nuzzle the unicorn’s cheek and neck with a loving, comforting diligence. She sank slowly down to lie down at Trixie’s side, occasionally letting out little purrs of enjoyment as she continued her soothing work.

Trixie felt herself relaxing under the mare’s calming ministrations, and gave a long, low sigh.

Then, she stiffened with shock as the mare’s tongue slipped smoothly into her ear, exploring the contours of the supple, sensitive flesh. The pegasus snuggled up close to the former showmare, draping a sensual forehoof over her belly. After the initial surprise, Trixie had to admit that the twin sensations of soft fur and a warm, gentle tongue were deeply pleasurable; an undeniable, rising arousal was gnawing hot in the pit of her stomach.

“Who are you going to be, Trixie?” the mare whispered, her breath dancing hot in Trixie’s ear. Her warm, curvaceous form pressed up tightly against the unicorn, as her hooves began to roam teasingly.

Trixie let out a low moan as the mare’s untraceable scent overwhelmed her senses.

Then, with a playful giggle, the pegasus bit down sharply on the tip of the ear that she still held between her lips.

The sapphire mare yelped aloud, then her eyes flew open, and she woke with a start, breathing hard.

It took her a second to realize that she was still alone in the chill of the Everfree, the clouded and moonless night pressing in on all sides.

She had dreamt of the moment Rosemary had left her a great many times since she came to the forest, but it had been a long time since the images had been quite so vivid or upsetting. Her stomach was full for the first time in weeks, and her sleep was correspondingly deeper.

Looking back now, the day her former love had abandoned her had been the day when an unpleasant pattern had morphed into a full-fledged downward spiral. That had been the day when the Great and Powerful Trixie had ceased to be her creation, and had instead become her life.

Trixie lay back on her bed of rushes, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. Of course, that had been the first time her dreams had been intruded in that way; ordinarily her mind stayed within the realms of memory as she slept.

The unknown pegasus’s eyes floated before her in the blackness, belying her earlier certainty that the primrose mare had been made enchanting merely by the hazing hands of hunger and moonlight. The ghost of her tongue’s caress drifted across Trixie’s mind, and her ear twitched reflexively, even though the memory was merely of a dream.

With a pang of something close to shame, she became aware of a damp, tingling warmth between her haunches, in spite of the bitingly cold air.

Tomorrow, she decided, with a sense of finality. She needed to disabuse herself of this ridiculous obsession in her subconscious mind. I’ll go back tomorrow.

She needed to prove to herself, once and for all, that this mare was nothing other than quite ordinary. She would see her away from the moonlight’s gaze, stripped of her magic by the cruel flush of dawn.

But still… those eyes. If she wanted, that mare could hold half the world, enchanted, in those eyes.

Angrily, Trixie shook her head with a snort. She rolled over and closed her eyes tightly, as if to keep the world away.

This time, when sleep at last found her again, it was deep and silent. As she felt herself drifting, she welcomed oblivion like an old friend.

Oblivion was so much simpler.
	 
	
> III: The Invitation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
By Ardensfax



Chapter Three
The Invitation

The next day, as she trotted towards Ponyville with the snow crunching pleasantly under her hooves, Trixie could not help but smile to herself, in spite of the conflicts biting at her brain. The skies had cleared, and the rolling whiteness that blanketed the fields seemed to glow with a beautiful, luminous quality. The winter sun was dazzling, and Ponyville lay like a scene in a snow globe, its many chimneys flowing warm spirals of smoke up into the sky.

With a full stomach, it was remarkable how much brighter the world looked. Of course, food alone was not the only source of Trixie’s sudden sense of optimism. A treacherous little pang of excitement flared in her chest at the thought of seeing that primrose mare again, but she did her utmost to quell that particular warmth. She was here, after all, to disabuse herself of that parasitic little attraction.

The pegasus’s home looked for all the world like a gingerbread house, its grassy roof white and glittering in the clear morning air. As soon as the residence came into view, Trixie ducked her head, keeping as low as she could to disguise her shining sapphire coat, painfully aware that she no longer had the cover afforded by the night. Leaving the barely-discernible dirt track, she crept into the tree-dotted meadow by the wayside, dodging from trunk to frozen trunk in a maneuver that had become second nature during her time in the Everfree.

At the final tree between herself and the mare’s house, Trixie paused, looking out carefully at the garden spread out before her. Sure enough, it was still well-populated with every creature from seals to squirrels. However, Trixie also noticed, with a pang of irrepressible disappointment, that there was no sign of the pegasus responsible for their care.

You really want to see her again, don’t you?

It’s why I’m here, yes.

You know what I mean, Trixie.

Staying low, Trixie crossed the space of open ground between the woods and the house, settling herself down behind a wild mass of snow-capped bushes just outside the garden fence. Her winter coat was finally thick enough to keep away the worst of the cold as she knelt down in the snow, rested her head on her hooves, and waited. 

The low sounds of a hundred animals drifted through the leaves, surrounding her. Above the bushes, she could see coils of smoke rising from the house’s chimney, confirming that the mare was indeed home.

Trixie, this isn’t right. You aren’t trying to prove anything to yourself.

Of course I am, that’s why I’m here.

No, it isn’t. This is just plain, old-fashioned stalking. It’s pathetic, and it’s degrading to you and to her. Take some food if you need it, and just go.

She sighed, hanging her head, defeated. I need to see her. I need to know if she really is different.

What could she be to you? Hope? A chance to move on?

Trixie closed her eyes for a second, and for once, the face that swam into her imagination was not Rosemary’s. She felt herself beginning to fall into the ghost of that calm, aquamarine gaze.

Maybe.

She felt as if she were living in a bubble, somehow separate from reality. It was not a new feeling. Looking at it now, her life had been nothing but a series of dream-states, one chasing after the next in the guise of a new beginning. Was there really any reason to suspect that this new obsession was anything different?

A sudden rustling at her side jerked Trixie out of her introspection, and her eyes snapped open, looking around for the source of the noise. After a moment, her gaze alighted upon a chalk-white rabbit which had dug its way through the bushes, and was now staring up at the unicorn with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Trixie glared down at the creature with a sudden surge of irritation. She no longer had any great love for rabbits.

“Go away,” she hissed, rising a little from her prone position, hoping to intimidate the creature. The rabbit only eyed her closer, as if thinking hard. There was something remarkably expressive about this particular creature; in spite of its obvious petulance, there was a certain intelligence in its whiskered face.

Then, as if making up its mind, it turned and bolted back into the bushes, a shower of dislodged snow marking its departure.

Trixie settled back down in the snow, resting her head once again on her hooves. Something about the rabbit had unnerved her a little; it seemed to realize that she ought not to be lurking in the bushes. More than that; it seemed almost to know why she was there.

It had done her one favour, however. The hole in the undergrowth left by its departure provided Trixie with a perfect view of the lawn and its attendant house, allowing her to observe unseen, without having to lift her head up into plain sight. The rabbit, she noted with a twinge of unease, was nowhere to be seen.

Then, with a creak, came the sound of the front door swinging ajar. Trixie’s heart seemed to rise, beating in her throat as a horrible thought occurred to her. This mare had a remarkable way with animals. Was it such a stretch of imagination to suggest that the rabbit may have gone hopping back to his equine mistress, to lead her straight to Trixie’s hiding place?

Little sneak, she thought, angrily.

Coming from a pony who’s lurking in the bushes, spying on and stealing from an innocent mare, I’d say that’s a bit rich, spoke up that snide, ever-present voice of uncomfortable reason in the back of her mind. She quelled the thought firmly, largely because of the stab of guilt that rose in her chest whenever she stopped to analyze her own actions.

Of course, the unicorn was not fearful for her own safety. She could break away and run easily enough, and even if the pegasus went to the authorities, Trixie would be long gone before they arrived. Her fear was somehow deeper than that; she did not want to see those eyes looking at her with hurt or anger. She did not want to hear that voice of peace raised in reproach against her.

Somehow, now that the moment had arrived, she dreaded so much as seeing the pegasus again. She wished now that she had never returned; she wished now that her paragon image of the mare could remain in her mind, reassuring, loving and untainted. It was a childish, self-indulgent wish; she knew that all too well, and she had returned here to be free of it. But at that moment, she did not want to lose her sole, infuriating comfort.

But now, the matter was in the hands of fate. Trixie stared out across the garden, her low vantage point well concealed by the snowy leafage. Soft, crunching hoof-falls could be heard approaching, and Trixie’s breath caught in the back of her throat as the pegasus picked her way into view.

Suddenly, being discovered did not seem to matter in the slightest.

The mare was every bit as Trixie’s dreams had depicted her. Her coat glimmered in the winter sun, and a pair of delicate wings lay tucked against her sides. She stood immobile in the middle of the garden, looking slowly around as if searching for something. Her hypnotic gaze seemed torn between sadness and a strange thoughtful expression that Trixie could not place. Something small was clutched in her mouth, although it was impossible to tell what it was.

The unicorn’s heart was hammering, but no longer out of fear. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be discovered; that same, insane urge to reveal herself had gripped her. And yet, the paralysis had also returned, rendering her locked and immobile.

In truth, Trixie wanted nothing more than to feel infuriated and bitter that this mare affected her in such a way, but all she knew was a deep relief; for once in her life, her imagination had not betrayed her.

In the garden, the primrose pegasus stood still for a few more moments, looking around as if waiting for something. Under the glaring winter sunlight, her coat seemed to glow warmly, her mane glimmering rose against the stark white world. Try as she might to prevent it, Trixie could not free herself from her imagination’s image of the mare nuzzling her cheek, whispering reassurances in her ear, that soothing voice interspersed with warm little kisses feathered along the former showmare’s nose and jaw-line…

Then, the moment was broken as the pegasus sighed, quietly and resignedly. Shaking her head almost imperceptibly, she dropped whatever was gripped between her teeth into the stone food-bowl nearest to the gap in the fence.

Turning, she walked a little dejectedly back towards her house, leaving the unicorn in the bushes undiscovered. She passed out of sight, and a moment later, the front door closed with a quiet click.

Trixie sat frozen for a moment, her mind spinning. Then, without thinking, she darted out of the bushes, towards the stone bowl. The mare had not so much as checked on her animals, which surely meant that the creatures were not the reason for her leaving the house. Had she known that Trixie was there, surely she would have appeared scared or angry, not disappointed. In hindsight, could she even have looked a little hopeful?

It’s your imagination, Trixie. What is this? As if stalking her wasn’t bad enough, what are you doing now? Fantasizing about her?

I know it’s probably nothing, and I know this is wrong, but…

You’re damn right this is wrong. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times; you need help.

Maybe that’s why I’m here.

Her inner conflict aside, there was still the matter of whatever the pegasus had left for her. It made no sense, but Trixie knew, instinctively, that whatever the mare had left behind had been put there for her to find. The thought tore her once again between hope and fearful shame; shame that she had been discovered, but a treacherous hope that her discovery might not, after all, be a bad thing. Squeezing through the gap in the fence, she crossed the garden as quickly as she could without disturbing the animals, and looked down into the stone basin.

Her breath caught slightly. The bowl did not contain food; instead, it held a slightly lumpy parcel wrapped up in brown paper. A powdery dusting of snow suggested that it had been waiting there for some time. Lying on top of this parcel was a small, folded piece of paper; obviously the object that the primrose pegasus had been carrying in her mouth.

Trixie suddenly felt a little lightheaded, although for the life of her she could not explain why. Picking up the note in the grip of her magic, she unfolded it with her heart in her mouth, and read five neatly hoof-written words.


You only need to ask.



*


The day was drawing ever onwards into evening, and the snow grew gilded by the sun’s hazy fall. In the heart of Ponyville, the streets were all but deserted, and yet a sense of snugness lay in the whitened roofs and smoking chimneys. The library was no exception, with its many branches bowing beneath the weight of fallen snow, and its windows glowing with a warm, yellow-amber light.

Inside, a diminutive and well-wrapped-up dragon sat as close as he could to the fire, a drip shivering a little unpleasantly at the end of his snout, and a mug of lemon tea clutched to his chest. He gave a small sneeze, and a single lick of green flame shot from his nose, dissipating harmlessly into the flickering grate. The winter months were never exactly kind to such a heat-loving creature as Spike, and his succumbing to bouts of sniffles had become something of a yearly fixture.

On the sofa sat two ponies, also hugging cups of tea. The library was not exactly cold, but there was a sense of winter in the air that naturally made hot drinks all the more appealing. Both mares were giggling at some idle joke, and Twilight Sparkle leaned back into the sofa, smiling at the pegasus beside her.

Fluttershy bit her lip, not quite meeting the librarian’s eyes. It was silly, really; she had come here for advice, and yet now the time had come for her to get to the point, she could not bring herself to broach the subject.

Twilight clearly realized her plight, as the silence began to drag onwards, and decided to intervene. “So,” she said, obviously doing her best to put the nervous pegasus at her ease, “what’s up?”

Fluttershy opened her mouth a little, and then she closed it again, unsure quite where to start. Screwing up her courage, she decided to begin with a watered-down version of events. “I… I saw somepony in my garden last night,” she said in a rush, tripping over the words a little.

The unicorn’s eyes widened. “Really?” Her voice was sharp and indignant. “What did they do? Did you see their face?”

“I… Yes, I saw her,” Fluttershy replied, hastening to clarify her intentions. “I’m not worried, though. I know who she is… I just wanted to ask you what I ought to do. I don’t know if I should go and talk to her or not.”

Twilight looked extremely concerned. “I wouldn’t talk to whoever it is. If they’re lurking in ponies’ gardens at night, you need to be careful.” She broke off, eyeing Fluttershy in surprise. “Wait, you know who it was?”

They were momentarily interrupted by the sudden sound of low, regular snores. Spike had apparently dozed off in front of the fire, spirals of smoke rising from his snout with each breath. Twilight looked fondly at the little dragon, before the concern re-entered her gaze, and she returned her attention to Fluttershy.

The pegasus nodded, gulping slightly. “Y-yes. It was…” she spoke the name, but it came out in a breathy, inaudible jumble. Steeling herself, she closed her eyes, and tried again. “It was Trixie,” she muttered.

She opened her eyes, and looked up at Twilight. To her surprise, the unicorn was staring at her with a blank, wide-eyed expression. Her pupils had shrunk a little. “You know, The Great and Powerful Trixie?” Fluttershy clarified, taking Twilight’s silence for a lack of recognition.

“Yes… yes, I know,” replied the librarian, in a tone of voice appropriate to one recently clubbed over the head. She blinked several times, apparently attempting to compose herself, although Fluttershy could have sworn she saw her friend’s left ear twitch slightly. For some reason, the sight unnerved her a little.

“Are you okay?” Fluttershy asked in a small voice, unable to stop herself shrinking back a little.

Twilight, apparently having salvaged her composure, nodded. She smiled reassuringly, if a little lopsidedly. “Yes, I’m alright… sorry, Fluttershy. It’s just… it’s a bit of a shock, that’s all.” Her voice fell a little in volume. “I… I guess I thought she was dead.”

Fluttershy felt her eyebrows rise. “Dead?”

“I don’t know.” The librarian shook her head, distractedly. “I just couldn’t see a mare like that vanishing so completely, you know? I chased up all the newspapers, even local magazines from towns in the area. Nothing. Nopony’s heard of her since she ran off, and she was headed straight for the Everfree. I assumed… I thought the wolves or the bears might have…” she broke off, still looking shell-shocked. 

Apparently struggling to change the subject away from death, she met Fluttershy’s eyes again. “But what the hay was she doing in your garden at the dead of night?” she exclaimed, taking a gulp of tea. “You are sure it was her, aren’t you?”

Fluttershy nodded. “Absolutely. After I went inside for the night, I looked out to make sure Brunswick was alright.”

“Brunswick?” Twilight blinked.

“He’s a badger,” Fluttershy mumbled. “I’ve known him for a while, and think he got in a scrap with a fox recently, but I’m not sure. I bandaged him up, and he’s looking better now.” Her attention momentarily diverted, she looked suddenly pensive. “I’m just a little worried that he’s not eating like he used to; I got him some sweet potatoes, the sort that he likes, but-” Twilight cleared her throat gently, although she seemed endeared and amused by the devoted level of care that the pegasus paid to her animal friends.

Fluttershy blushed, pulling herself back to the matter at hand. “Sorry, Twilight. Anyway,” she continued, “Trixie didn’t know I’d seen her, but… Twilight, I think she’s actually living out in the forest.” Tears of sympathy welled unbidden in her eyes, and she cursed herself for wearing her empathy so visibly on her sleeve. “She was taking some food; the food I leave out for the animals, actually.” She sighed. “I don’t know what it was, but she looked… different. I know how arrogant and horrible she was, but I… I felt sorry for her. It doesn’t matter what she’s done, nopony deserves to have to steal food to survive.”

Twilight looked sympathetic, although there was the barest hint of some other emotion glimmering in her eyes. “She must be ashamed,” she said, quietly. “Whether she’s changed or not, she wouldn’t want to be seen in Ponyville. But… why in Equestria is she living in the Everfree? Especially after all this time; it doesn’t make any sense.” She looked down thoughtfully into her cup. “But you didn’t go and speak to her?”

Fluttershy shook her head. “No… it was obvious she didn’t want to be seen, so I didn’t go out to her. I didn’t want to scare her.”

The librarian looked more than a little exasperated. “But she obviously needs help, Fluttershy. Of course she doesn’t want to be seen; she’d be afraid that we’d run her out of town or something. If you made it clear that you wanted to help her, then surely she wouldn’t be scared of you.”

The pegasus looked away, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I know that, but I… I couldn’t bring myself to. You know how I am with new ponies, and in the middle of the night like that... I just couldn’t. In the end, I sort of… compromised.”

“What kind of compromise?”

“I made up a parcel for her, to let her know I know about her, without scaring her off. Nothing special, just some high-energy foods that’ll stay fresh for a while; you know, dried fruit and chocolate, that sort of thing, and I also put in an old blanket. I mean, the winter’s coming, and if she’s insisting on staying in that awful forest, she’ll need all the warmth she can get.”

Twilight nodded. “And? What happened?”

“Well, I left the parcel in one of the food bowls in my garden, and I asked Angel to let me know if anypony came creeping around. I…” she blushed again, halting momentarily. “If she came by again, I wanted to give her the chance to meet me on her own terms, if she wanted to.” She sighed, quietly. “Anyway, she came by a few hours later.”

A flash of excitement passed over Twilight’s face, but she looked disappointed by Fluttershy’s next words. “I didn’t see her, Twilight. I waited to see if she’d show herself, but she never did. I mean…” she toyed distracted with her now-empty teacup, running a hoof around the rim. “I didn’t think she would, to be honest. So, just in case, I took a note out with me, telling her not to be afraid of me. I dropped it on top of the parcel, so she’d know where to look, and went back inside.” She shrugged, looking across a little helplessly at her friend. “I didn’t look out again straight away, but she must have been watching. Five minutes later, the note and the parcel were gone.”

Twilight sat, silent for a few moments. The expression on her face went deeper than mere surprise, however. Now, it was Fluttershy’s turn to be concerned.

“Twilight,” she murmured, not wanting to appear intrusive, “is something the matter?”

It was most certainly not her imagination this time; the unicorn’s ear definitely twitched. Fluttershy remembered all too clearly now where she had seen that particular nervous tic before. Memories of enchanted dolls, town-wide brawls and royal intervention swam unpleasantly in her mind’s eye, and once again she edged microscopically and subconsciously away from her friend.

When it came, however, Twilight’s reply was quite calm, if a little distant. “Oh… yes, I’m fine. You’re the one I’m worried about.” She smiled, and this time her expression was one of reassurance. “You know what?” she said, thoughtfully. “If she comes by again, I think you should talk to her. She’ll know now that you don’t mean her any harm.” She sighed, breaking Fluttershy’s gaze. “You’re right. She doesn’t deserve to live like that.”

Fluttershy gulped, steeling herself. “Okay, Twilight,” she said, quietly. “Next time I see her, I’ll do my best to speak to her.”

The unicorn’s eyes suddenly brightened a little. “If you like, I can come to your house for a couple of days, that way I’ll be there with you if she visits again.” She sounded surprisingly eager. “You wouldn’t need to be worried, if I were there as well.”

“That’s kind of you,” Fluttershy replied, with a slight shake of the head, “but I feel like this is between me and her. I want to resolve this on my own. Besides, I… I’m not sure she’d want to let you see her in such a state. It’s not your fault, Twilight, but she’d probably expect you to be the one leading the lynch mob, considering how she behaved. If she saw you with me, there’s no way she’d let us get near.”

Disappointment sparked in Twilight’s eyes, but then she nodded in reluctant acquiescence. “You’re right,” she conceded. “Let me know how it goes, anyway.”

Fluttershy nodded. “I will,” she promised. “I’m going to be visiting Sweet Apple Acres for the next few days, but if she comes by at night, I’ll be there.”

“Thanks.” Twilight smiled. “Maybe she’ll have deflated her head a little by now. I’d like to tell her there are no hard feelings… I felt bad letting her run off like that, but what could we do?” She looked a little guilty.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Fluttershy insisted, as firmly as she was able. “All that spell-casting wore you out, and even if we’d caught her up, she’d never have accepted our help.” She sighed, looking searchingly at the unicorn. “Don’t tell me you’ve been beating yourself up about her all this time?”

Twilight shook her head, but her eyes were glistening treacherously. “No, I… I just think about her sometimes. I wake up some mornings and wonder where she is. Knowing she’s alive, it’s… oh, I sound so stupid. I’m just relieved. I’d feel so bad if…” Fluttershy scooted across the sofa and bestowed a gentle hug upon her friend, cutting off her babbling. After a moment of still surprise, Twilight reciprocated with a sigh, wrapping her forehooves around the pegasus’s neck, and leaning into her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Fluttershy murmured, stroking the unicorn’s mane in a comforting gesture. “Ponies like her are a danger to themselves. I don’t blame you for worrying about her.” She gave Twilight a squeeze. “But even if something had happened, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“I know,” whispered Twilight. “I… I do know that, really. Thanks, Fluttershy.”

There was a thump, as the sleeping Spike’s empty mug slipped from his claw and dropped a few inches onto the hearthrug. The mares broke gently apart, their heads turning to trace the sudden noise, and Fluttershy smiled across at the dozing dragon. Now that the matter had been aired, she felt a little less concerned about Trixie’s reappearance. She supposed that much of her worry had been derived from surprise; nopony in Ponyville had ever expected to see the mare again, particularly not in such a ragged, openly defeated state. She still felt worried for the forest-dwelling mare’s safety, but merely sharing the problem was a weight off her mind.

She looked back at Twilight, who now looked entirely herself again, her eyes also upon her sleeping assistant. There was not so much as a twitch in her ears, which Fluttershy took as a good sign.

She was probably just relieved, Fluttershy thought to herself, recalling Twilight’s odd initial reaction; that worrisome gleam of an old obsession. She’s been keeping that little guilt locked up inside for so long. It’s nothing to worry about now she’s gotten it out.

“I’d better put Spike to bed,” Twilight said, giggling quietly.

“Poor thing,” Fluttershy replied, sympathetically. “I hope he’s feeling better tomorrow.”

The unicorn nodded, getting to her hooves. “He will be. It always takes him a few days to adjust to the winter.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the pegasus. “Has Applejack got a problem on the farm, then?”

Fluttershy shrugged. “She says they’ve got pests of some kind, eating the winter apple crop. Zecora gave me some kind of mixture a few months ago to keep bugs off the allotment, and I promised Applejack I’d show her how to use it.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Pesticide? Seems a bit unlike you,” she remarked, as she gently cocooned the snoring dragon in a magical field, lifting him up off the rug without waking him.

“No, of course not!” Fluttershy felt positively horrified at the thought; some of her closest friends were, after all, insects. She wondered momentarily what that fact said about the radius of her social circle. “That’s the beauty of it,” she explained, hastily. “It doesn’t kill them, it just… discourages them, I suppose. I’ve never worked out how Zecora’s potions work, but they work like a charm.”

“I know what you mean; I’ve been trying to unpick how her remedies work for months now.” Twilight shook her head with that unique irritation of the stumped scientist, and trotted up the stairs, the sleeping dragon bobbing along in a lavender aura at her side. A minute later, she reappeared, dragon-free at the top of the steps. “Say, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy turned, looking up at the unicorn. “Mhm?”

“I don’t like you having to trek halfway across Ponyville in the snow. What do you say to a sleepover?”

Fluttershy smiled, but her brow suddenly knitted with worry. “I’d love to, Twilight, but what if Trixie comes by tonight?”

The unicorn faltered in her descent of the stairs for a moment, then shook her head with a deductive certainty. “I don’t think she will. You say she sneaks by to take food; that package you left her should keep her going for a few days at least.”

“Alright then,” replied Fluttershy, stifling a yawn. The winter months always dealt her a heavier workload, and it would be nice to be able to relax for an evening. The animals had enough food to last them, and she was sure that the ever-grumpy Brunswick would be tempted by the sweet potatoes eventually. “Thanks a lot, Twilight,” she said appreciatively, settling back on the sofa.

She could not help but reflect, as she watched the fire crackling pleasantly, that deep down, she knew why she sympathized with Trixie. More than the lowly, hard life that had driven her to theft and degradation, Fluttershy had been affected by the look in Trixie’s eyes. 

With the arrogance and calculatedly overconfident showmareship stripped away, Fluttershy had recognized that fearful, restless look. It was the same look that she saw in the mirror, every time she went out to face the prospect of walking the streets amongst ponies she did not know. That deep, ingrained fear of the world was all too familiar.

As the evening wore on in a pleasant mist of laughter, gossip and idle conversation, Fluttershy knew that she could not sleep easy until she had offered Trixie some more lasting help than a few pieces of fruit and an old blanket.

Perhaps it was her natural altruism, or perhaps she sensed a certain kindred spirit in this mare, but she determined that she would do more than offer temporary material comforts. If she could not mend Trixie’s fears, she could at least offer her the company of somepony who shared them.

She knew that, rightly, she owed the showmare nothing. She knew that she should even feel angry or bitter towards her, but she also knew, from long experience, that she could no more hold a grudge than she could fly to the moon. She occasionally wondered if her kindness was a flaw, or a product of weakness. At times like this though, she could not help but recognize the strength that it lent her.


*


A few miles away, beyond the comforting glow of the town’s cobwebbed light, out where the moonlight was splintered by a million branches that clung down like fingers, a sapphire mare lay. Her stomach was full, and she was warmer than she had been in weeks as she reclined beneath her blanket, and her roof of woven willow. Even so, as she turned over, she too doubted that sleep would find her easily.

The scent of her torturer lay heavy on the cloth that she clung to for warmth. She hated this dependence. She hated the beautiful pegasus for her charity, for her voice and for her eyes, for everything that engendered this intolerable desire to see her; to know her and perhaps even to understand her. 

Yet, somehow, she had to keep breathing that scent. She could not tear herself away from the cloth for fear of the cold. She could not tear herself away from this mare for fear that it might destroy her all over again. Nor, she could finally admit to herself, did she want to.

She did not see the first inklings of the strengthening storm, as it frothed and grew, low on the horizon, far away.
	
> IV: The Fall
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
By Ardensfax



Chapter Four
The Fall

It was two days later, and winter’s grip was tightening.

A blizzard whipped up by nature, not of pegasine creation, had swirled in over the Everfree from the west. Throughout the night, the wind had howled and hissed between the bare branches and, twice, the splintering scream of an uprooted tree had rent the air. Even though the skeletal canopy kept away little of the snow, the air had still been fogged with fat, stinging, flakes that made it impossible to see more than five feet in the clouded moonlight.

Once, a jarring thud of impact had sounded outside her shelter, but it was impossible, over the wailing wind, to tell what it could have been.

Trixie, recognizing how desperate the situation had become, had been forced to rise in the pitch-dark, gritting her teeth and bowing her head as she stepped outside into the flensing gale. It had taken nearly all of her strength, but she had eventually managed to conjure a weak magical shield around her shelter, weaving the field into place time after agonizing time until the spell finally held itself together.

Magic beyond simple conjuration and illusion did not come easily to the unicorn, but the shimmering blue-grey ripples in the air served well enough to prevent her hideaway from being blown away, or buried. The wind had still howled and bit at her through the barrier, but its teeth were blunted.

It had seemed for all the world the morning would never come, but come, at last, it did. Trixie lay, shivering beneath her roof of woven willow, blessing the thick blanket that lay protectively across her prone form. The storm had struck without warning, almost at the stroke of midnight, with a shocking, sudden, ferocity. The unicorn knew all too well that the warmth afforded by so simple a gift as the thick square of cloth had, most likely, saved her life.

Now, the sun had risen on another world. The wind had died out overnight, but the air was still thick with fluttering snowflakes. Trixie’s spell had saved her shelter from another collapse but, as she rolled over, unwilling to truly awaken, her hooves were utterly numb with cold.

“Hello,” she mumbled, blearily. She was answered by a soft coo, and the unicorn half-smiled. During the night, a bedraggled and disoriented wood pigeon had stumbled into her shelter, its feathers askew from the gale. It had flopped down on Trixie’s blanket, obviously in a state of exhaustion. Before, it barely seemed to notice that another creature was even present, although even if it had, Trixie suspected that it would have taken the risk of company rather than braving the storm. Now, apparently taking advantage of the relative warmth, it was nestled into the pale grey fabric of the blanket, looking around with an air of polite puzzlement.

Trixie rolled back over, looking up at the ceiling. “What am I going to do?” She voiced the question to the air, but somehow it came to be directed at the bird beside her. She raised her head, meeting its eyes. It did not seem particularly attentive, but any sounding-board at this moment was one she would appreciate.

She had already decided that she was not going to return to the unknown pegasus’s house. The mare was kind, she was thoughtful and willing to help, but she was also deeply, utterly, enchanting. The more Trixie saw her, the more she learned about her, the more the primrose pony attracted her. She did not want to bare herself to that kind of hurt again.

A second soft coo sounded beside her. The mare looked up, and saw that the pigeon was looking quizzically at her, or so she imagined. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t fall for somepony so… unattainable.” Another low clucking sound; Trixie took this as an invitation to continue.

“I’m a leper,” she murmured. “I nearly destroyed her town, I’ve stalked her, stolen from her… lusted after her.” Her cheeks coloured at the last word. What little sleep she had found over the last two nights had been haunted by dreams of kind words, soft tongues, and lingering stolen caresses. She continued speaking hurriedly, her voice rising. 

“I could walk up to her door right now, and she’d give me food, she’d take me in and look after me, and I’d fall in love with her.” She snorted, and the pigeon blinked, looking away.

“I’ve already done her so much wrong. I can’t take anything more from her; I won’t!” She shouted the last word, thumping a hoof down into the blanket. In a panic at the sudden noise, the pigeon scrambled away with a loud squawk and took flight, out into the snowstorm, with a sharp clatter of wings. Trixie watched it vanish into the blurry whiteness outside, and buried her head in her forelegs with a long sigh, her sudden burst of anger evaporating.

She had been in the forest for a year, and yet she had never before found herself talking to the creatures. Maybe the fact that she wanted someone to talk to meant that she was healing. Maybe it meant she wanted to be a part of the world again; to end her quarantine. Maybe, she tentatively considered, she might even be ready.

Deep in thought, she began to rise for the morning, sitting up and heading, with a yawn, for the snowy light of day.

Her shelter may have survived but, as she crawled outside, her stiff joints cracking in the cold, she saw at once that her camp had not been so fortunate. She froze, and her blood chilled as she set eyes on the scene.

The snow was knee-deep, and there was no sign of her food-pit, or her fireplace, beneath the whiteness. However, that was not what had rendered her statuesque with shock. A splintered tree-trunk, thick as a hydra’s neck, lay fallen across the clearing, cutting a sharp trough into the frozen ground. It must have fallen with a crash to wake the dead but, in the uproar of the previous night’s gale, it had been merely another background noise.

A scrap of twisted metal poked out from beneath the branches and, as Trixie picked her way closer, heart hammering, she saw that her unfortunate cooking pot had been crumpled like a tin can by the impact.

Trixie knew perfectly well that if the tree had fallen just two metres to the left, her protective bubble would have shattered like sugar glass, and she would have been utterly erased. Her mind felt strangely blank; this was not the first time that her stay in the Everfree had brought her close to death, but somehow this was the most shocking. Wolves, bears, poison, disease and starvation all seemed like challenges to be avoided, but to be snuffed out on a whim of chance… this would, by far, have been the most cynical of ends.

She blinked, snapping herself out of the initial shock, and attempted to take stock of the situation. Her food was lost, but she had all but run out anyway. The dried fruit and chocolate had vanished far faster than she had intended, and all that had remained were a few remains of her original, blander haul. In the grand scheme of things, it was no great loss.

Pacing up and down, hauling her legs out of the blanket of snow with each step, she began to plan. Perhaps she was delusional. Indeed, that seemed more than likely by now, but she was not yet convinced that all was lost. The wind was gone, but the snow was falling as thickly as ever. 

She was freezing and hungry, she had nearly been killed in her fitful half-sleep, and she was refusing to return to the one pony who freely offered her shelter, warmth, and food. Any chance of surviving in the forest for much longer was nothing more than a fantasy and yet, somehow, the more apparent that fact became, the stronger Trixie clung to her imagined hope.

There’s a farm, she thought to herself. Her breath clouded up in a crystalline mist as she remembered the fields of apple trees that she had seen, as she looked out contemptuously from between the shafts of the caravan, on the final night of her pretence. A farm on the outskirts of Ponyville; nopony would see me in this weather. There’s bound to be winter storage, or some trees that haven’t been harvested yet. 

Her thoughts churned feverishly. I can do this. I don’t need to go back to her; I don’t need to do her any more damage. I can see this winter out, and get to Trottingham…

Her eyes filled with hot tears as the plan repeated over and over in her head. Deep down, she knew why. Another voice spoke up, an undercurrent, a thought that she had written down in a thousand different ways, that had always been there, ticking away in the back of her mind.

This forest will be the death of me.

Time was running out.

Shaking her head to force her thoughts away from such grim waters she spun on the spot, kneeled inside her shelter, and pulled out her blanket. With a hiss of magic, she draped the cloth over her back, knotting it around her neck like a cape. She immediately gave a sigh of relief as the chill bite of the whirling flakes lessened a little. Wrapped up in the pale-grey fabric, she was not only warmer, but she felt she would be all but invisible in the snow-filled morning.

The farm… she thought, feverishly. I’ll go to the farm. Hardly neutral territory, but there’ll be food there, and there might even be a disused shed or barn. Somewhere to hide, somewhere to sleep. Somewhere out of the cold.

She knew that finding her camp again would be difficult with the forest so disfigured by the winds and whiteness but, in all honesty, it did not matter. She had little property, and no reason to call this place anything close to a home. 

After confirming that her ever-reliable knife was still strapped securely to her leg, she seized her journal from the shelter, and stowed it in the folds of the blanket with a contemptuous glance at the little book. Then, struggling a little as she ploughed her way through the deep snow, she set off into the trees without a backwards look.


*


“I’ll be surprised if they’re gone. They’re persistent critters, I’ll give ‘em that.”

The farmhouse living room was filled with a pleasant crackling, and the holly-wreathed fireplace flickered with a pleasant, inviting warmth. Granny Smith sat in her rocking-chair, humming idly to herself as she gazed a little blearily into the flames, and Applebloom lay on the rug, happily sketching in her notebook with a set of bright wax crayons.

It was with heavy hearts, therefore, that Fluttershy and Applejack left the none-too-wintery atmosphere, and headed for the front door to inspect the effects of Zecora’s concoction. The snow had all but whited out the view from the windows, and for those warmly seated inside, it lent a pleasant, seasonal camaraderie to the air. The idea of going out into the teeth of the blizzard, however, was somewhat less appealing.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Fluttershy replied, toying thoughtfully with the end of her thick scarf, then turning to look at her friend as they reached the door. “It worked wonders on my allotments.” She sighed, pausing at the farmhouse’s threshold, looking almost guilty. “I feel bad about driving them away, to be honest,” she said in a small voice. “It’s a hard winter this year, and if they can’t find food…”

Applejack snorted quietly, but smiled reassuringly at the pegasus. “I reckon there’s enough windfall around ta feed an army of bugs,” she replied, waving a hoof. “The winds will’a made pretty darn sure of that, an’ they’re welcome to it.  just want ‘em to leave mah trees alone.”

Fluttershy nodded, breaking the farm-pony’s gaze. “Alright, then. I… I just don’t like the idea of any creatures having to live out in this.” Her eyes clouded over with some silent, internal worry, and Applejack looked across at her in concern. “I can’t… I can’t see anypony surviving long.”

The pegasus jumped a little as Applejack touched her gently on the shoulder, her eyes searching the timid pony’s gaze. “Something troublin’ you, sugarcube?”

Silently cursing the earth pony’s insight, Fluttershy shook her head, her cheeks flushing treacherously. “No… No, it’s fine. I always get a bit jittery in the winter.” She smiled, weakly. “I get so many animal visitors, it’s hard not to worry about them all. I’m… I know I’m silly.”

Applejack chuckled, although she did not appear quite convinced by Fluttershy’s stab at nonchalance. “I don’t see how that’s silly, Fluttershy,” she said, reaching out a hoof for the door handle. “You’re kind, and y’all should be the first to know that’s not the same thing as silly. We’re all mighty lucky ta know a pony like you.”

Fluttershy blushed still deeper, as she was eternally prone to do when complimented. She smiled, and would probably have replied, but at that moment Applejack pulled open the front door, and a blast of chill air and snowflakes struck them both into silence. Behind them, Granny Smith looked up irritably at the sudden cold.

“Whoa, Nelly!” exclaimed Applejack, clamping her hat more firmly down on her head, and grinning. It was obvious that she relished this kind of weather, for the challenge and variation it offered. “Well then, let’s git this over with.”

Fluttershy nodded, fluffing up the feathers in her wings, and the two mares trotted out into the snowstorm, their heads bowed.

Not ten paces after the front door had clicked shut behind them, the farmhouse was all but out of sight. Fluttershy did not mind helping her friends find humane resolutions to animal difficulties, but she privately wished that the animal would choose more opportune times to be difficult.

Applejack’s orchards, whilst largely bare of apples at this time of year, had fallen victim to the ravages of some unknown insect. According to the farm-pony’s rather panicked explanation, when she had come knocking on Fluttershy’s door several days ago, these creatures had taken to gnawing their way into the trunks of apple trees, feeding off the sap and making their homes within. Apparently they had already been forced to cut down four hopelessly damaged trees, much to Applejack’s distress, and more would likely follow if nothing was done.

Fluttershy sighed, quietly, the noise lost in the wind’s low whistle. She did not resent offering Applejack a helping hoof; quite the contrary, in fact. However, she could not get the image of that bedraggled, shivering sapphire-blue mare out of her mind. Every second she spent at the farm, every second she stood by and watched the blizzard’s grip tightening, felt like a condemnation. 

But what was she to do? She could hardly go out searching the Everfree. Indeed, she knew, deep down, that Trixie’s life was her own, and if the unicorn wanted to throw it away in trying to retain her untenable life in the wild, then that was her decision.

But somehow, she could not accept it. Fluttershy was not a mare who could rest easy with the knowledge that others were suffering, even if they were not her responsibility. Even though there was nothing that anypony could reasonably do to keep Trixie from harm, an insidious sense of helplessness gnawed in the pit of the canary mare’s stomach. She shook her head, minutely, forcing herself to concentrate upon the task at hand, and to not lose sight of Applejack’s silhouette, plodding along at her side in the snowstorm. This sort of irrationality, she knew, was the price of kindness.   

By the time they arrived at the affected field, the blizzard had thinned out a little. The mares no longer needed to walk with their eyes screwed half-shut, and although the snow still swirled around them, visibility had improved. The trees in this field were leafless and whitened, bearing all the hallmarks of winter’s touch. 

To Fluttershy’s surprise, a reasonable amount of brown, slightly leathery-looking apples still clung to boughs here and there. As Applejack explained, these trees had been imported from the northern territories, and grew hardy Griffongard Russets until late into the winter months.

The apples were not the only thing that made these trees unusual though. The trunks of each one glimmered with a vague, mottled greenish light, as if hundreds of glow-worms had congregated in clumps on the bark. Applejack let out a low whistle. Fluttershy smiled, noting her friend’s raised eyebrows.

“See the glow?” the pegasus asked, recognizing the effects of the potion from her own allotment. “It’s working.”

Applejack nodded. “I put two spoonfuls on their roots, and three on the big ‘uns, just like you said.” She trotted up to one of the trees, examining it closely, and gave a small exclamation of delight.

Fluttershy hung back, looking around at the trees. In a way, it was almost eerie; rank upon rank of jagged, skeletal branches, all aglow with that unique, shifting luminescence. She cast her eyes behind her, looking back towards the farmhouse, and let out a small gasp. 

Just for a second, she could have sworn that she had caught sight of something; a flash of unexpected movement near a row of disused tool-sheds that stood in a ramshackle clutter along the well-worn track. She had seen an equine figure, she was sure of it, standing pale-grey, barely distinguishable from the surrounding snow.

Search as she might, she could not catch sight of it again. She strained her eyes through the flurries of white, but no further movement caught her gaze. There was something about that particular tone of grey, some familiarity, that stirred her heart to rise and beat in her throat.

A hoof tapped her on the shoulder, and she squeaked, jolting violently as if electrocuted. She spun around, caught sight of Applejack, and immediately flushed hotly and looked away, feeling exceptionally foolish.

“Sorry!” The farm-pony pulled her hoof back, apologetically. “I didn’t mean ta scare ya’ll like that. I was just sayin’ that brew of Zecora’s worked a treat. No sign of the lil’ critters anywhere, and-” she broke off at the expression on Fluttershy’s face, concern etched in her gaze again. “…Sugarcube?”

“Y-yes, I’m… I thought I…” Fluttershy shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Applejack seemed, once again, unconvinced. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m worried about you, hon,” she said, quietly. “You’re just not yerself; not yerself at all.”

Fluttershy broke her friend’s gaze, looking down at her hooves. “I’m sorry, Applejack,” she murmured, her voice breaking a little. “I’m just… distracted at the moment.” She looked around, back up the track, but saw no signs of movement. That flash of grey… she did not know anypony of that colour, but its familiarity was tantalizing, dancing just out of reach.

She felt a hoof on her shoulder, and this time she did not flinch. “Okay, Fluttershy,” Applejack said, walking up to stand at her side, and looking back up towards the farmhouse, her tone one of understanding. “I’m not gonna hold it against ya’ll if you don’t wanna say what’s up. It’s just…” the earth pony looked suddenly wistful, and she broke off, shrugging. 

“Ya know. That whole mess with RD. You were always there, if’n I needed somepony to talk to.” She smiled almost shyly at the timid pegasus, her eyes a little brighter than usual. “It meant a lot ta me, Fluttershy, an’ if ya’ll ever need me to return the favour, if ya need to talk about anything… you do know I’m here, don’t ya?”

The canary mare let out a low sigh, but smiled nevertheless. Looking back on those months now, nopony had ever realistically expected such a turbulent relationship as Applejack’s and Rainbow Dash’s to remain written in stone for long. Their half-combative romance had always seemed to exist on borrowed time, but it had still come as a shock to all who knew them when they had finally fallen apart for good. 

Thanks largely to Fluttershy’s mediation and willingness to act as a go-between, the two mares had remained tentative friends. Indeed, if anything, their once-playful rivalry had grown all the more intense in the months since they had split.

Somehow, this train of thought led Fluttershy back to Trixie, and that bubbling sting of worry burned again in the pit of her stomach. Impulsively, in lieu of an immediate verbal response, she leaned across and embraced Applejack, wrapping a foreleg around her shoulder and leaning against the side of her warm neck. At first, the orange mare froze in surprise, but quickly recovered and responded in kind, recognizing the appreciative gesture.

“Thanks, AJ,” she whispered. “I… I’d like to talk, but just… not today. Not now.” She pulled back to meet the farm pony’s gaze, one foreleg still held tentatively around her neck. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Applejack smiled again. “'Course I don’t, sugarcube.”

In truth, Fluttershy did not know why she had not told her friend the truth about her worries; of the situation with Trixie. Somehow, it seemed crass or somehow inappropriate to drag such a bitter piece of the past back into the spotlight. Twilight was one thing; she seemed inextricably linked with the Ursa Minor debacle, and had not suffered any personal humiliation at the showmare’s hooves. but beyond her it seemed almost wrong to discuss the matter. In any case, Applejack would doubtless not take kindly to Trixie’s return.

She could not honestly say why, but the whole affair felt deeply personal; an intricate dance, played out in steps of stealth and gradual acceptance. It felt like an intrigue; almost intimate. It could not be rushed, for fear that the showmare might take fright and vanish. Fluttershy simply hoped with all her heart that the winter did not claim her midnight visitor before she could be coaxed out into the light.

Then, as she pulled away from her friend and looked ahead, she saw it again. She froze. This time, the glimpse of grey was behind a bare tree, making its way rapidly away from them, moving stealthily across a field to the west of the track. The figure, half-hidden by the whirling snow, had simply chosen the wrong moment to break cover. This time too, Fluttershy recognized the pale grey cloth of her gift all too easily, and she caught a flash of sapphire-blue beneath a makeshift hood. 

Somehow, perhaps an unwillingness to connect Trixie’s visits with her everyday life and friendships, she had not initially made the connection. How could she have been so stupid?

She’s here. Celestia knows why, but she’s here.

With a sudden spark of determination, she squared her shoulders. After every winter, there were always a few creatures, a few visitors, who no longer squeezed through the gap in her fence to see her. A few friendly faces, trapped by inexperience, halted by age or simply victims of fate, who never came back in from the cold.

She could not tell Applejack her intentions yet. She knew that the proud mare would treat this as a hunt; she would see the opportunity to settle an old score. She would come with her rope and her dog to chase down the intruder. That, Fluttershy knew, was not an option; she had to do this herself. She turned to the farm pony, a strange and rarely-seen glint of confidence shining in her eyes.

“There’s something I need to do,” she said, in a voice that was quiet but would brook no argument. “I’ve got to go; I’ll meet you back at the farmhouse.” She paused for a moment. “Thanks, AJ,” she whispered, gratefully nuzzling her friend’s cheek. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise.” Then, before the other mare could reply, she turned and strode purposefully away, off into the fields and the gently alighting snow.

She would not lose this one. It was time to bring the dance to an end.


*


Ten minutes earlier.

Pulling the blanket tighter around herself, Trixie trudged through the endless ranks of leafless trees, making her way from field to bare field, keeping low and sticking close to the hedgerows. It was unlikely that anypony would be out on a day like this, and even more so that she would be seen from a window, given her rudimentary camouflage and ample concealment offered by the weather.

Ahead, she could see a farm track, the crisp whiteness ground up to a muddy sludge by the passage of heavy hooves. At the side of the road stood a cluster of dilapidated wooden tool-sheds, and it was these that Trixie headed towards. Just along the track, she could make out an intriguing green glow, rising up from a field and eerily tinting the falling snow.

Apples… you can’t survive the winter on apples.

I’ll have no chance if I don’t try. It’s apples or nothing.

Well then, you’ll be dead in a snowdrift this time next week. Trixie, you need to go to her. I don’t know if it’s pride or fear or shame that’s stopping you, but she’s your only chance now.

I don’t want to lose myself like that again.

Some things are worth a broken heart, Trixie, but if you won’t accept that, there’s nothing I can do. If you’d rather die than fall for her, then go ahead.

Food first. I’ll think about these things later.

You’re always going to ‘think about things later’. There’s not going to be a later for you, before too long.

In truth, she had not counted on the farm being quite so large, or indeed so focused. Acre upon acre of fields spread out in every direction around the farmhouse, and the trees thus far had all seemed bare and skeletal.

What kind of farm only grows apples, anyway? she thought irritably. Still, there was always a chance of finding some kind of winter store. Arriving at the run-down sheds, she leaned out into the road, looking surreptitiously up and down the track. To her right stood the farmhouse, growing more visibly as the blizzard began to thin, and to her left was the source of that unearthly light.

Then, after a brief examination, Trixie’s eyes lit up. The strange glow was coming from a field of trees that stood some little distance along the road. More importantly, it seemed that the limbs of the trees were dotted with large, brown apples, despite their more-or-less leafless state.

I guess they need something to keep business going through the winter, she mused. She felt little or no thrill of success at this discovery; she was only aware of a strange detachment, as if she were a scarcely-interested observer of her own precarious life. Her existence was something maintained from day to day, and this was simply a means of prolonging that existence.

Then, just as she prepared to step out onto the track, she caught the hint of a mare’s voice, borne on the wind towards her. It was sharp and low-pitched with a pronounced country accent, and Trixie’s heart began to pump violently in fearful recognition. Suddenly, she was no longer a mere observer. 

She pulled her head back before she could catch a glimpse of the pony, but she recalled that voice all too well; she had last heard it immediately before magically hog-tying its owner in front of a large crowd. It was a cruel twist of fate, to encounter a mare who had even more of a reason to hate her than the rest of the ponies in this town.

Scrambling out of view, she backed quickly behind one of the rotting tool-sheds, and crouched down in the snow, praying that her protruding head had not been spotted. She certainly had no wish to reveal herself, particularly not in such a vulnerable state. She knew that her discovery would likely lead to ridicule at best and, at worst, violence. Realistically, she was in no condition to deal with either. In spite of the somewhat improved rations she had been given over the last few days, she was still cold and undernourished; still bearing the weakness that came with prolonged hunger.

The farm-pony approached, her voice sounding again, and Trixie realized that there were two sets of hoof-falls approaching, not just one. Although, whoever the country mare was talking to had a much lighter tread, almost inaudible at a greater distance. Then, the mare’s companion replied, and although her softly-spoken words were whipped away by wind and distance, there was no mistaking that voice.

An instant ago, Trixie’s insides had been squirming uncomfortably with apprehension. Now, however, it felt as if her insides had suddenly and entirely vanished.

That’s not fair. That’s not fair at all.

The voices had lapsed momentarily into silence, and Trixie sat, hugging herself with a barely-contained panic as the two ponies crunched by along the track, apparently heading for the field of mottled, shining trees. Sure enough, the hoof-falls halted. There was a silence, then a low, impressed whistle.

A short conversation followed, the participants’ voices low, the words once again lost to the weather, then all fell silent again. Underlying Trixie’s fear, only half-acknowledge, was a burning sense of frustration. Why had the pegasus chosen this place? This time? Trixie had tried to make a clean break of it, to cut herself off before things spiraled out of control, for both their sakes. She knew all too well that such a one-sided attraction could only lead to obsession and madness, and she had no wish to force this delicate, innocent mare to suffer at the hooves of a half-deranged stalker.

Gripped by a sudden curiosity, she stood, and crept around the side of the tool-shed. The voices had not resumed, and she half-hoped that the coast might now be clear. Taking a deep breath, her heart thumping almost painfully against her ribs, she leaned her hooded head around the rotting wooden wall. Sure enough, the leather-hatted earth pony whom she had humiliated was there, leaning down to inspect the trunk of one of the trees.

The mysterious pegasus was there, too; she was standing, facing away from Trixie, and looking around at the field with a small half-smile at her handiwork. Trixie stepped halfway out from behind the shed, teetering. She was unwilling to tear her gaze away, knowing that this was, in all likelihood, the last time she would see the mare. At the same time, she was wondering if she might be able to make a break for it, across the track into the other fields.

There was little point retracing her steps back to the Everfree; she had still not found any food, and privately, she wondered if there was any point in going back even if she did get her hooves on some supplies. The place, with its danger and solitude, no longer held the slightest attraction for her. She supposed, once again, that it could be a good sign that she no longer wanted to live alone. The only difficulty now lay in finding an alternative, trapped as she was between a death-trap of a forest, and a town that hated her.

Remember, there’s still a third option.

Then, before she could pursue the train of thought any further, the primrose mare turned idly on the spot, and her gaze swept straight across to where Trixie was still standing, like a fool, out in the open. With a barely-suppressed yelp of panic, she dived back out of sight, but the damage was already done. She sat in the snow, her head murky, filled with a hazing mix of fear and the image of those eyes, piercing and bright even through the falling snow.

She forced herself to remain calm, although she was half-expecting to hear hoof-falls approaching through the snow, towards her hiding place. She was not afraid of the canary pegasus, despite the cloud of complications that hung around her image in Trixie’s mind, but her agricultural friend was another matter entirely. She could not move now; even if the mare had only caught a glimpse of her movement, she would still be in a heightened state of alertness.

The voice of the farm-pony sounded again, laced with concern. This time, the concealed unicorn caught a few of the latter words: “…I’m worried about you, hon. You’re not yerself; not yerself at all.”

Oh Celestia, thought Trixie, a new wave of guilt breaking over her. She had not considered that this might occur. She’s worried about me. She knew I needed help, that’s why she gave me the blanket… then the blizzard came down, and I never came back to her house. She… she must think… She shied away from the thought. She had seen all too clearly how empathic a creature this mare was. Trixie’s sudden absence must be causing her untold worry.

If I stay, I’ll hurt her. If I go, I’ll hurt her, she thought, dejectedly. Down the road, the conversation had started again. The earth pony’s voice was quieter now, and once again it was impossible to make out her words. She seemed to be comforting the pegasus, judging by her tone. Trixie’s stomach squirmed with an undeniable pang of jealousy, and in that moment, she came to a decision.

I’ll go. I’ll get out of here while I can still bring myself to. She’s got her friends, she’ll forget about me soon enough. It’ll be better for both of us, in the end.

But how? Going back the way she came would be pointless. Waiting for them to return was risky, but then so was making a break for it. Chancing another look around the edge of the shed, she saw that the timid mare had gratefully embraced her friend, and neither of them were looking in Trixie’s direction. It was now or never. Seizing her moment, Trixie half-galloped, as quietly as she could, across the road. She prayed that the wind would conceal the crunching of her hooves. Reaching the opposite field, she began to dart from tree to tree, determinedly not looking back.

Soon enough she would be out of the pegasus’s range of vision; the snow would render her invisible. It was not without a vague pang of fearful loss that she walked away from the beautiful, mysterious mare. She had been thrown a line, or perhaps an olive branch, and she was walking away. The decision felt somehow final.

You’re an idiot, Trixie. I hope you know that.

She suppressed the thought. Once again, it was growing hard to think clearly in any meaningful capacity; she had, in all honesty, nowhere to go. She wondered idly if, by not responding to the mare’s invitation, she had committed suicide. It hardly seemed to matter.

Away from that mare, with no intention of ever looking into those eyes again, she realized the degree to which her life, and future intentions, had been tied to her. This last week, the pegasus had been the only thing preventing her from accepting the futility of her situation, the unwitting beacon to which she had tied her vague and transient hopes for a future beyond this winter.

Now, however, she saw her predicament in all its clarity. She could not return to the forest and expect to survive, she could not expect acceptance in Ponyville, and, for some reason, she would not accept the help of the one who offered it. This time, however, the sense of hopelessness did not send panic rising like bile in her throat. She was beyond caring.

Confusion was such an active word; it implied whirling thoughts and panic, but now that Trixie’s mind had settled, she realized that true confusion was a far more subtle and passive thing. She was blank. She did not know who she was, she did not know who she ought to be, and she did not, ultimately, know what she wanted. She had been so many ponies, she had set herself so many goals, she had wanted so many different things.

What did it matter if it all came to an end? What consistency was there to miss, or to be remembered? Somehow, strangely, the thought almost gave her hope. If her life mattered so little to her A million conflicting thoughts were the same as none at all, and a blank slate could be written upon afresh.

She supposed that, having come this far, she might as least see what supplies or shelter she could find. Vaulting the stile built into the well-kept wooden fence at the edge of the field, Trixie found herself near the farmhouse. This was a riskier venture, but it was, quite literally, more likely to bear fruit. Of course, she kept her guard up, ready to flee if anypony out walking on the farm caught sight of her.

For the best part of fifteen minutes, she searched, scanning fields and outbuildings. At length, nosing inside an old but well-maintained barn, several fields away from the farmhouse, she discovered six or seven bushels of the large, leathery-skinned apples, sitting in the shadows against the back wall. The building was large and draughty, but compared to the outside world, and with the benefit of Trixie’s winter coat, it was positively warm. One wall was stacked high with bales of old straw, and there was a windowless and dilapidated upstairs area, filled with all kinds of junk from broken plough-shafts to rusted pots.

Pensively, Trixie inspected her surroundings. She could not stay here in plain view, of course; the barn was still clearly in semi-regular use. However, if she were to cart some of the straw upstairs, it might be possible to make a hidden makeshift bed, towards the back of the dark and windowless storage space. She could become stronger with the warmth, and the few apples she skimmed off each bushel would surely not be noticed. She could wait out the blizzard up there, and maybe even strike out for Trottingham before the winter ended.

Above all, the most gratifying aspect was the knowledge that she would no longer be sponging food from the primrose mare, who seemed so determined to waste her kindness on a pony who refused to be helped. The thought of stealing still stuck in her throat, no matter the victim, but this was a farm; an industrial operation. It was still degrading, still amoral and unpleasant, but she found it a little easier to rationalize. Besides, it would not be for long.

How many times have I heard this, Trixie? This is just as transparent and fragile as all your other plans.

In truth, it was impossible to tell how realistic her intentions were. All she wanted at that point was to eat and rest, out of the snow and the biting wind.

Prizing the lid from one of the bushels, Trixie magically grabbed three apples, dropped two down onto the lid, and crunched into the first. It was a little sour, but at that moment she was not complaining. She knew that she could not survive on these apples alone, and that she would be all but unable to move from stomach pains the next day if she ate too many, but at least they took the edge off her hunger. If she needed additional sustenance, she supposed that the straw was perfectly digestible.

Animal food, she thought, wryly.

She was so engrossed in her first proper meal of the day, too caught between the indolent acceptance of her fate and the suddenly-rekindled will to survive, that she did not hear the mouse-quiet creak as the door of the barn was pushed gently ajar behind her. She did not hear delicate steps approaching behind her.

All she knew was that a hoof had suddenly touched her, gently, on the shoulder.

The next few seconds would be indelibly burned into her memory. She inhaled sharply, choking on her mouthful of apple, and jolted in shock, immediately coughing up the sliver of fruit that she had inhaled. In that split-second, she was only aware of one thought; she had been found. She had been found by the orange mare who owned the farm, out for revenge, or perhaps by one of the assistants, come to make a delivery of apples to the barn. She needed to flee, before they could tie her up and question her. She needed to get away.

Almost instantly, she spun on the spot, giving a strangulated cry of shock that was halfway between choking and screaming, her horn flaring in reflexive defence. She did not intend to attack, but her instincts had acted in her stead before she could stop them. She lashed out with a whipping fist of bright, flaring magic, catching the pony behind her hard in the face as she turned.

She was not a powerful unicorn; she could not wield much strength with her horn alone, but it was enough. The pony spun from the blow and staggered backwards. Her head cracked hard against the doorframe, and she sank to the straw-strewn floor. Her face was suddenly illuminated by the weak winter light as she lay on her back, looking up at her attacker with those enormous aqua eyes. Her gaze registered nothing but shock, and a trickle of blood ran down her forehead from a jagged, inch-long cut on her temple.

The world seemed to take a breath.

Trixie stood as still as a statue, staring down into those tearful eyes, unable to face the silent, agonized question that burned in them: why?

It was a question she could never answer.

This was not possible. It did not make sense. She could not have made a mistake of this magnitude; her mind refused to accept it. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a hoarse, grating sound.

Another moment. Another beat of silence. All was still. The first drop of blood trickled to the base of the mare’s cheek, clinging for an instant to her jaw. Her lip was trembling, but there was no fear in those eyes.

The first drop of blood fell; the first tick of the metronome.

Trixie ran.

She had never run so fast in her life. She did not care where she was going; she did not care if she was seen. They could hunt her, they could lynch her. She welcomed them. The farmhouse was gone, lost far behind her in the snow. The barn was lost too, the one pony who cared for her left bleeding inside, one more betrayal for the seemingly-endless tally.

She slipped on the slushy track, turning over a hoof and catching her knee painfully on a fencepost, but she stayed standing, and did not slacken her pace. She ran through fields, rank upon rank of wooden skeletons staring down accusingly at her.

I want to die.

It was the first time she had acknowledged the thought; the first time her ambivalence to survival had turned full-circle. Once, this world had merely meant little to her. Now, she wanted more than anything to be rid of it. She was beyond the farm now, the Everfree looming ahead of her in the whirling snow. Her home; her tomb.

Then, before she knew it, she was amongst the tree-trunks, wilder than the regimented farm, more dangerous, more like home. Her blanket was still wrapped around her, but her face and hooves were numb with cold. She could have been running for a minute or an hour; it did not matter. Time was irrelevant. She did not feel tired, at any rate.

She did not know where she was; she did not recognize this trackless place.

It was easily a mile from the farmhouse to the Everfree, and in these conditions she should be exhausted, but she felt nothing. She could not think; she refused to think about what she had done.

Why am I not tired?

Then, with that thought, her strength was utterly gone.

She was standing, shivering, in a clearing. The snow here was crisp and white, untouched by animal or pony. The weak, dappled sunlight spotted the ground, and the snow was beginning to encrust her back and neck. The corners of her vision were white, and stars burst in her eyes, sparkling and glittering. She was suddenly acutely aware of the sweat on her neck.

She had no sense of falling. All she knew was that her knees were no longer holding her upright. Her face was resting on the ground, a cold wetness seeping through her makeshift hood.

Her vision wavered. That was good; it was better to avoid a protracted ending to such a sporadic, disjointed story as hers.

This forest will be the death of me; I have known that much from the start.

She did not close her eyes of her own volition, but her eyelids felt unbearably heavy, and they fell inexorably; a drawing-down of blinds at the end of the day. The last thing she saw before the world turned black was the light, cut into angular beams by the bear trees, and those eyes. Deep, aqua, tearful but forgiving.

I owe you this.

She felt herself falling; fading. She smiled to herself.

Oblivion was so much simpler.
	 
	
> V: The Zephyr and the Storm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
By Ardensfax



Chapter Five
The Zephyr and the Storm

All was silent. A still, comforting darkness pressed in on all sides, and she was free from thought, from pain, from guilt.

In truth, if this was death, it was a pleasant enough state. A deep, soothing warmth that she had not felt in months soaked through her. A voice, gentle and indistinct, was murmuring in her ear, its words indecipherable but its tone unmistakably one of reassurance. She could feel long, sweeping caresses running the length of her neck and back.

“You’re nearly there,” the voice of gentle encouragement sounded again, the words clearer this time. “Please wake up for me, Trixie.”

Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy. Then, with a dull sense of foreboding, Trixie realized that she was aware of her body. That could only mean one thing; she was still alive. Somehow, incredibly, she had survived.

She shifted in place, ever so slightly. Her extremities were utterly numb, but that pleasant warmth still washed over her. Some soft, thick fabric lay across her midriff, and the surface beneath her was plush and yielding.

Above her, she heard a sigh of relief, and felt its bloom of breath dancing against her ear. “Oh, thank goodness.”

With an enormous effort of will, Trixie cracked her eyes open. She was dazzled for a moment by the light, but as her vision adjusted, the room gradually came into focus. She was lying on her back, on a large and comfortable sofa. A duvet lay over her supine form, much thicker and warmer than the blanket that had been her only source of warmth for the last few days. The room was full of the warm crackle of flames, and occasionally a low hum of birdsong broke the air.

None of that mattered, though.

She was looking straight into those deep, aquamarine eyes. The primrose pegasus was leaning over her, a concerned, fearful sympathy etched in her gaze. A large sticking plaster covered much of her right temple, but there were still a few flecks of dried blood spattered across her forehead. The mare gave a small, shy smile.

“How do you feel?”

There was nothing that Trixie could do, but for some reason, no panic rose in her throat, and her heart did not begin to hammer. She could no longer summon up any will or reason to try and leave. She was still only semi-lucid, but was aware of half-rising into a sitting position, the duvet falling away from her. She gazed unblinkingly at the pegasus, feeling all but transfixed.

The mare blushed a little at being watched so intently, but spoke firmly. “Please lie down, you’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Trixie opened her mouth to speak. She needed to apologize, she had to apologize for so much more than could be expressed in the petty, transient world of words. She needed to know who this mare was, to know why she cared, to know how she could possibly have brought Trixie back alive. She needed to speak, but she could not summon even a single word.

Her throat was choked up, and her eyes suddenly stung hot with tears as the cruel claws of perspective dug into her mind again. This time, though, they felt weakened by the warmth of the air and the kindness of this mare’s gaze.

I have to go… I’ve taken so much from her, I already owe her so much, I… The train of thought slowed, tailed away, and then, at long last, burned out once and for all. She gave in. Oh Celestia, what’s the use?

The final remnants of her old, rhetorical façade crumbled away like ashes in the wind. She wanted to stay here; she wanted to care and be cared for. Idiotic unrequited attractions be damned, she wanted to talk and listen and laugh again. She wanted to be a part of the world again.

Before she so much as realized what she was doing, Trixie had embraced the mare whose name she did not know, pulling her close in a tight, impulsive hug.

She began to cry openly, and buried her face into the pegasus’s shoulder. For a second, the pony in her forelegs froze with surprise, giving a miniscule squeak, but then she gradually relaxed, reciprocating the embrace with a small, happy sigh. The primrose mare, visibly relieved that Trixie was no longer trying to run away from her, sank down on the couch beside the shaking unicorn. She began gently stroking Trixie’s mane as she sobbed, the sapphire mare’s tears soaking into the silk-soft fur of her shoulder.

Trixie tried to form words, tried to force an apology from her mutinous throat, but was met with little success. The pegasus seemed to understand what she was trying to communicate however.

“Shh,” she cooed, murmuring into Trixie’s ear. “I don’t want you to apologize to me.” That voice, heard at such intimate proximity, made the hairs rise on the former showmare’s neck.

“I… b-but I…”

“No!” The mare cut across Trixie’s muffled, broken words, her voice dropping to a whisper, but somehow sharper and more insistent as she cradled the tearful unicorn closer to her. “I want you to get better. I want to help you, not blame you.”

Still, Trixie clung to the mare as if she alone were buoyant and warm, suspended in a freezing ocean. She realized, with a rush of emotion, that this was the first time she had touched, or had any close contact with another pony in over a year. Somehow, the thought caused the flow of tears to redouble. Perhaps she had half-forgotten what an embrace felt like, or perhaps this mare truly was unique. Nevertheless, she felt her fear and uncertainty, even some measure of her guilt, draining away.

For those few precious minutes, all that needed to exist was the pony in her hooves, the velvet softness of her fur, her glowing warmth, the caress of her voice… At that moment, Trixie felt no romantic desire or erotic pleasure from the contact, reveling instead in the simple affection of the gesture.

Very briefly, her throat re-opened itself, allowing her to phrase one simple question. It was a question that had haunted her waking and sleeping mind for the past few days, one with such a range of possible answers that it seemed almost crass to couch it in such blunt terms.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Fluttershy,” the pegasus whispered, still stroking Trixie’s mane in long, calming sweeps. The unicorn felt her sobs lessening in intensity and frequency as she turned the name over in her mind, connecting it with the face she felt she knew so well. It was a good fit, she decided.

“W-why did you… why save me?” she asked haltingly, still a little choked. “I didn’t deserve it; I hurt you.”

“I’ve looked after creatures all my life,” murmured Fluttershy. Trixie was almost a perfect stranger to her, but she seemed to understand how starved the unicorn was of comfort, and how much she needed reassurance, for she made no attempt to pull away from the hug. Instead, she lay down beside the tearful sapphire mare, so that they were facing each other on the sofa, and she continued to cradle her warmly in her forelegs as she spoke. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been bitten or scratched, but every time, I know that they lashed out because they were afraid, not because they meant to hurt me. It doesn’t make me want to help them any less. It didn’t make me want to help you any less.”

“But...”

“It was my fault,” said the pegasus, firmly. “I should have said something to you, I shouldn’t have crept up on you like that. I was a fool, and you paid the price for it. If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you.”

Trixie closed her eyes; meeting that gentle aquamarine gaze was almost painful. “I’ve got more than just… just today to apologize for though, haven’t I?” she muttered. “And the food; the blanket, all of it… after what I’d done, most ponies would’ve left me to die. Why help me?”

She felt the pegasus lean in, shyly nuzzling away the final tear that had encroached onto Trixie’s cheek. “Because you needed help,” she whispered, simply.

Fluttershy let the comfortable silence hang for a moment.“Anyway, you were in the early stages of hypothermia when I found you,” she continued, quietly, a slight shake in her tone. “I went after you; I followed your tracks. You were…” Her voice broke a little. “I thought you were… I thought I was too late. I found you lying in a snowdrift, and the look on your face was just… I’ll be honest, you looked glad to be there,” as she finished the sentence, a note of something close to fear had crept into her voice.

“So, I brought you back,” she added, softly. “My house was near, and there wasn’t time to get you to the hospital. You needed to warm up gradually, otherwise you may well have lost a hoof to frostbite.”

Trixie tried to reply, but even such a simple action as speech was suddenly exhausting to her. In truth, the situation still felt like a dream to her; tiredness weighed her down and her legs still pulsed with the numbing ache that comes after prolonged cold.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper at length, relaxing in the grip of the mare who had saved her life. Fluttershy felt so impossibly, soporifically warm; her fur was shifting satin, the beat of her heart steady and reassuring. Trixie could feel sleep rising inside her, her eyelids like lead weights.

Thoughts swirled idly in her head, as she felt Fluttershy cuddle closer to her. For such an obviously shy mare, the tender gesture was surprising, particularly towards a pony she barely knew; a pony who had proven herself to be unpredictable and dangerous. Somehow, though, the embrace did not seem simply an act of giving.

It crossed Trixie’s mind that maybe this mare needed comfort and affection every bit as much as she herself did. Maybe that was why she kept so many animals; to keep at bay the loneliness that would undoubtedly come with such a retiring personality. Maybe she saw in Trixie a kindred spirit; those same years of isolation that never could be left behind. The unicorn had seen it all too plainly in those aquamarine eyes; a hint of remembered solitude.

It was true that they had only met and exchanged their first words mere minutes ago, but it would be a lie to suggest that these mares did not know one another.

With a small sigh, Trixie gently nuzzled at Fluttershy's shoulder, this time intending to offer a comforting gesture of her own, rather than taking reassurance herself. Physicality in this way was its own language; the nuances of a warm, drowsy embrace could speak in far more detail than Trixie could meaningfully articulate.

Softly, the pegasus resumed the stroking of Trixie’s mane, her voice falling to a comforting murmur. “You just rest now. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

“I know,” Trixie mumbled, feeling herself drifting away. So will you, she added in her mind; although, she did not speak the words aloud.

Before sleep took her, the last thought that flitted across her mind was that she would gladly spend the rest of her days resting in the embrace of this mare. After a year of hardship and isolation, it was remarkable how warm this winter suddenly felt.


*


The morning was wearing on into early afternoon, but Fluttershy never let her slumbering charge out of her sight. After she was quite sure that Trixie was peacefully asleep, it was not without a little reluctance that she pulled carefully away from the unicorn’s embrace, to make some lunch and feed her animals.

Her behaviour had been strange, she reflected as waited for the kettle to come to a boil. Ordinarily, she could scarcely talk to ponies she did not know, let alone embrace them and whisper comfort in their ears without so much as a trace of a blush. 

She glanced through into the living room, and smiled at the sight of Trixie’s sleeping form. This time, her cheeks did colour a little, thinking back on how open and unguarded she had been with her affection. She knew all too well how it would have looked to an outsider, but she trusted Trixie to not misread her kindness.

Despite everything, she could not help but trust the mare. More than that; she felt as if she knew her, or understood her at the very least. Trixie had quite obviously spent far too much of her life in solitude; she needed comfort and reassurance. Above all, she needed somepony else to offer her affection, and a willing ear. In truth, Fluttershy sometimes wondered if she needed much the same. Her friends were wonderfully supportive, but none of them had experienced the same long, friendless years that she had.

Looking back, she had been clinging to Trixie every bit as urgently as the former showmare had held onto her. It had felt like symbiosis; a mutual comfort and kindness that none of her friends, equine or animal, could quite provide her with. She sighed minutely, as she idly cobbled together a hay-and-daisy sandwich, but the sound was a contented one.

Later that day, she knew she needed to visit Applejack, and apologize profusely for the confusion and worry she had doubtlessly caused her friend. She had no idea what she was going to say; she hoped the farm-pony would accept the truth without being too difficult about the matter of Trixie. Regarding the unicorn, Fluttershy knew very few answers herself about Trixie’s motivation or true personality, so answering Applejack’s inevitable questions would be all but impossible.

Her head still throbbed a little from where it had struck the hard wooden doorframe, but to her relief, she had apparently avoided a concussion. In truth, she was burning with questions of her own. 

Now that Trixie was willing to stay, now that she was allowing Fluttershy to give her the care she so obviously needed, the pegasus reflected that she might be able to find some answers to the many mysteries that surrounded the sapphire mare. What had Trixie been doing in the forest? Had she been there ever since she had run away from Ponyville? What had driven her to the life she had led before?

Suppressing a slight shudder, Fluttershy could not help but wonder if Trixie’s overbearing, arrogant personality would return the moment she had recovered her strength and independence. However, she somehow doubted that it would. Something had changed in the unicorn’s eyes, and the way she had embraced Fluttershy had communicated a kind of desperation, as if she had been utterly lost, and simply needed somepony to whom she could cling.

Maybe Trixie would remember her from before; a silent, nervous face in the crowd, unable to step forward and provide a challenge of her own. Fluttershy had watched in silence, indignant at the treatment of her friends, but somehow unable to conjure any emotion but pity for the mare on the stage. She had known at the time that here was a pony who lived behind a mask. Now, however, seeing through the broken façade, it was difficult to imagine the former showmare returning to the life that had damaged her so deeply.

But without that life, Fluttershy wondered, what did Trixie have in its place? Another mystery that she would have to address, as soon as the unicorn was once again lucid.

She was walking across the living room, lost in introspection and bearing two bowls of animal feed, when somepony rapped loudly on the door. Fluttershy jumped, and one of the bowls clattered to the floor, scattering vegetables across the hearthrug.

Hoping that the knocking had not awoken Trixie, she trotted to the door as quietly as possible, leaving the bowl where it lay for the moment. Just before she could open the door, whoever was waiting on the doorstep knocked again, hard and impatient.

“I’m coming, I’m—” The words died in her throat as she pulled the door ajar. She hung her head shamefacedly, blushing at the sight of her visitor. She should have expected this. It was Applejack, and the look on her face was torn somewhere between concern and anger.

“Thank Celestia, you’re here! Now what in the hay is goin’—”

“Shh!” Fluttershy waved her down, stepping outside to join her friend, and pulling the front door shut behind them, so that they could talk without fear of disturbing the resting Trixie.

As soon as they were both outside, she took a deep breath, meeting the farm-pony’s eyes. “I’m really, really sorry to run off on you like that, AJ,” she blurted out, watching Applejack’s expression, anxiously. The mare seemed more worried than annoyed, but nevertheless, Fluttershy realized that it was time to come clean.

When Applejack spoke again, her voice was quieter. “Sugarcube, what’s goin’ on? And what happened to your head?” She gestured towards the sticking plaster across Fluttershy’s temple, noting with slight alarm the flecks of blood still caught in her fur.

“Applejack, I need you to promise me not to tell anypony about this; not even the girls.” The pegasus pawed nervously at the ground. “And… I need you to hear me out, okay?”

The earth pony nodded, a little grimly, as if prepared for the worst. “I’m listenin’.”

“I needed to go and find somepony,” Fluttershy began, quietly. “She was nearly dead when I caught up with her, if I’d wasted any time explaining I’d have lost her. She’s been living out in the Everfree forest, and she’s been coming into my garden to take food. She needed my help, and I saw her on the farm earlier… I had to go after her, and bring her back.”

Applejack scratched the back of her head with a forehoof, looking a little puzzled. “Somepony’s been loiterin’ in your garden? Ya’ll should’ve told me, I’d have come with ya.”

“Yes, but… AJ, promise me you’ll hear me out in this. She’s different now, she really is.” Fluttershy gulped, minutely, utterly unsure of how her friend would react. After Trixie had first run away, Applejack’s comments about her had probably been the least complimentary, perhaps after Rainbow Dash’s.

“Who is it, hon?” The orange mare’s gaze was deliberately impassive.

“It’s… It’s Trixie,” Fluttershy muttered. “Remember her? She’s resting inside now, when I found her she was almost dead from the cold, and she needs sleep. That’s why I wanted you to keep your voice down.”

Applejack’s eyes had widened. “Trixie?” She raised one eyebrow, snorting a little. “Well, I’ll be danged. She’s got some nerve showin’ up in these parts again.” She made a move for the front door. “There’s a few things I’d like to ask her, if that’s—”

“It’s not okay,” said Fluttershy firmly, moving to block her friend’s path. “She needs sleep. She nearly died, Applejack. I know she tied you up, and if you want her to apologize you can talk to her later. I can’t stop you from going in, you know I can’t, but… please don’t.” Her voice was almost a whisper by the final word. When she looked up and met Applejack’s gaze again, she was surprised to see an expression of something close to hurt on her face.

“Ya think it’s because she tied me up?” The earth pony’s voice was almost as quiet as Fluttershy’s, but far less calm. “No. No, it wasn’t that. Obviously, I don’t think any more of her for doin’ that, but it don’t really make any odds.” She shook her head. “She was a coward, Fluttershy. She nearly got everypony I care for killed, but did she stay an’ face the music? Did she apologize?” Her voice rose as she spat out the last word. “No. She ran away, an’ that’s what I can’t forgive.”

Fluttershy raised a forehoof in surrender. “Look, AJ. I… I know what she did was wrong, but I think she does too. She seems different now. Please, just let her rest. I know it sounds like hindsight talking, but when I saw her up on that stage I felt… I felt sorry for her. She was hiding from something, hiding behind her act. There’s more to her than what you saw, AJ. I know it.”

Applejack looked exasperated. “Ya felt sorry for her? Fluttershy, I know you try an’ see the best in everypony, but there’s gotta be a limit! How come you didn’t even trust me enough ta tell me what was goin’ on?”

“I do trust you, AJ,” Fluttershy murmured, her tone placating. “But I didn’t tell you, because I knew you’d react like this.”

“What happened to your head?” Applejack pointed at the injury, ignoring her friend’s question and changing the subject brusquely. Fluttershy felt her heart sink.

“Oh… It’s nothing, it’s just—”

“Did she do that to you?” The farm-pony’s voice rose in anger.

Fluttershy’s tone was almost pleading now. “AJ, it wasn’t her fault…”

“She did! She hurt you, didn’t she?”

“She didn’t mean to, she just—”

Applejack snorted, furiously. “Okay, Fluttershy,” she snapped, obviously forcing herself to remain calm. “I’m not gonna go barging into your house if’n ya don’t want me to. But you tell her from me; once she’s got her strength back, she’d better have some damn good answers. Tell her that she’s gonna have to answer to me, because nopony hurts mah friends.”

The pegasus felt a cold spike of anger flare up in her chest. “I’m not telling her anything,” she said, quietly, her voice suddenly icy. “I found her, I brought her back, and I don’t care that she hurt me. She was terrified and she lashed out, and I don’t hold that against her. She’s my responsibility, and she’s nopony else’s business.”

“The hay she ain’t!” Applejack’s voice rose indignantly. “What about when she gets better, eh? Have ya’ll thought about that? When she gets all better an’ goes off, an’ leaves ya in the dust, how’s all that kindness gonna look then? I know ponies like that, Fluttershy. They don’t change, an’ you’re a fool if you think she will!”

“Oh really?” Fluttershy’s voice had risen too, and her wings had flared angrily. “Well, I’ve got news for you, AJ. Just because you’ve got no faith in ponies anymore, that doesn’t mean that I’ve become just as cynical. You’ve always been so impatient; you’ve got to dive right in and make a mess of everything! And you know what?” She was actually hovering a few inches above the ground now. “If you’d been able to slow down a little, maybe Rainbow Dash would still be in your bed, and not Pinkie Pie’s!”

As soon as the words crossed her lips, she knew how cruel they were, but she could not help but derive a sense of vindictive pleasure from Applejack’s expression. She looked as if Fluttershy had kicked her in the face. The words must have hurt ten times more for coming from the one mare who had helped her through the painful, messy separation. In truth, the pegasus knew that she was being unfair, that faults lay with both sides and that the split had been mutual, but Applejack had expressed the one nagging fear that had been lurking in the back of Fluttershy’s own mind.

What about when she gets better?

Applejack showed no sign of speaking. She was gazing at Fluttershy with an expression that was quite unreadable. Turning away from the silent farm-pony, the pegasus stalked back inside her house without a backwards glance, and shut the door with a sharp click. There was nothing more to be said.

Then, all was silent. Now that she was alone, now she had time to collect her thoughts, the cold enjoyment drained from her chest. Rapidly, it was replaced by a terrible, clawing, acidic guilt. Her eyes filled with tears; she still believed that Applejack had no right to come barging in and further traumatizing a mare who needed peace and comfort, but Fluttershy knew that deliberately twisting the knife in an already deep wound was quite unforgivable of her, no matter the circumstances.

You can be a cruel mare when you want to be, Fluttershy.

She looked quickly across the room at the couch, and was relieved to see that Trixie was still deeply asleep.

I don’t want to be cruel.

You know what the solution is, then.

That was the worst part of these times; times when her reserves of courage turned sour, and led her to acts of cruelty. There was always the time when she was forced to confront what she had said, and the damage that she could so easily have done. It was a lesson she had learned months ago, when her newfound confidence had run away with her; the expressions of horrified shock on Rarity and Pinkie Pie's faces still haunted her memory. Cruelty was delicious at the time, but its aftertaste was incredibly bitter.

With an inwardly-directed groan, she turned back to the door, her eyes still shining with tears. She did not want to do this; she did not have to face the things she had just said to one of her best friends, but it was the only solution.

The pulled the door ajar again, the first silent tear soaking into the fur of her cheek. To her surprise, Applejack was still there, her expression still impossible to read. Fluttershy hung her head, stepping shyly out to face her friend.

“AJ…” she murmured, tentatively. “AJ, I’m… I’m…”

"Say it." Applejack's gaze was fixed intently upon her, although Fluttershy could see no anger in her gaze. "Say you're sorry." She bit her lip. "I… I just need t'hear it before I can talk about this, 'kay?"

"Oh Celestia, Applejack, I'm sorry." The words constricted themselves in the back of Fluttershy's throat, but she spoke them without hesitation. "That was horrible of me, I never meant, I just..." Her voice trailed weakly away, and silence fell between them for a few moments.

When she spoke, Applejack’s voice was scarcely audible. “You’re right, that’s what you are. You're sorry for sayin' it, but neither of us can rightly say it ain't true.”

Fluttershy shook her head. “No…. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I’ve got no business interfering, Fluttershy.” The farm pony sighed. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight, I jus' saw red when I heard she was here. If'n you believe she’s different now, then I oughta trust your judgment.”

The pegasus sniffed. “But… I mean, what I said about you and Rainbow. I didn’t mean it; not for a second. I’m so, so sorry AJ, that was cruel of me.” She pawed at the ground again, blinking hard.

Applejack gave a wan smile. “You were afraid, ‘Shy. You were afraid of what I was gonna do, an’ I reckon you were even a little afraid that I might turn out to be right about her. Jus' for a second, y'all wanted to hurt me to stop me from hurting her. You were scared, an’ you lashed out.” She gestured to the scabbed-over cut on Fluttershy's forehead. “If you can forgive gettin' hurt that way so easily, then I don’t see why I can’t, too. We’ll say no more about it, ‘kay?” She reached out, offering her forehoof.

Smiling shyly, Fluttershy touched the pad of her forehoof to her friend's. “Thanks, AJ,” she whispered warmly.

“I’m not sayin’ I’m happy about this,” Applejack warned, quietly. “I trust you, an’ if you vouch for her then I guess that’s fine by me, but she’s got a long way to go before I’ll trust her.” She suddenly looked deadly serious. “I’m not gonna hold a grudge against her, an I don’t wanna go interrogatin’ her about stuff in the past; you’re gonna learn the truth about all that yourself, I’d wager. But there’s one thing I won’t go back on; if she hurts you, if she lets you down, then she really will have me to answer to.”

Fluttershy blinked back tears again, nuzzling her friend’s cheek in gratitude. “That’s fine by me,” she murmured. “But I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Pulling back, she met the farm-pony’s eyes with a look of slight concern. “You won’t tell anypony about her, will you?”

Applejack nodded, solemnly. “Not until you give the word, sugarcube.”

The pegasus smiled, breathing a small sigh of relief.

You need to be careful where you direct your anger, Fluttershy.

It made her stop and think, didn’t it? And what happened? She calmed down, thought about what she was doing, and listened to me.

Don’t try to rationalize this; it was a horrible thing to say, and you can’t make excuses for it. Couldn’t you see how defensive you were? You’ve found somepony else you genuinely care about, Fluttershy, but unlike the others, this one needs protecting. You’ve seen how aggressive animals become when they’re nesting; when they’ve got something to defend. The worst part is, whenever you're cruel, whenever you get that power over others, some little part of you likes it. Can’t you see how dangerous that makes you?

It’s not like that at all, I…

It doesn’t matter what it’s ‘like’. That protectiveness is there, it doesn’t matter what emotions have stirred it up. You have an urge to look after those in need; you’d behave in the same way if your animals were threatened. But you need to understand that you can't say things like that to your friends; not if you want to keep your friends. You were lucky that AJ could see why you said what you did; if she thought you really meant all that, you'd have lost her. You'd have deserved to lose her. There are two sides to you, Fluttershy. You’d just better remember which side your friends deserve.

Behind her, Trixie mumbled something incoherent in her sleep, half-rolling over, her face for once untroubled and peaceful. All too often, a pony’s character could be read quite plainly in their unguarded sleep, and not a hint of the old arrogant sneer could be seen blighting Trixie’s features, which, without the mask of condescension, were remarkably soft and pleasant. It was the face of a pony willing to rebuild herself, and who, this time, might just be able to change for the better.

Trixie would not abandon her; of that Fluttershy had no doubt. Looking at the sleeping mare, she knew that she had nothing to fear. Except, maybe, from herself.

Perhaps it would not be easy, but the future certainly looked to be an interesting one.
	
> VI: The Halves and the Whole
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
By Ardensfax



Chapter Six
The Halves and the Whole

“Do you feel strong enough to eat?”

The sun was beginning to sink below the western horizon, and Trixie had awoken from the first truly restful nap that she had enjoyed for the better part of a year. Sleeping in the Everfree was rarely comfortable, and her rest had been eternally haunted with the knowledge that she may be forced to wake at a moment’s notice, should one of the forest’s less desirable residents happen upon her camp.

The unicorn had come around from her slumber with a small smile on her lips. She felt far stronger than earlier, and the numbness had largely retreated from her limbs, although there was a weight in her sinuses that could herald the first signs of a cold. She noticed, with gratitude, that a hot water bottle had been tucked thoughtfully between her forelegs, and that the mare responsible was resting in a nearby armchair. The pegasus quietly sipped from a mug of hot chocolate.

At Fluttershy’s question, Trixie suddenly became aware of how painfully empty her stomach was. She shifted a little, and it let out a loud growl. The pegasus giggled. “I guess that’s as good an answer as any.”

Trixie smiled, her cheeks colouring. “Sorry!” She gave a faux-grimace. “Food sounds wonderful, but…” she bit her lip, meeting her host’s eyes a little guiltily. “I don’t really feel right sponging off you like this. I mean, I still owe you an explanation for everything, don’t I?”

Fluttershy waved her down. “I’ve always got more than enough food from the allotments, and half of the animals are hibernating, so I’ve always got plenty left over in the winter.”

She stood, trotting over to the supine mare, and knelt down to meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to explain anything to me, until you feel strong enough. Look at you; you’re starving, Trixie. I mean, of course there are some things I’d like to know. The last time you were here, you were a little…” she broke Trixie’s gaze, and the unicorn shifted guiltily, “…different.”

Fluttershy met the former showmare’s eyes again, and Trixie gave her a reassuring smile. “But I won’t ask for your story until you’re good and ready to tell me.” She spoke briskly, with an air of finality, and leaned over to pull the warm covers up to the unicorn’s chin. In a strange way, the gesture was almost maternal.

“Hey...” Trixie’s eyes widened a little, as something occurred to her which did not seem to quite add up. “You found me in the middle of the Everfree, right?” Her expression was thoughtful. “How in Equestria did you get me back? I wasn’t even conscious.”

There was no doubt about it; Fluttershy did not meet Trixie’s eyes. She looked suddenly evasive, and a pinkish tinge stained her cheeks. “Oh,” she mumbled, her tongue tripping over even such a simple sound. “I just… I guess I improvised, that’s all.”

Trixie decided not to push the subject. Her eyelids were leaden again, and in any case, Fluttershy had been kind enough not to press her for information that she had no desire to reveal. It was the least she could do to return the favour. “Oh… okay then,” she replied, stifling a yawn.

“Now,” Fluttershy smiled down at her charge, obviously grateful that Trixie had let drop the matter of her rescue. “I think you need something warming, after all that time out in the snow. How do omelettes sound?”

Trixie grinned a little embarrassedly, as the suggestion set her stomach rumbling again. “I like the sound of that. Thanks, Fluttershy.” It was the first time she had used the primrose pegasus’s name aloud. The thought gave her a strange sense of contentment, which must have shown on her face, because Fluttershy giggled again.

“You really are different, aren’t you?” she said, softly. “I mean, seeing you up on stage, you were so…” she tailed off.

“Horrible?” Trixie suggested, rolling her eyes.

“I was going to say overconfident, but… well, yes,” Fluttershy conceded with a small smile, but her eyes were both intrigued and concerned. “Was that really who you were back then?”

“I thought it was for a while,” muttered the unicorn, shortly. She realized her response sounded unpleasantly blunt, and so she continued, raising her head a little. “There were times when I believed that was who I was. Those were always the worst times; the times when I needed to escape, and play out my foalish little fantasies. I mean, thinking about it now, it looks so absurd. I mean, I claimed I was a monster hunter.” She snorted. “How trite can you possibly be?”

It surprised her how she found talking about her past life to be, if not easy, at least possible when she was with this mare, and also at the clarity of thought she could summon with which to address the matter. Ordinarily, dwelling on the past sent her into ever-decreasing circles of egotistical angst and confusion. Now, though, she felt as if she were analyzing somepony else’s life, and could look slightly more objectively at her past’s fantasies and idiocies.

Her little outburst had drained her strength, however, and her head fell back onto the couch. It was frightening how weak she had become over such a short time, and she was uncomfortably aware of how fast her heart was pumping, even at such a minimal exertion.

Trixie felt Fluttershy rest a hoof on her shoulder, and a pair of searching aqua eyes met her gaze. The pegasus’s expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t be asking about these things yet; I’m just curious. You stay there, try and have another nap, and I’ll get dinner ready.”

The unicorn would have liked to reply, and to indicate her gratitude, but every action felt unbearably heavy again. As the warm fingers of sleep closed once more around her mind, however, she fancied that Fluttershy understood.


*


The sun had all but set when Trixie awoke again to the sound of a tray being set down on the coffee table. Her eyes flickered open, and she tentatively raised her head. The experiment was a success; this time, her vision did not swim, and dizzying exhaustion did not claim her.

Her gaze settled first upon Fluttershy’s smile, the sight sending a tingle trickling along her spine, born of gratitude and of the kindness that the mare so freely radiated. Then, she caught sight of the food, and her stomach let out another rumble. Fluttershy had prepared two perfectly-browned omelettes, one for each of them, obviously made from eggs laid by the chickens that could even now be heard clucking contentedly around in the back garden. Each omelette sat on a bed of roasted winter vegetables, and the delicious smell rising from the plates was all but visible.

For Trixie, who had spent much of the last year existing on roots and wild berries, and to whom even so simple a thing as hot food was a rare treat, the sight of a large, well-prepared meal was almost overwhelming. “They look amazing, Fluttershy,” she murmured appreciatively, sitting tentatively upright.

The timid pegasus blushed, hiding embarrassedly behind her mane. “It’s nice to be able to cook for somepony else,” she admitted. “With all the animals to look after, I usually just eat on the go these days. I know I’m not much of a chef, but­—”

“It’s perfect,” Trixie cut her nervous rambling off with a gentle smile, her horn flaring. “Thanks, Fluttershy.” She levitated her plate and fork to rest on the arm of the couch, relieved that her head was still remarkably clear.

“It’s alright,” the pegasus replied with a small grin, her cheeks still a little pink from the compliment as she took her own plate, and sat down beside Trixie on the sofa.

For a few minutes, the mares sat in a companionable silence, broken only by occasional noises of quiet appreciation from the unicorn, as Trixie enjoyed her first genuine meal in many a month. She could not help glancing across at Fluttershy every few seconds, almost in wonderment at the strange sense of rediscovery, as she reacquainted herself with every lovely little quirk of everyday life, from food to conversation.

In truth, she had been starved of true conversation since even before her self-imposed exile, surrounded in every town either by dull, sycophantic fools, or more intelligent ponies who were wise enough to ignore her, and not rise to her boasts.

Rosemary, the thought flitted almost idly across her brain. She was the last one I really talked to. She was the last one to know me.

It was remarkable, too, how she had forgotten the nuances of eating. In the forest, food had been a functional thing; a means of survival, not something from which enjoyment could be derived. “Mmm,” she moaned quietly as she swallowed the first piece of hot, subtly-seasoned courgette, the flavours spilling across her tongue and sparking a strange, half-acknowledged nostalgia into life at the back of her mind.

As she ate, she felt a little of her strength rekindling. Enough to talk, at any rate. She steeled herself mentally; she would not delay for any longer than was necessary, and Fluttershy deserved to know the truth about her.

The mare turned to the pegasus, who caught her gaze with a sudden curiosity. “I’m ready,” Trixie said, quietly. “I feel stronger now; ask me whatever you want.”

Fluttershy swallowed her mouthful of omelette, looking a little concerned. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want to rush—”

“I’m sure,” Trixie interjected. Then, she smiled a little, weakly. “Promise.”

Fluttershy nodded, her expression pensive. “Okay then.” She raised another mouthful of food to her lips, chewing, as she mulled over the direction in which to lead the conversation. They had all the time in the world in which to talk, after all. Then, she took a deep breath. “Who were you?” she asked, meeting Trixie’s gaze with a surprising intensity. “Before the act took over? And…” she nibbled a little nervously on her lower lip. “What made you change in the first place?”

Trixie looked away with a small sigh, wondering exactly where to begin, and how much to say at first.

“I was… unsatisfied, if you want to know,” she began, in a small voice. “I grew up in Trottingham. I had normal parents, a normal life, a normal foalhood, and before long I hated it. I wanted adventure, I wanted to discover some incredible hidden power. For me, that was how the world worked; and I felt entitled to it.”

She snorted. “I was a conjuror, but that was as far as my abilities went. Even telekinesis didn’t come naturally. Really, I was nothing but a weak illusionist, and deep down I knew it. I grew up in a world surrounded by ponies who could work true magic. I knew I was a failure, but I refused to accept it.”

She met Fluttershy’s gaze, and was surprised at what she saw there. She had expected sympathy, and that was certainly visible in her eyes, but the dominant emotion in the canary mare’s face was recognition. She looked as if Trixie were telling a story that was all too familiar to her.

“I went to Canterlot one year,” Trixie continued. “Like most unicorn foals, I went with my parents during the solstice, to watch Celestia raising the sun, and it made me feel so… so angry. I knew she was practically a goddess, that to be jealous of her was insane, but really it wasn’t just her. I mean, you’ve seen your friend, Twilight Sparkle. You’ve seen what she can do, and she’s not the only one who can perform magic I can only dream of. I grew up in this world, surrounded by real magicians, and what was I capable of?” Trixie waved a dismissive hoof. “Party tricks.” She let out a low groan, shaking her head. “Ugh. Look at me, getting carried away. I’m sorry. It just… it hurt, Fluttershy. I’m not going to deny it.”   

For a few moments, she lapsed into silence, taking another bite of omelette. Then, she carried on speaking, faster now, the words spilling out before her thoughts could catch up with what she was saying.

“That’s where the act came from, or at least, that’s what it turned into. I wanted to see the world; I didn’t dare be tied down to one place, so I bought the caravan and headed out on the road.” She let out a low, bitter laugh. “The thought of an ordinary, settled life… it scared me. The day I lived a normal life would be the day I had to accept that I wasn’t great, and I wasn’t powerful. So I built myself up against it, and I guess I just got better at ignoring the real world. 

“Looking back, that’s how the whole act began. The Great and Powerful Trixie started off as a show persona, but it was different back then. It was more like… banter, I suppose. Patter to keep the audience interested, and to hide the sleight of hoof that goes with conjuring tricks.”

She shook her head, unwilling to bring Rosemary’s name into events quite so soon. One step at a time, she decided. “Long story short, it all went the way you’d expect. It stopped being about the magic; soon, it was just ego gratification. The act became nastier, I guess. I thought the best way to hide my own failings was to highlight those of others, and giving everypony something to laugh at kept the audience on my side… usually, anyway.

“I started talking like her outside of shows, and I never introduced myself as plain old Trixie anymore. The mask got tighter, or maybe I just changed to fit it. Either way, in the end, the Great and Powerful Trixie became me, off the stage as much as on it. I just… couldn’t see it.”

Trixie felt the hot, bitter sting of tears biting behind her eyes. “I… I got hurt a few times. Each fall just made things worse, and after a while, it all became a spiral. I really believed all the nonsense in the end; that was the worst thing. In my head, it wasn’t just a show anymore.” She sat up straighter, staring off into the rafters as if enraptured by something visible only to her shining eyes. “I was great, I was powerful, and it felt wonderful because suddenly reality didn’t matter anymore. Reality was whatever I wanted it to be. Isn’t that magic? Isn’t that what magic’s for?”

Her voice had unconsciously risen, and she was holding a hoof out in an eloquent gesture before her, as if addressing an audience. Her cheeks were bright with moisture. Her foreleg fell limply back down by her side. “Then, one day in Ponyville, I was reminded,” she whispered. “That’s not how reality works.” The unicorn felt Fluttershy reach out to her, gently touching her shoulder. She fell back into the plush sofa, seeming to collapse in upon herself, and realized that her voice was choked with barely-suppressed sobs.

“I-I’m sorry,” Trixie forced out, wiping almost aggressively at her eyes. “I guess it… it still hurts a little.”

However, before she had time to speak another word, Fluttershy came across to lean reassuringly against her, and Trixie felt an electric prickle run the length of her spine. Silently, Fluttershy cradled the shivering mare in her forehooves, the remainder of her dinner quite forgotten.

“It’s okay,” she whispered at length, the words incredibly sweet for all their simplicity. Trixie could feel the soft, comforting bloom of Fluttershy’s breath as she nuzzled away the unicorn’s tears, just as she had done earlier that day. The hot satin of her muzzle was calming against Trixie’s cheek, and the sapphire mare melted into the pegasus’s warmth. The canary mare’s subtle, heady scent went some way to blot out the pain of the past, along with its library of failures and fears.

This had been a worthwhile warning; her history was not something to be trifled with. Skimming the surface, and dipping in and out of memory with this kind, beautiful mare was one thing, but her aim was to truly heal, and she knew that her past would not lay itself to rest without deep examination, and reconciliation. She now saw how painful confronting the haze of confusion, cruelty and lost love was going to be.

If she was honest with herself, she knew what the turning point had been. She knew what had tipped her once and for all over the edge, the moment that had made her and her act a single entity. She knew the face that would, perhaps, never leave her.

You’re still there, aren’t you, Rosemary?

“Ohh…” the needy little sound slipped unconsciously from her lips as she snuggled closer to Fluttershy, although she could not tell which of the uncountable emotions dancing in her brain had conjured it up. A strange, numbing heat was picking at every inch of her skin like a scalding drizzle. Part of her wanted to run and scream her every little unknown fear and frustration into the howling night, but the dominant part of her wanted, no, demanded that she stayed folded to this mare’s chest, close enough to feel her heartbeat, until both their hearts lost the will to beat any longer.

“This is the first time you’ve talked about any of this, isn’t it?” the pegasus murmured, stroking Trixie’s neck reassuringly with the soft fetlocks of her forehoof. The unicorn nodded mutely, head pressed against Fluttershy’s collarbone. “It’s going to be difficult,” she continued in barely more than a whisper. “That’s why I want you to get your strength back before we talk about this. But…” she sighed, leaning her chin on the top of Trixie’s head. “I just want you to know that I understand how you feel. The anger, the bitterness, all of that inadequacy… I’ve felt it all. I know how much it hurts.”

“You’re not a unicorn,” Trixie mumbled.

Fluttershy laughed quietly, but there was no humour in the sound. “No. I’m a pegasus. I’m a pegasus, and I spent my foalhood knowing that I was a failure to my kind. Even when I left school, I could barely fly. I sat and watched my friends dancing in that huge, amazing, open sky, and I knew it’d never be mine. It scared me, because I knew I’d fall if I tried to take it. Nopony hated me for it… they pitied me, which was so, so much worse. I couldn’t talk to them; I couldn’t talk to anypony. I became scared of… of everything.”

She nuzzled into Trixie’s mane, and the unicorn could have sworn she felt a tear that was not hers spill onto her neck. “I protected myself from those inadequacies with fear and repression, and you made your mask out of self-deception and arrogance. But really, it’s all the same.” She wrapped her forehooves all the way around the unicorn, and Trixie noticed how tight her grip had become, as if the pegasus were seeking comfort for herself, as much as she was offering it to the mare she was embracing. There was a pleasant elegance to that symbiosis. “I know how much it hurts, Trixie.”

“I… I didn’t…” Trixie faltered, biting her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never told anypony how bad it was before,” Fluttershy admitted, quietly, still leaning into the unicorn’s mane. “Not even Rainbow Dash; I didn’t want it to look like I was whining. So don’t apologize… I guess I need to get this stuff out in the open as much as you do.”

“But… your friends?” Trixie asked, surprised. “You all seemed so close, what stopped you from talking to them about these things?”

“They knew I didn’t have a very good time as a foal,” replied Fluttershy, “but I’ve never really talked about the reasons. I mean, I trust them; I’d happily put my life in any of their hooves, but none of them would really understand, so it seemed pointless.” She pulled back a little to meet Trixie’s gaze, their wide eyes mere inches apart. “I’ve just… I’ve never met anypony the same as me before.”

For some reason, the words caused her to blush a deep pink, and she buried her face into the unicorn’s shoulder again.

The same as me… the words rang in Trixie’s head, turned over and over, re-examined with every possible inflection.

“Neither have I,” she whispered, simply. She wanted to ask what Fluttershy meant; she wanted to know how the pegasus had seen the similarities between them so easily, and how she had kept herself sane over those long, painful, all-too-familiar years of a frustrating, powerless foalhood.

You know the answer, Trixie, piped up that small, oft-suppressed voice of reason. She accepted her flaws. It made her terrified of the world, but she accepted them. You, on the other hoof, refused to. You lied to yourself from the start; you wanted a greatness you could never hope to achieve, you spent your entire life telling yourself that you were more than you could ever possibly be. Of course she stayed sane. She stayed sane because she was brave enough to stay herself, no matter how hard it was to accept that self.

For a few more minutes, they held each other in silence. Trixie reveled quietly in the contact, noting with a hidden smile how wonderfully soft the pegasus was. Trixie’s time in the forest had made her lean with hunger, and what little bulk occupied her limbs and body was born of lithe muscle, trained for speed and rapid reactions. The primrose mare, on the other hand, could only be described as curvaceous. She was by no means pudgy, but there was a delicious fullness to her figure that did no harm whatsoever to her beauty. Quite the reverse, Trixie thought to herself, fighting down the urge to squeeze the lovely, timid mare still closer to her.

Eventually, they broke gently apart. Fluttershy trailed a hoof over Trixie’s neck as she pulled away, as if unwilling to release the unicorn, and the pair of them returned to the remainder of their omelettes. Both of them were still a little pink in the face, although the unicorn suspected that their mutual bashfulness stemmed from quite separate sources.

“Thank you,” Trixie mumbled.

Fluttershy looked across at her. “For what?”

“For letting me know I’m not on my own; for trusting me with something like that. It means a lot, and for what it’s worth, I think it helped.” The unicorn smiled slightly, raising the final piece of omelette up to her mouth. After a few moments’ silence, she turned to Fluttershy, swallowing. Her belly felt pleasantly full; she had forgotten, or perhaps simply never noticed before, the wonderful, radiant warmth that came with the absence of hunger.

“I’ve never been able to understand myself,” Trixie explained. “Maybe all I need is somepony who’s felt the same way, so I can understand why I acted like I did. So I can understand what I can do differently in future.” She sighed. “I need to know who I should have been, if reality had been enough for me.”

The primrose mare smiled at her. “I think you’ve made a start,” she said, quietly.

“I want to help you too,” Trixie blurted out, almost without meaning to. She flushed a little, breaking eye contact, almost shyly. “If… if you need somepony to talk to about all this. You went through the same kind of pain as me, and you didn’t lose yourself. You were stronger than me, but it’s all still got to be in there somewhere. If I can help with that, it’s the least I can do… I want to help you.”

Fluttershy was silent for a few moments. “Thanks, Trixie,” she murmured at length, although her expression said far, far more. Then, she shook her head, and picked up their empty plates. “Now, let’s not talk about this anymore tonight.” She stood, turning on an afterthought to look at Trixie. “You don’t have to live day by day anymore. We’ve got all the time in the world to work this out; we can take as much time as we need to rebuild you.”

The unicorn nodded. “That sounds perfect,” she replied, warmly. “Can I just ask you one more favour?”

“What is it?”

Trixie bit her lip, a little fearfully. Her gaze was suddenly almost pleading. “Please, don’t tell your friends about me yet. I do want to meet them, if they’d be okay with that; I owe them all apologies. But… can that wait until I’ve got my strength back, and until I’m used to being around ponies again?”

Fluttershy nodded, calmly, putting down the plates on the coffee table, and trotting back over to Trixie. “I wouldn’t dream of making you talk to anypony, unless you’re ready,” she said, her tone one of reassurance. “I’ve already told Twilight about you, so I should probably let her know the situation, if that’s alright.” She raised a hoof at Trixie’s expression of concern. “I know Twilight. She won’t come around unless you want her to, and she won’t go spreading around that you’re here.” She suddenly looked a little guilty. “I had to tell Applejack.”

Trixie gulped, nervously. “The orange one?”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, but looked amused nevertheless. “Yes, the ‘orange one’. I had to leave her on the farm to come after you, and I owed her an explanation. She came around to see you.” For some reason, it seemed as if she could not meet Trixie’s eyes for a moment, and her cheeks coloured with something that looked remarkably like shame. “I… persuaded her not to come bursting in. She understood in the end, even if she wasn’t completely happy about it. You needn’t worry, though; she can keep a secret. Apart from her and Twilight, nopony knows you’re here, and until you give the word, that’s how it’ll stay.”

The unicorn let out a small sigh of relief. “I appreciate that, Fluttershy,” she murmured, gratefully.

Trixie watched as the pegasus trotted back into the kitchen with their empty plates, her gaze dancing almost unconsciously over the curves of the retreating mare’s back and legs, taking in the detail of her perfect little wings, and lingering on the soft cascade of her flowing tail, every carnation strand glimmering in the firelight.

The ghost of those delicious, stolen dreams floated in her mind’s eye for an instant, and Trixie toyed with the memory of that lone warmth, the delicious, guilty sensations that had invaded her sleep during those last, freezing Everfree nights. Her ear twitched a little at the phantom caress of the dream—Fluttershy’s tongue, gentle and teasing. She bit down on her lower lip, and forced back the tiniest of moans at the recollection, taken aback by its vividness and by how suddenly its grip had closed upon her.

Then, realizing what she was doing, Trixie shifted guiltily and looked determinedly away as Fluttershy vanished into the kitchen. Fixing her eyes on the dark, snowy garden outside the window, she shook her head vigorously. Her cheeks were burning with shame and inwardly-directed anger.

She wanted, with all her heart, to be able to look at Fluttershy without suffering that hot twist of desire in the pit of her stomach, but the inescapable truth was that she found the delicate mare simply intoxicating.

You knew this would happen, Trixie.

From the kitchen came the sound of running water, and Fluttershy humming quietly to herself. Trixie let out a low groan, massaging her temple with an irritable hoof.

It was the reason you didn’t want to go back to her. You knew you’d fall for her, and by staying here, you’re accepting that it’s your problem to deal with, not hers.

She’s so affectionate, it’s hard not to think…

She’s affectionate because she knows it’s what you need. She’s affectionate because, deep down, she needs it too; she needs somepony to hold on to, to trust. Somepony who’s gone through the kind of pain that she has. If you do fall for her, then there’s nothing you can do about it, but don’t make her regret taking you in.

I’m more grateful than I can ever tell her for taking care of me. But… you can’t deny how beautiful she is. It’s hard not to look at her.

Look at her all you want, but if you’re looking at her in that way, and thinking like that about her, then you’re abusing the care she’s giving you. She’s willing to give you the affection you need to heal, but if you take advantage of that for your own gratification, then you’re no better than you’ve ever been. You’d be just as cruel and self-serving as ever, but then again, maybe that is the real you after all.

“It isn’t!” the words spilled in a sharp whisper from her lips, thankfully masked from Fluttershy’s ears by the sudden whistle of the kettle.

I wouldn’t know; neither of us have the first idea of who you really are.

She curled up on the sofa again, yawning as she pushed the thoughts forcibly away. If she knew one thing for sure, it was that her strength was beginning to return. Tiredness weighed on her, but it was a warm and sleepy sensation. It was a world away from the harsh, insistent bite of exhaustion that had been pulling her from consciousness at the smallest effort on her part. With a bellyful of food, she could feel her stiff muscles relaxing, and the dozens of aches that life in the forest had bestowed upon her seemed to ease.

Fluttershy was right. She did not have to live day by day anymore.

I’m not going to hurt her. I don’t care who I am; I can keep my feelings to myself.

Of course, thoughts rarely translated smoothly into realities. Gazing into the flames as they danced ever higher, Trixie reflected that she ought to know that. Perhaps better than most. 
	
> VII: The Hollow Mare
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Seven
The Hollow Mare

“Uh, hey? ‘Scuse me?”

The summer sun was warm and low, drawing ripples in the air above the road ahead. A cool, lazy breeze swam this way and that, making the heat more bearable, and the journey a little less daunting. Even so, Trixie’s flanks were shiny with sweat as she trekked along the dirt track down to Manehattan. She felt trapped under the oppressive weight of the caravan’s yoke on her back, and fumed quietly to herself. 

On hearing the voice behind her, she drew to a halt, quelling her annoyance and turning with a well-practiced aloofness in her gaze. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is in no mood to sign autographs,” she said, coolly. Her eyes fell upon a palomino earth mare, obviously travel-worn, hitched up to a run-down little cart packed with various bits and pieces. Trixie guessed that she was some kind of peddler or salespony, judging by the price tags attached to many of the pieces of bric-a-brac. She seemed taken aback at the less than warm welcome.

“Why would I want your autograph?” Trixie bridled a little at her tone. The mare pulled up beside her, reaching back into her cart, and pulling out a small wooden box, roughly engraved and detailed with highly-polished brass around the lock and hinges. The unicorn blinked at the sight of it, betraying the slightest hint of surprise. “It’s just… you left this back in Shetlandale. I found it this morning, and I thought; hey, we’re both headed for Manehattan, I may as well try an’ catch up to you, so I can…” her voice tailed off at the sight of Trixie’s impassive stare.

“Oh. Well, thank you,” the sapphire mare said, dismissively. She picked up the box with her magic, glanced briefly at it, and tucked it safely into her saddlebags. Privately, she could not believe that she had left it behind. She had bought it from a market in Las Pegasus almost two years ago, and used it to hold her smaller pieces of magical paraphernalia; cups, dice, wands and cards all had their place in the little box, and she shuddered to think of the state her show would have been in if she had turned up in Manehattan without it.

Then again, perhaps it was unsurprising that she had left certain belongings behind, considering the hurry in which she had packed. It seemed that some towns were more appreciative of the wonders she offered than others.

She stood, waiting for the mare to continue on her way, but she did not move. “Well? Is there something else you wanted?” Trixie enquired, raising a dispassionate eyebrow.

The palomino pony raised an eyebrow, clearly affronted. “What, that’s it?”

“What exactly did you expect?” Trixie snapped, her detached demeanor cracking a little.

“I just—” the mare looked hurt, shocked into silence for a moment, but then shook her head with an angry snort. “You know what? Never mind.” The wheels of her cart creaked as she began to walk briskly off along the road to Manehattan, without looking back.

Trixie bit her lip. Then, almost without meaning to, she called out, “Wait!”

The retreating cart came to a grudging halt, some ten feet ahead of her, and its owner threw a dark look back at her. “What? Am I worthy of your notice now?”

The showmare looked at the floor. “Trixie is…” she tailed off, tracing an awkward circle in the dirt with her hoof. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, the mare’s expression remained stony. Then, it softened a little, and she smiled sympathetically. “You’ve not had a good day, have you?”

“Had better,” Trixie admitted in a small voice, still hanging her head, remembering the reaction of the crowd with a certain bitterness. Booing was not unheard-of in her career, but she drew the line at tomatoes.

“Guess they didn’t take kindly to your act.” The earth pony had wheeled her cart around, and taken a few steps back towards Trixie. Looking at her without the forced filter of disdain, the mare was undeniably attractive, in spite of her spiky, unkempt mane and the sweaty sheen of her coat. She was by no means traditionally beautiful, but her grey, almond-shaped eyes sparkled with a bright intelligence, and her lips seemed eternally poised to smile.

The unicorn snorted, trying to recover the self-confidence that she had momentarily lost. “You could smell the envy in the air, couldn’t you?”

“You seriously believe that’s the problem?” For a moment, the two ponies met each others’ eyes in silence, and the gaze of the grey-eyed earth mare was strangely searching. She seemed to come to a decision. “No. No, I don’t think you do.”

Trixie shook her head, internally berating herself for being so unable to maintain her persona when talking to this pony. She wanted to reply scathingly, but could see little point. She stayed silent.

Then, with a bizarre suddenness, the other mare smiled. “My name’s Rosemary, by the way.”

“Trixie,” mumbled the showmare. “Although, I guess you had that worked out already.”

Rosemary giggled. “Self-deprecation? From you?” She sucked in air between her teeth with an appraising whistle. “Better be careful; make sure you keep that act up. Somepony might see behind the scenes.”

Her words touched a nerve. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is no mere act!” Trixie retorted, suddenly finding this odd, insightful mare to be quite infuriating. She had intended for her expression to appear aloof, but she feared it may simply have come off as wounded.

It’s no use, she thought to herself, with a slight sense of resignation. She can see right through me, can’t she?

Clearly she can’t, returned a second, more irate line of reasoning. You are the Great and Powerful Trixie, and if she is too blind or foolish to see that greatness, then you should hardly mistake that for insight. Somehow, though, the voice sounded weaker than usual; its arguments were somehow feebler. Its arrogant superiority seemed suddenly almost childish.

In any case, Rosemary seemed hardly convinced. She was smirking quite broadly. “If you say so,” she replied, shaking her head in obvious amusement.

“Are you mocking me?” exclaimed Trixie.

“’Course not,” returned the quite unruffled earth pony. “It’s not you I’m mocking.” Grinning at how wrong-footed her words had made the showmare, she jerked her head along the road. “You headed for Manehattan?”

Trixie nodded, not quite able to form a vocal response.

Rosemary shrugged. “Well then, mind if I tag along? I’m on my way there as well, and… well, you know. Road seems shorter with two, doesn’t it?”

The unicorn sniffed, feigning a non-committal attitude. Somehow though, she wanted to learn more about this bizarre pony, this frustrating mare who saw so easily behind her well-oiled persona. In a strange way, Rosemary seemed almost to know her. Privately, she found the idea of letting that connection slip away to be strangely terrifying.

“Alright then,” she replied, not without a certain forced aloofness. She could not quite meet the other mare’s eyes.

Then, quite suddenly, the world fell into perfect darkness. With a whinny of fright, Trixie stumbled backwards, immersed on all sides by inky, absolute blackness. She was no longer trapped within the harness of her caravan. In some indefinable way, she felt suddenly older and weaker; more cynical and somehow more clear-headed. The ground beneath her was not dirt, but a hard, smooth surface that rang like glass when her hooves struck down upon it.

“Rosemary?” she called out, looking wildly around into the nothingness, her voice echoing strangely. No response came.

For a few more moments, she stood, unseeing, frozen with a strange sense of dread.

“It’s happening again.” The sudden voice rang from everywhere and nowhere, cool and detached.

“Who…?” the question died on the unicorn’s lips, at the sight of a horn flaring ahead of her, spinning a hovering ball of light that floated along in its conjuror’s wake, bathing her face with a strange, lilac luminescence. Trixie’s face. The unicorn reared back a little, as she looked into the eyes of herself. But, somehow, it was not like looking into a mirror. This Trixie’s coat was smooth and glossy, her eyes burning with an arrogant self-confidence. She wore a silken hat and cloak that billowed lazily out behind her despite the absence of so much as a breeze.

“Let’s find ourselves some more tasteful scenery,” said the other Trixie, her tone one of boredom. Her horn flared, and suddenly they were perched at the summit of a steep cliff-face, watching iron-grey waves crash and shatter into silver spray against the rocks, hundreds of feet beneath them. The sea seemed to stretch away into eternity, and the cliff stretched out in a uniform crescent, as far as the eye could see on either side of them. The wind shrieked, but seemed not to touch the unicorns.

Trixie was suddenly aware of how shabby she looked compared to her twin, vaguely aware that her winter coat was rough and unkempt, that she was stained with mud, and her eyes were worn and shadowed. She wondered momentarily why her coat was so thick; she could have sworn it had been midsummer moments before, and yet somehow, she did not question the matter.

“She’s just another Rosemary.” The aloof mare’s voice was low and patronizing. “Remember Rosemary? She was jealous of you; she left you in the dust. This one will do exactly the same, when she begins to understand your power. Our power.”

Trixie turned, her eyes flaring angrily. “And who the hell are you?”

“I’m the Great and Powerful Trixie. I’m the one you could so easily be; the most powerful unicorn in all of Equestria.”

Her horn suddenly flared, a wave of lavender magic rippling along its length. A single spark hovered at the tip, and then detached itself, hovering in the air. It pulsed once, a blinding pinprick of sudden light.

There was a deep, deafening roar from below them. It sounded as if the world were wrenching itself in two, and Trixie spun around to see something rising from the angry ocean below; something enormous. For a moment, the boiling spray made it impossible to tell what it was, but then the ramparts cleared the foam, and Trixie saw that it was a great circular tower, made of a white and luminous marble, rising from the whirlpool that its passage had created.

It grew like a tree, shooting skywards until it was taller than Canterlot’s tallest tower; taller even than the mountain upon which Canterlot stood. Then it halted, its upper floors invisible through the granite-grey clouds, shining an almost blinding alabaster sheen, even in the dim and cloudy sunlight.

Trixie stared at the surreal construct for a few moments, but shook her head, meeting her double’s eyes, unimpressed. “I spent half my life pretending to be you. It made me hurt ponies I care about. It nearly killed me. I… I can’t go on.” She sighed, and her gaze was almost pleading. “Let me go. Please just let me go; I’ve outgrown you. I… I think I’m falling in love again.” Her eyes hardened. “You aren’t going to make me ruin it this time.”

The pony she had tried for so long to be was advancing on her, but she stood her ground, gesturing to the white tower, her voice rising angrily now. “Nopony has magic that powerful! You know what that is?” She stabbed a hoof at the tower again. “That’s a party trick; an illusion. I dealt in them for years, and you’re not going to convince me that you can move mountains anymore than I can. You are me, and I’m wiser now. I’ve tried to be you, I’ve tried to do great things; I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t.”

Her double took another step closer, and for a moment she thought that the overbearing mare was going to strike her, but instead she felt soft forelegs drape themselves almost sensually over her shoulders. The smoothly conditioned fur of the other made her own overgrown coat feel wiry and rough. Her double’s voice whispered close to her ear, suddenly warm and silken. “You’re a complicated pony, aren’t you, Trixie?” She felt the Great and Powerful Trixie’s grip tighten around her. Quite suddenly, a wet, heated sensation wormed into her ear with caressing care, and she realized with a hot surge of anger that it was the other Trixie’s tongue. “Don’t do that,” she said, quietly. “You know why. Just… don’t.”

“You shouldn’t have let me know your mind so intimately, should you?” Her twin’s tongue withdrew, and her muzzle moved down from Trixie’s ear, nuzzling up against her nose. “You’ve hated yourself for so many years, but that’s not the only thing holding you back, is it? You can never fall in love. Even with all that hate, you’ve only ever been in love with one pony.” With a sudden force, she pressed her lips hard and aggressively against Trixie’s, taking the unkempt mare by complete surprise. Trixie felt her eyes widen, and her muscles locked up until her double released her. “You’ve only ever been in love with yourself.”

Before Trixie could stop her, and before she could so much as work out whether or not she wanted to stop her, the hateful unicorn was kissing her again. The sensation of her own fetlocks stroking her back, and of her own lips playing out both roles in the fight for submission that their kiss had become, was deeply bizarre. She could not honestly say that she disliked the experience, but the whole affair made her deeply uncomfortable nevertheless. Not quite enough to make her break away, though.

She could feel her twin’s lips bowed in a sneer against her own, and quite suddenly, she saw the pony for who she really was.

Trixie felt an odd rush of euphoria, and pulled away from the kiss, grinning a devious grin. She saw this facet of her clearly now; she did not need this mare to be a part of her. She was everything this weak, inadequate, embittered unicorn could ever hope to be, and more. Her faith in this part of her had broken when her magic had failed her in Ponyville; this mare did not exist, and they both knew it. Trixie knew that she had already won, and all that remained was a matter of banishment. Had she not been so angry, she might have felt pity for this powerless creature. “You know something?” She was smiling, but her voice was deadly.

For the briefest of instants, she felt as if her double looked a little taken aback. The balance of power had shifted minutely between them, and Trixie wasted no time in pressing the advantage. With a cobra’s strike, she reengaged the Great and Powerful Trixie in a fresh kiss, messy and ill-structured this time, taking enormous pleasure in the sense of invasion, just as this part of her had spent so many years invading and degrading her.

Gripping her image around the neck, she wormed her tongue into the surprised unicorn’s mouth, drawing a low, sweet whimper from between her lips before pulling away as quickly as she had reinitiated the connection. “I don’t need you.” She kissed her again; this time, the action was angry, and she sucked painfully hard on the mare’s tongue as she pulled away. “I don’t want you.” Another kiss, longer this time, almost a tender caress against her own now-unresisting lips. Her double’s eyes were wide and close to submissive. “I don’t love you, and you know the best part?” Her words were a hiss, and she smirked, reveling in finally being able to direct her well-practiced cruelty against one who truly deserved it.

“What?” murmured the Great and Powerful Trixie, and her gaze was loving; almost enamoured, leaning forward, the better to taste her counterpart’s anger.

“You don’t exist. I don’t believe in you.” With extreme tenderness, Trixie kissed her caped twin one final time, feeling a low moan drag itself between her lips, and snaking the tip of her tongue into the mouth of the mare who had hurt her so badly, for so much of her life.

Then, without warning, she bit down as hard as she could on her double’s lower lip.

Hot blood flooded into her mouth, the taste sickening and metallic but more delicious than anything else in the world, and the unicorn let out a scream, fighting to escape from Trixie’s clamped jaws. Trixie’s smile was wide and feral, and she held on as her so-called Great and Powerful self shook her head like a wounded dog, trying desperately to dislodge her, her yells interspersed with throaty moans and bursts of sharp, unhinged laughter.

Then, she felt her twin’s hoof hit her hard in the chest, and she broke away, blood dribbling down her chin.

Her rear hoof slipped as she stumbled backwards, and she felt the ground fall away below her. Before she knew what was happening, before she could stop herself, she tumbled over the edge of the cliff.

For an instant, she felt that horrible nothingness of falling rise in her chest, saw her bloodied enemy, cowed and defeated, watching her fall with a slavish, wide-eyed infatuation, and then she was gone. The cliff-face was rushing past her, the rocks below racing up to greet her.

The wind was screaming, blood pumping in her ears; she was dimly aware of the spray whipping at her, a voice shouting her name, then her eyelids shot open, and she awoke with an anguished yell.

“Trixie? Trixie!”

Her thrashing beneath the covers suddenly ceased, and she lay there, sweating and shaking, her breathing harsh and ragged. The first thing she felt was considerable pain, and the warmth of a thick liquid flowing down her face and neck.

Then, her brain finally succeeded in making sense of the world around her, and she remembered where she was.

She remembered the previous night; Fluttershy cooking dinner, their conversation, their embrace and mutual reassurance. She remembered the impasse that they had reached; Fluttershy had insisted that Trixie took her bed, but Trixie had insisted she could not allow her host to sleep on the sofa after all she had done already.

She remembered the blushing compromise they had reached, neither honestly wanting to make the suggestion, but both of them privately knowing that it was the best solution to their situation. She remembered the peace, warmth, and quiet. She remembered how they had fallen asleep on opposite sides of Fluttershy’s expansive bed, facing one another, their unspoken arrangement leaving each within a foreleg’s easy reach of the other. She remembered drifting away in a warm, comfortable silence.

She also realized that she had bitten down hard on her own lip in the throes of the dream, and that the duvet was stained burgundy with her blood. It was still nighttime, but the first slivers of a purple-orange sun could be seen breaching the horizon outside the window. This, however, failed to command her attention for long. Fluttershy had gripped her by the shoulders, kneeling over her, and was staring down at her with an expression of barely-contained panic. “Wh-what’s the matter? Was it a bad dream? Did… did you bite yourself?”

Trixie, however, found that she was laughing. Her teeth had sunk hard into her lower lip, also slicing a jagged gash into the skin of her chin, and the pain was horrible, but it was nothing compared to the relief that she felt. Seizing a glass of water from the bedside table with her magic, she spat out a foamy wad of blood, to free her mouth and allow herself to speak. “She’s gone,” she managed to pant out, blood dripping down her chin as she spoke. “I’ve won… Fluttershy, she’s gone for good this time.” She felt the laughter rising in her chest again, but was suddenly far more aware of her situation, of the mess she was making, and of the horrified, fearful expression on the timid pegasus’s face.

“Fluttershy, I…” Her words were thick and hard to distinguish through her rapidly-swelling lip. Suddenly she was back to earth again, and felt guilt gnawing at her insides for putting this mare through yet more fear and trouble. “I’m so sorry, I’ll just… I’ll clean this up, I—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Fluttershy cut across her, firmly, regaining her composure with obvious effort. “You need antiseptic, and you need to let me clean you up.” Trixie looked guiltily away, but the pegasus caught her foreleg. “Look at me.” She waited until the unicorn’s unwilling eyes met her own. “This isn’t your fault, Trixie.”

The sapphire mare tried to speak, but the words were lost in a groan of pain when she tried to form them. Fluttershy nodded sympathetically. “Wait here. I won’t be a minute.”


*


“Ow…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Fluttershy was gently sponging the worst of the blood from Trixie’s chin. Her chest was still flecked red, as was the duvet, but both could wait. “You don’t need stitches; it looks a lot worse than it is. See? It’s clotting already.” Trixie recognized the voice as the one Fluttershy had employed when looking after her badger friend; it was the one she used for those afraid, and in need.

“I’m sorry,” Trixie whispered again, words muffled by the soft sponge dabbing at her lip.

“I know you are.” The pegasus sounded almost exasperated. “You don’t need to be. I’m looking after you because I want to.”

“You hardly know me. I hardly know me,” Trixie stressed, kneading her forehead with a hoof. “Why trust me?”

“I…” Fluttershy faltered, apparently struggling with a concept she found difficult to express. “I know you better than you do,” she said, at length. “It’s like I said; you’re somepony like me, and I know what that means.” Her tone suddenly became serious, as she uncorked a brown glass bottle, and dapped a few drops of a sharp-smelling liquid onto a piece of cotton wool. “I need to put on some antiseptic,” she said, meeting Trixie’s eyes, steadily. “This is going to hurt, okay?”

Before Trixie had the chance to reply, Fluttershy had dabbed the liquid onto the unicorn’s injured mouth.

Trixie let out an insuppressible yell of pain, which tailed off into a hiss as she clenched her teeth reflexively together; she tried her best to put on a brave face, but it felt for all the world as if the kindly pegasus had tipped acid into the cut. “Sorry,” said Fluttershy, almost pleadingly. Eyes watering, the unicorn waited for the burning to recede, doing her utmost not to pull away. When the discomfort had faded to a tolerable level, she blinked the moisture from her eyes, and found Fluttershy giving her an appraising look. “You’re braver than most of the animals I have in here,” she said with a small smile. “Angel wouldn’t speak to me for a week after I disinfected a cut on his paw with that stuff.”

Trixie returned the grin, sheepishly. Speaking was thankfully easier now, although her lip still throbbed angrily. “I don’t normally have bad dreams,” she said, quietly. “Certainly not that bad, anyway.”

Fluttershy had fallen to sponging her neck and chest, the warm water comforting as it washed away the blood. Despite her guilt and pain, despite the unpleasantness of the meeting with that facet of herself, Trixie could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Her so-called Great and Powerful persona had dominated her for so long, but in Ponyville, The Great and Powerful Trixie had found herself to be just as magically lacking as the mare beneath the mask. Trixie’s faith in her act had broken forever, and yet somehow, some vestiges had hung on, digging like thorns in the back of her mind, trying, however ineffectually, to drag her back to the life that had destroyed her.

Tonight had been the final blow in that battle. Trixie had won; she had accepted herself, accepted her own limits, and now she could focus on her own recovery. She had lost her faith in her arrogant self, and she had broken out of the stasis that had kept her trapped and without healing in the Everfree. But what kind of recovery could she find? Beneath the mask, who was she? She knew that, even with Fluttershy’s guidance, settling into herself would take time. It would be a struggle in its own right, and she was glad that there was somepony by her side who she knew, somehow, that she could trust.

“Who’s Rosemary?” Fluttershy asked, suddenly.

“Huh?” Trixie looked down sharply, taken aback.

The pegasus flushed. “You… you mentioned the name. While you were sleeping, before you started thrashing about.” She shook her head, still pink in the face. “I’m sorry, if you’re tired… you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

Trixie sighed; so much for giving herself time to prepare, it seemed. On the other hand, she felt as if she owed Fluttershy as good an explanation as she could give, considering the trouble that the delicate mare was going through on her behalf.

“No,” she said, quietly. “No, it’s fine. I’m not tired now, and you deserve to know.” She let out a low sigh, wondering quite where to begin. “This could take a while,” she warned Fluttershy, who smiled wanly.

“We’ve got all morning.”

“I guess.” Trixie fell silent for a few moments, looking out at the silhouetted trees outside the window, and thinking. Fluttershy was taping a thin piece of lightweight bandage over her chin, encroaching onto her lower lip, as she waited for the unicorn’s story. “It started a few years back, just as things were getting worse for me,” she began at length, her voice a little muffled behind the protective gauze. “I’d just put on a show in Shetlandale, but it didn’t go over too well…”


*


By the time her story came to a close, the sun had risen in earnest, and its weak, wintry light was dappling the room. Fluttershy had dragged the bloodstained duvet into the kitchen to be washed, and the two of them had curled up on the bed again, lying together under a spare blanket to defeat the morning’s chill, as Trixie spoke.

She told Fluttershy of their meeting, of the ease with which Rosemary had seen through her act, and of their travels together. She explained how she had come to rely on the mare’s presence, how her unwavering belief that there was more to Trixie than mere arrogance had eventually forced the showmare’s assumed identity to crumble. She told the silent pegasus of how they had wandered together as lovers, and how the Great and Powerful Trixie had been relegated, for a time at least, to precisely what she had begun life as; an act.

Of course, it had not been enough. It had not lasted. As her story entered its final stages, Trixie reached out to take Fluttershy’s hoof between her own, holding it close to her chest, and drawing a certain comfort from the gentle mare’s proximity. She explained, her voice growing a little weaker, how her act had fought back, resurgent like a tumour, and had once again begun to subsume her personality. She recalled the way that it had changed tack so effortlessly, and had quietly convinced her that Rosemary would never stay with a mare capable only of magic tricks, but that surely nopony could resist the allure of the most powerful unicorn in Equestria. Once more, her act had stealthily become her life, and in the end, even the eternally-optimistic Rosemary had to concede that there was little left of the mare she had fallen for.

“…So, that was it. She left, and I can’t really blame her. I watched her walk away, and I guess that was it for me. The Great and Powerful Trixie was clever; she saw how weak I’d become, how much I needed comfort, and she went straight back to her old arguments; she told me that I didn’t need Rosemary, that I’d never needed her. I didn’t question her; it would have been too painful to admit that losing Rosemary was nopony’s fault but mine. It was just so much easier to blame her, and tell myself that she left because she was jealous.”

She shook her head, her voice unsteady. “I loved her, I really did. She believed in me, right from the minute she saw me. Ponies like her… they don’t lose faith easily. They give you chance after chance after chance, and look at what I managed to do. I made her give up on me. Tell me, Fluttershy; how could I have faced up to that? She spent nearly two years trusting me, believing she could change me, and I let her down.”

The unicorn let out a low sigh. “She was like you, in a way; she saw right through me, she was never taken in by the act, not even for a second. She recognized the mask for what it was. I guess that was why I—” she broke off, cheeks colouring with embarrassment. “Anyway,” she continued, steering herself hastily towards a different topic. “I’m just glad I came to Ponyville that day. Celestia knows what I’d be doing now if I hadn’t.”

She fell silent. Her story was over, and the sudden absence of her voice in the morning air was oddly disconcerting. She realized that she was still holding Fluttershy’s hoof to her chest, but the pegasus made no attempt to withdraw it. Trixie had not told her of the latter half of her dream, or the reason she had bitten herself; she knew it was all too likely that the mare would think she was quite insane.

You realize she’s trying to rebuild you, right? She’s trying to do the same thing as Rosemary.

Of course I do. But this time I don’t have a mask to hide behind; I don’t have that part of me trying to hold me back. I let Rosemary down, but I won’t do the same to Fluttershy.

“There’s somewhere I want to show you,” Fluttershy murmured suddenly. She stroked her free hoof along the Trixie’s fetlocks in a reassuring gesture, and the unicorn felt her stomach give a sudden squirm, as if she had missed a step on a staircase.

“Hm?” Trixie met her eyes, aware of her lip still aching beneath the protective fabric.

“You probably won’t feel up to going out today,” Fluttershy added, hastily, “but if you need to be able to think… I know a place, just outside Ponyville; I always go there if I need to be alone. Remind me about it sometime.” She smiled, but her eyes were saddened by Trixie’s story. “I wish I could do something to get her back for you,” she whispered. “I wish I could say something to make it all hurt a little less, but… thank you. Thank you for telling me that.”

“There wouldn’t be any point in seeing her again,” replied Trixie, heavily. “I failed her, I let her down.”

“You didn’t let her down,” corrected Fluttershy. “The Great and Powerful Trixie was taking you over; you needed her to protect yourself, but she took advantage of that.”

“I was still weak,” Trixie mumbled. “Look at you. You had the same problems with flying as I had with magic, but did you start painting yourself as Fluttershy the Wonderbolt? Of course you didn’t.”

Fluttershy could not suppress a small smile at the comparison, but her reply was perfectly serious. “Every pegasus wants the sky above everything else. It’s a part of us… but I was different. When I saw the ground, when I saw all the creatures, all the colours, all the life…” she let out a drawn-out sigh, eyes sparkling with a sudden insuppressible enthusiasm, and Trixie felt a sudden insane urge to embrace her, laugh along with her, and share in that infectious love of the world that shone out from behind the mare’s eyes.

“I just didn’t need the sky anymore,” Fluttershy continued. “You could have taken my wings then and there, and I wouldn’t have cared.” She breathed the words out, but then her gaze became a little more downcast as she met Trixie’s. “With you, though... you had the same problem, but you couldn’t find the solution that I found. I should probably have been born an earth pony, but you… you’re a unicorn through and through. You want the magic, you want that power and knowledge as much as any unicorn does, but for some reason you can’t reach out and take it.” She looked suddenly thoughtful. “Your cutie mark… what does it represent? Specifically, I mean. Obviously, with the wand, it’s something magical, but what exactly is your talent?”

Trixie grunted out a non-committal sound. This was a topic that she had been purposefully avoiding. “I’m… I’m not sure I can talk anymore right now,” she lied, not meeting the pegasus’s eyes. “My lip’s hurting again.”

Fluttershy was quite clearly not convinced, but she nodded nevertheless, her gaze understanding. “It’s alright,” she replied, smiling reassuringly. She gave the sapphire mare’s hoof a gentle squeeze, and pulled away, climbing out from under the blanket and getting to her hooves. “You’re going to be okay, Trixie. You get some rest, and I’ll make some breakfast.” She began to make her way towards the stairs, leaving the unicorn staring after her, a sudden turmoil raging, half-acknowledged, at the back of her mind.

“I don’t know, alright?” Trixie had not meant to shout, but the words burst impulsively from her before she could help herself. Fluttershy turned, taken aback, in the doorway.

“Know what?”

The unicorn felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. She could not lie to this mare; it was simply not possible. “I don’t know what it means!” The words came out in a rush; she had already admitted to Fluttershy that she did not know who she was, but it was time to be honest about the extent of that confusion. “My cutie mark… I don’t understand it. I don’t know what my special talent is.”

Fluttershy stood in silence for a few moments, her aquamarine gaze pensive. The silence was ringing after Trixie’s outburst. “How… how can you not know?” she asked, softly. She sounded quite taken aback by the revelation, and looked as if she regretted her words the moment they left her lips.

Trixie opened her mouth to speak, but could not quite form words. When she eventually could, they were not the words she had intended. “You… you mentioned a place,” she blurted out, at length. “You mentioned a place where you go to think sometimes. I… I could do with a place like that. Would you mind taking me there? Today?”

“Do you feel strong enough?” Fluttershy asked, a little apprehensively. “I mean… you’ve only had last night to recover, and—”

“I’ll wrap up warm,” Trixie promised. “I’ll be fine.” She grinned wanly, eyes still pricking with moisture a little. She wanted to explain her sudden exclamation, but somehow she could not do so here. She needed to speak without the numbing comfort of a warm bed, and to clear her thoughts of the memory of the taste of her own blood. “The Everfree makes you tougher, I guess.”

The pegasus nodded. “Well, if you’re sure…” She suddenly fixed Trixie with a determined look. “But you’re not going outside without a good breakfast. Doctor’s orders.” She broke into a small, shy smile, which the unicorn could not help but return.

“Yes ma’am,” Trixie murmured, as she watched her friend trot softly from the room.
	
> VIII: The Moth and the Flame
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Eight
The Moth and the Flame

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Fluttershy ensured that there was a note of faux-reproach in her voice, but in truth, she was touched. As they neared the end of the two days’ worth of washing up, she felt that Trixie’s willingness to lend a helping hoof, in spite of her weakened state, was gratifying.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” returned the unicorn, a small, shy smile crinkling the white gauze that still covered the cut upon her chin. “After a breakfast like that, it’s the least I can do.”

The timid mare felt the bridge of her nose flush pink, as it was prone to do whenever Trixie paid her a compliment. She returned her focus to the dish clutched between her hooves, perhaps a little too intently to be quite convincing. “It’s my pleasure,” she mumbled.

Trixie’s appetite had been undiminished from the previous night, which was hardly surprising considering the weak, malnourished condition in which Fluttershy had found her. Tea, toast, tomatoes, scrambled eggs and mushrooms had all vanished without a trace, and to the pegasus’s relief, Trixie seemed in a far better state than she had the previous evening. She could hardly be described as glowing, but there was colour in her cheeks again, and in an odd way, her fur seemed to fit her a little better.

“Fluttershy, I…” Trixie was still looking at her, idly drying a china cup with a magically-grasped towel. The pegasus met her gaze, ready to deflect more of Trixie’s apologies, but to her surprise, none came. The unicorn smiled, as if reading her mind. “I know there’s no point in saying sorry again for all the trouble I’ve put you through; I know you don’t want that, but…” She sighed, although the sound was by no means an unhappy one. “Thank you. For everything.” She fell silent for a few moments, as if struggling with a concept she found difficult to put into words. When she finally spoke again, she sounded almost frustrated. “I just want to help you. It’s… it’s not so I can repay you; you’ve already done far, far more than I can ever hope to repay you for.”

Fluttershy blushed again, and opened her mouth to protest, but Trixie cut across her. “It’s just… it seems like you spend your whole life being kind. You help ponies, you help animals, and you don’t even expect anything in return. I think you need somepony to help you, and… and if I’m staying here, I…” she tailed off into silence, awkwardly breaking eye contact.

The pegasus looked at the unicorn for a few long moments. “I’d like that, Trixie,” she murmured at length. Her voice was so low that it was scarcely audible, and the tone was quite unlike the one she usually employed. Then, more to break the sudden, strange silence than anything else, she changed the subject. “Anyway,” she said, smiling at the sapphire mare, “it must be nearly midday. We’d better get out sooner rather than later, if you’re still feeling up to it.

Trixie nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Clearly concentrating hard, she magically maneuvered the final plate onto the stack teetering upon the draining board. “That’s the last of them,” she added, as she began trotting towards the hallway. In the doorway, she turned. “Thanks again for the breakfast,” she smiled appreciatively. “You really are the best chef I know.”

Fluttershy giggled at the hyperbole, trying her utmost not to blush again. “Well then, I guess you don’t know many chefs,” she replied playfully.

“You have me there,” Trixie conceded with a small shrug, her eyes twinkling as she turned to go back upstairs.

Fluttershy watched her go, a little surprised at how bright the unicorn’s mood was. She winced internally, remembering Trixie’s earlier admission, and the way she had responded to it. “How can you not know?” she repeated under her breath, a little disbelieving at how she could have been so tactless.

Why not offer to help? She thought, angrily to herself. Why not sympathize? Asking it like that… it would have made her feel like a freak. In truth, though, the revelation had taken her by complete surprise. As far as she knew, cutie marks appeared when a pony discovered their calling in life. It was common enough to see foals, or even adolescents, trying desperately to uncover their talents, but try as she might, she could not envisage a situation in which a full-grown mare did not understand the meaning of what was undoubtedly the turning point of her youth.

This is Twilight’s area, not mine, she thought resignedly, shaking her head as she cast a final glance over the remarkably clean kitchen. Maybe I’ll visit her later.

No, snapped an irritable, if reasonable, voice at the back of her mind. You’re not going to go telling other ponies about this. You should feel honoured that Trixie’s willing to trust you with something so personal.

But if it helps her…

It’d hurt her a lot more. If you let her down after what happened with Rosemary, she’ll never trust anypony again.

“Ugh,” she groaned quietly, shaking her head. Why is doing the right thing always so complicated?

Fluttershy trotted upstairs after Trixie, doing her best to push the worries aside. She found the unicorn waiting in the bedroom, looking out of the window over the white-blanketed forest that had been her home for so long. Thankfully, the snowfall had abated during the night, and the thinning storm-clouds had exhausted themselves and dissipated.

“You are okay with me borrowing some of your winter clothes, aren’t you?” Trixie asked without turning, still gazing pensively at the Everfree.

“Of course,” Fluttershy insisted, pulling the wardrobe doors ajar. “I’ve got more than enough; my friend Rarity likes to make sure we’re all well wrapped-up in the winter, but… well, she can be a little overenthusiastic.”

Trixie turned, smiling at the expansive collection of hats, scarves, coats and boots that stocked the wardrobe. “You don’t say,” she replied, obviously impressed. “Rarity…” she half-raised a hoof, obviously racking her brains. “The name rings a bell.” She looked suddenly concerned at the amused expression on Fluttershy’s face. “Oh dear. What… what exactly did I do to her?”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, unable to prevent herself from smirking. “Does green hair ring a bell too, by any chance?”

“Oh Celestia,” Trixie groaned, embarrassedly breaking eye contact. “I really do owe everypony an apology, don’t I?”

“That can all wait,” Fluttershy replied, calmly. She returned her gaze to the wardrobe, examining the garments with a critical eye. “Now, what’s your favourite colour?”

The sapphire mare blinked, taken aback by the sudden non-sequitur. “Huh?”

The pegasus smiled. “Well, you keep telling me you want to find out who you are, but I don’t think it’s as serious as that. You know who you are; you’re just a bit out of practice at being her. Considering what the Great and Powerful Trixie did to you, and all that time you spent out in the Everfree, it’s hardly surprising.” Trixie nodded slowly, and Fluttershy continued, “So, I thought we’d better start with the small things.”

Trixie broke into a nervous smile, meeting her eyes again. “It always used to be purple,” she replied. “But… now I’m not sure,” she added, and her cheeks coloured a little, although Fluttershy could not fathom why.

The pegasus shook her head amusedly. “Well then, this might take a while…”


*


The air was chill but windless, and the glittering snow crunched pleasantly beneath their hooves as the two mares trekked their way through the hills just beyond Ponyville. Trixie looked happy enough, but her eyes were darting around with the vigilance born of a year spent in the wilds. She had eventually opted for a velvet lilac coat that rested far enough back on her flank to conceal her cutie mark, and wide-brimmed hat of a similar colour, that rendered her face dappled and indistinct. Fluttershy did not comment, but she knew the reasoning behind the unicorn’s choice of wardrobe; with her face in shadow and her mark obscured, there was no chance that a casual observer would recognize her.

“We’re about halfway there now,” Fluttershy reassured her companion. She herself had opted for a simple green scarf and boots, trusting that the brisk trot would warm her up. They had been walking for less than half an hour, but already, Ponyville was lost amongst the craggy hills. The only indication of its whereabouts came from the thin columns of smoke, rising into the sky from its many chimneys.

The mares were walking side-by-side, chatting idly about anything and everything. To her surprise, Fluttershy found herself connecting with the sapphire unicorn, beyond the coincidence of their similarly flawed foalhoods. It was a surprise to her that so kind and sensitive a personality could have hidden behind arrogance for so many years.

At some point, along the weaving, often-precipitous, paths through the hills, the pair discovered a shared love of art, which Trixie had apparently all but forgotten about during these last, turbulent years. The unicorn threw herself eagerly into this rediscovered passion with an enthusiasm that Fluttershy found quite infectious, and they spent a happy twenty minutes, quite oblivious to the cold, discussing the subtleties of their favourite painters. Trixie could not quite see the appeal of the Moneighs that Fluttershy found so sublime, but they both agreed on the wonders of Trotticelli’s finer works.

“It’s the light that gets me,” Trixie all but gushed, as the mares wandered amicably up a steep hillside path that curved around back in the direction of Ponyville, the landscape around them growing less craggy, with patches of grass spearing up through the snow once again. “When I saw his paintings in the Canterlot Gallery, I couldn’t stop staring at the way he captured sunlight.” She giggled suddenly, her earlier tension and vigilance seemingly forgotten. “I must have looked silly.”

Fluttershy smiled, noting the way that Trixie’s left ear perked up when she was excited. “I’ve always preferred the impressionists,” she admitted, “but I know what you mean. I went there after I first left Cloudsdale, and Rainbow had to all but drag me out. I don’t think she enjoyed it much.”

As she met Trixie’s eyes, something unusual occurred to her. Ordinarily, eye contact was something she avoided; even around her friends, she could only meet their gazes for a few moments at a time before blushing and becoming very interested in the ground, but with Trixie, she felt an odd sense of calm. She could meet the strange, intriguing mare’s eyes without blushing, and it felt for all the world as if she were looking into a mirror. Here was a pony who would never mock or misunderstand her.

Of course, she trusted her other friends implicitly, and knew that they too would never make her deliberately uncomfortable, or poke fun at her shyness. Yet, with Trixie, there was a subtle difference that she could not quite place. 

Trixie was the worn, damaged mare that Fluttershy knew she herself could so easily have become, were it not for her good fortune of finding her calling away from the sky she was unable to claim. She wanted to be close to the unicorn, to hold onto her and share everything with her, to keep her safe and be kept safe in return.

She knew what Trixie had once been, and was aware of the brevity of their friendship, but it mattered very little. Naturally, she was still learning the mare’s ways, growing accustomed to her little quirks and fears, discovering the hidden messages in her words, in her glances, in the twitches of her ears and her tail. Yet somehow, she felt as if she had known this mare for years. She was uncovering the facets of this mare at the same time as Trixie rediscovered them herself.

Nopony is born wearing a mask.

I’ve never met a pony like me before… The words spun in her memory, and she realized that she was still gazing into the mare’s lavender eyes, a little transfixed at the way the weak winter sunlight lay dappled across her cheeks. The unicorn’s lips were curled in a gentle smile, with no trace of the darting watchfulness that had overtaken her expression earlier. It occurred to Fluttershy, for the first time, just how different Trixie looked when her face was not distorted by that old, arrogant sneer.

The mare’s eyes were still shadowed with a deep-seated tiredness, and despite her smile, the corners of her mouth were constantly tightened as if at an old pain or incompleteness. However, none of these marks seemed to lessen the fact that Trixie was an undeniably beautiful mare.

As soon as the word ‘beautiful’ crossed her mind, Fluttershy felt her cheeks sting with blood, and she looked away.

Don’t lose sight of what you’re trying to do for her, Fluttershy, spoke up that low voice of warning.

I don’t know what you mean.

You watched her fall asleep last night, and you know you weren’t just making sure she was alright. You’ve seen the way she flushes when you hug her; can’t you see you’re starting to make her uncomfortable?

I…

I’m not the one you need to make excuses to. Just remember that you’re caring for her; she doesn’t have any choice but to stay with you. Don’t you dare take advantage of that.

A tiny, frustrated sigh slipped out between her lips, low enough that her companion did not notice. I don’t want to think of her in that way. I’m not like that.

Not like what? You can’t kid me; I know how bothered you get in the steam room at the spa. I know those lovely little dreams you’ve had about Aloe and Lotus.

Stop it. Her cheeks were a furious red, and she buried her face into her scarf, in a pretence of coldness.

Why should I, when I know the reason you borrowed that poster of Spitfire from Rainbow?

Her primary feathers twitched ever-so-slightly before she blushed harder than ever, thanking Celestia that Trixie was looking momentarily away from her, taking in the details of the sun-flooded hillside pass along which they were walking. Alright, alright! You’ve made your point.

I’m not saying it’s wrong for you to feel that way about her, I’m just saying you need to accept that you do, and you need to keep it to yourself, for her sake. Nopony ever said kindness was easy; kindness is all about self-sacrifice.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be.

Suddenly, Trixie let out a sharp gasp of wonderment, jerking Fluttershy back to reality. They had crested the peak of the hill; they had arrived.


*


Trixie felt her jaw drop a little at the sight that greeted her. The narrow pass had widened out, leading the mares onto a circular hilltop that was almost perfectly flat, white and smooth like a great iced cake. An aged oak tree stood alone, standing guard at the edge of the hilltop, stark and black against the snow, its gnarled, bare branches twisting skywards. Its ancient surface was pitted with dozens of dark knotholes and indentations, and yet, somehow, it did not seem as bleak and forbidding as its silhouette should rightly have made it.

What made Trixie’s breath catch in her throat, however, was the view. The unicorn had been so engrossed in her conversation with Fluttershy that she had utterly failed to notice how high up they had climbed. Below them, glittering in the winter sun, was the valley in which Ponyville lay. The river slid, glimmering through the silvered fields, branching and reconnecting as it wove its way through farms and forests.

The town sat nestled within the embrace of the fields, almost blindingly bright in the afternoon’s glare. Its outskirts halted just shy of the lowering Everfree, as if it were flirting a little fearfully with the forest, without quite working up the courage to reach out and touch it. Far away on the horizon, clinging to the crags of its mountain, its turrets shining even at this distance, stood the city of Canterlot.

Trixie gazed down at the dark Everfree, her eyes dancing between the picturesque sprawl of the rural town, and the hulking mass of the impenetrable forest. She wondered quietly how she could ever have lived in the one, for fear of the other. Her gaze came to rest on Ponyville, as she finally found her voice.

“Celestia, the very houses seem asleep…” she murmured, the quotation springing to mind, although she could not recall its source.

“You know that poem?” Fluttershy’s voice was pleasantly surprised as she stood at Trixie’s side, gazing down over the vista before them. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Trixie did not know precisely to what she was referring, but it did not matter; the view, the poem, and her companion all seemed equally beautiful at that moment. “The river glideth at his own sweet will,” she whispered, almost afraid to break the silence.

Fluttershy smiled. “And all that mighty heart is lying still,” she finished, her voice equally low. Trixie could have sworn that the pegasus moved to lean up against her, but seemed, at the last second, to think better of it. “This was where I first saw Ponyville,” she said quietly, almost wistfully, as if at a memory that she was not sorry to leave behind, and yet still found a little regretful.

As Trixie watched, Fluttershy reached into her saddlebag, extracting what appeared to be a small glass ball, about the size of a cue ball. It was roughly-made and coloured a vivid, ruby red. A strange pearlescent sheen radiated from it, as if it were generating its own light from within. At the unicorn’s inquiring look, Fluttershy hastened to explain. “Twilight invented these last year, and she gave me half a dozen of them because she knows I need to be outside a lot in the winter. Watch.”

Smiling at the look of interest on Trixie’s face, she tossed the orb away from them with surprising force, and it fell into the snow, some distance away. The sapphire mare’s eyes widened; as soon as it touched the snow, the ball began to hiss violently. Clouds of steam started to rise up into the air in a perfect circle, obscuring an area of ground a little more than six feet across. Fluttershy jumped a little, giving a minute squeak that was lost in the loud sizzling sound, obviously not having expected such a vigorous reaction.

After a few long moments, the thick mist dissipated, and Trixie stared in surprise at the result. A perfect circle of snow, large enough for several ponies to sit comfortably within, had been cleared. The grass beneath looked a little crushed and unhealthy due to the winter weather, but was free of so much as a snowflake. At the very centre of the circle, the red orb glowed warmly, looking quite pleased with itself.

Fluttershy grinned. “Come on,” she beckoned Trixie over, stepping inside the thawed circle with an obvious sigh, as if at a pleasant sensation, and lay down on the grass. A little tentatively, Trixie followed suit.

As soon as she stepped into the circle, the temperature of the air rose considerably, and Trixie felt herself let out a low sigh; it was a sensation akin to sinking into a warm bath. It did not feel like summer, and the air still had a wintry breeze about it; it was simply warmer. Trixie lay down beside Fluttershy, finding the grass perfectly dry, and eyeing the glass sphere appreciatively.

“I thought it’d be useful; if we’re going to stay here for a little while, there’s no point in being cold.”

Trixie nodded, half-moving to prod the glass surface with a hoof before thinking better of it and retreating. “That Twilight’s a clever one, isn’t she?”

Fluttershy giggled, pulling off her scarf and dropping it onto the grass. “She’s been trying to perfect trapped spells for such a long time. Each one only lasts for about half an hour, but they’re certainly useful.”

The unicorn swept her eyes, once again, over the vista before them, her sometime-rival’s talents momentarily forgotten. “This really is incredible, Fluttershy,” she murmured. Fumbling with her less-than-dexterous magic, the mare unbuttoned her borrowed coat, dropping it onto the ground beside Fluttershy’s scarf. She kept the wide-brimmed hat on however, to shield her eyes from the glaring winter sun.

The canary mare let out a low sigh, turning to look towards Trixie. “I always knew I had to live on the ground,” she said, quietly. “I couldn’t stay in Cloudsdale, not if it meant being separated from what I’d been born to do. Rainbow came with me; we were always together back then, and she’d gone through some bad times up there. Her family wasn’t exactly…” The corners of her mouth tightened a little, but then the moment passed, and she carried on speaking. “Anyway, she came with me. We both wanted to take a look at Ponyville; I knew it was near the Everfree, so there’d be no shortage of creatures, and Dash had heard about how the town had the best weather patrol in the area, so she wanted to sign up. I mean, she couldn’t stay on the ground any more than I could live up in the sky, so… well, we compromised.”

She pointed with a forehoof at a spot just east of Ponyville. “That’s her house, there. She never could bring herself to live on the ground.” Trixie caught sight of what appeared to be a small, very low-hanging wisp of cloud just outside the town, its details obscured by distance. “So anyway, one day,” Fluttershy continued, “we decided we’d come and see if Ponyville was all it was cracked up to be. I was just getting used to life on the ground, so I asked Rainbow if we could walk along the roads to Ponyville after we came down from Cloudsdale, instead of flying.” She smiled with fond nostalgia. “She wasn’t exactly happy about it, but she agreed. It took us a couple of days on hoof, but then, one morning, we came over this hill.”

She gestured mutely over the scene that lay below them. “That’s what I saw,” she murmured, eventually, turning to Trixie, her expression enraptured. “I knew I’d found where I wanted to live my life. I know this sounds a little trite of me, but it was home.” She broke into a small, nervous smile, as if waiting for the unicorn to pass some opinion on the place. “I… I come here sometimes, if I’m feeling down or confused, and I just look down at the valley. It reminds me that I’m home, that I’m happy… it helps me to think.” She paused, blushing a little as if struggling with a difficult admission. “I’ve only ever come up here alone before now… I’ve… I’ve never brought anypony else with me.”

Impulsively, Trixie edged a little closer to her companion, granted a strange sense of unreality by the hazing warmth, and rested a forehoof over her friend’s silken-furred shoulders. As if yielding to some unknown temptation, the expression on her face suggesting that she was acting against her better judgment, Fluttershy nestled into Trixie’s side, leaning her head into the unicorn’s neck.

“Thank you, Fluttershy,” Trixie whispered. She tried to put a great many unsaid things into the contact between them; she wanted to tell the mare just how much it meant that she was willing to let her share something so intimate and personal with her, she wanted to tell Fluttershy how that trust was reciprocated a thousand times over.

At that moment, she wanted to tell the timid, wonderful pegasus a great many other things too. But she knew that she must not.

Fluttershy’s looking after you. She trusts you, and she’s willing to comfort you. Don’t abuse that; don’t break her trust in you. She’s not Rosemary.

Trixie was all too aware now of how the primrose pony affected her; she knew how hard it was not to outwardly show these most guilty, confusing emotions. She could feel the blush that stained her cheeks whenever Fluttershy reached out to her, and was quite sure that the other mare would have noticed by now. However, whether Fluttershy did not realize what it might mean, or was keeping her silence—so as to avoid embarrassment for both of them—she was not sure.

All she knew was, as she felt the gentle rise and fall of the soft body against her own, it did not matter. This would have to be enough for her. This was more than enough.

“Fluttershy,” she began, slowly. “About my cutie mark...”

The pegasus turned her head slightly to look up at Trixie, still leaning against her neck. “Mhm?”

“I… I didn’t get it until late,” she continued, taking her time with the words. “I was one of the last in my class, and it wasn’t that long before I started out with the caravan. I’d always loved the idea of magic; I loved what it could create… there was something about such effortless power that enchanted me. Like most unicorn foals, I felt blessed. But, like most unicorn foals, I couldn’t so much as lift a toothpick.” She snorted. “I wanted that power. I wanted to be great like the princesses. All of those famous names; Clover, Starswirl… I convinced myself that one day I’d be alongside them in the history books.” She shook her head. “Always the taste for the theatrical.”

“So… you got your mark when you first realized that was what you wanted?” Fluttershy asked, hesitantly.

Trixie shook her head. “No… no. It happened when I put on my first show.” Wondering how best to frame the story, she chewed on her injured lip without thinking, and winced with pain. “At school. There was a talent show; they’d set up an open-air stage on the front lawns, and I wanted to enter. I wanted to show them all that I was headed for great things, so I poured myself into it. My magic was finally beginning to develop; looking back, it wasn’t anything special, but it had taken so long that I felt I could work miracles. So I practiced trick after trick, I painted the backdrop myself, I rehearsed my patter, I even spent all of my pocket money on fireworks.” She tried to smile, but it must have looked more like a grimace.

“How did it go?” the timid pegasus enquired, looking almost afraid to ask.

“Perfect,” Trixie spat. “Better than perfect. They loved it.” She let out a deep groan. “It felt like the start of a new life. All of the fireworks went off just when they were meant to, all the tricks went perfectly, they laughed at my jokes, and half the school put their hooves up when I said I needed volunteers. I… I won.” By the final word, the unicorn’s suddenly-rapid burst of speech had tailed off to an awkward mumble.

“It convinced me. I guess that speaks volumes about the kind of pony I am; I was blinded by my own sleight of hoof. I knew it was smoke and mirrors; I was the one who set the smoke and mirrors up, and deep down I knew I wasn’t great or powerful. But I told myself I was, and with all of that applause, all those near-strangers smiling up at me, it was easy to believe myself. Then, I got off-stage, and noticed this.” She gestured down at the crossed wand and moon emblazoned across her flank. “That was just confirmation. A magical mark for a magical pony.”

She snorted again. “All those years spent convincing myself that I could live up to that wand. All those years trying to practice a talent I don’t even have. Maybe that was where it all started, but I don’t know.” Her voice grew in volume, and she thumped her free forehoof into the grass with frustration and confusion. “I don’t know when it all started, it’s just… oh, I just don’t know!” The final word rippled off into the winter air, echoing off the surrounding hillsides. She stared down into the valley for a few moments, then dropped her gaze, leaning her head apologetically against Fluttershy’s. “But it’s a start,” she muttered.

“I need to know what it means,” the unicorn continued. “What it really means. I spent so many years hoping it was magic, but it can’t be. I’m just no good at it; the only thing I’m decent at is simple conjuration and illusion, and nowhere near enough for it to be my life’s calling. But… something happened that evening, at school. I found what I was meant to do, but I was so caught up in the magic that I couldn’t see it.” She sighed in irritation. “But look at it! My cutie mark’s a wand and a moon. What could that possibly mean, other than magic?”

For a few long moments, Fluttershy was silent. Trixie’s breathing was heavy and ragged, as though she had been running, and the primrose pegasus turned her head to nuzzle soothingly at the side of her neck. “Shh, it’s okay…” she whispered, her warm breath playing across the skin beneath the unicorn’s fur. Unable to hold herself back, Trixie let out a tiny, compulsive moan at the delicate, sensual contact. Hastily, she turned the sound into a frustrated groan as best she could, which was, in all honesty, not difficult.

This isn’t right, Trixie, muttered a sullen voice of warning in the back of her mind.

Thankfully, Fluttershy’s eyes were closed; she appeared deep in thought and did not see the brick-red glow of Trixie’s cheeks. The unicorn would have bitten her lip again, but knew better than to do so. She was suddenly extremely aware of the pegasus’s proximity. A burning sense of anger and injustice, which erupted in her chest whenever she dwelt on her confusing past, was mingling with an equally hot clench of arousal as Fluttershy continued to nuzzle comfortingly at her neck. Although the unicorn’s breathing was slowing down, her stomach felt suddenly full of butterflies, and she shifted uncomfortably in place, surreptitiously tucking her tail between her hind legs.

She wants to comfort you. She’s so innocent; don’t dirty her by reacting like this. Imagine how mortified she’d feel if she knew.

You think I can help it?

You need to be able to; you owe it to her. Besides, she’s trying to calm you down, not make you more distracted.

Eventually, Fluttershy spoke, and her tone was one of sympathy. She pulled back, the better to look at the unicorn, but continued running a calming forehoof through Trixie’s mane. “It’s a difficult one, isn’t it?”

Trixie nodded, glumly.

The pegasus looked pensive for a few moments. “If… if you don’t mind telling me, what did your parents do?”

“Dad was a stockbroker,” Trixie replied, quietly thanking Celestia that the blood had ebbed a little from her cheeks, although an undeniable heat was still tingling treacherously between her thighs. She tucked her tail in a little closer, doing her best to not focus on Fluttershy’s intoxicating floral scent. “He traded on the Canterlot market,” she continued, her voice a little shaky. “He wasn’t exactly a high-flyer, but there was always plenty of money around.” Trixie shrugged. “He wasn’t around much; commuted to Canterlot every day. I think Mom suspected he spent a lot of time fooling around on the side, and looking back, she was probably right. They nearly split a few times over it, but they’re still together. I… I guess they’re happy these days, now that he’s retired.” She shook her head, thoughtfully.

“Mom was an artist. She loved to paint, ever since she was a foal. Dad was in a solid job, so she could afford to do it more as a hobby, but she still managed to sell a few of her works.” She smiled at the sudden memory. “I must have caught her love of art. I had a go at painting when I was a foal, but I wasn’t any good. I didn’t have the eye for colour she had. They both loved me, but it always felt like they wanted me to follow them. 

“They knew I was sidelined sometimes, what with Dad spending all his time in Canterlot, and Mom with her own worries. Maybe they felt guilty about it; they always gave me more than I needed, but every present felt like it came with a little apology. I suppose you could say they spoiled me.” She shrugged again. “But none of that matters. The point is, I’ve not inherited any talents from either of them. Passions, yes. Personalities, maybe. But not talents.”

Fluttershy nodded, understandingly. “I know what that’s like. My parents split up when I was seven, and I grew up with my Mom. I always… I don’t know. I always felt like they blamed me, just a tiny bit. I don’t know if they even realized it themselves.” She sighed, looking up apologetically at Trixie. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be dwelling on that right now. This… this isn’t about me.”

“It can be about both of us,” returned Trixie, quietly. She had the distinct impression that, a lot like this hilltop, the pegasus had always kept much of her past locked away inside herself.

“You’ve got to come first today,” Fluttershy said, firmly, the merest trace of a shake in her voice. “We need to work this out. If it’s not hereditary, then… Well, I don’t even know if special talents can be hereditary. Look at Pinkie Pie.”

“Who?”

“I don’t think you met her.” Fluttershy replied, a little absently. “Her parents ran a rock farm, and… well, I can’t imagine her following in their hoofsteps.” She shrugged, smiling ever-so-slightly as if at a private joke. “I mean,” she continued, “the moon and the wand are both magical symbols. I can’t see what they’d be doing there if your talent was nothing to do with magic of some kind. Are you absolutely sure it isn’t your illusion magic? I mean, you said you were good at it, and maybe—”

“It isn’t,” Trixie cut across her, flatly. “I’m no magician, Fluttershy. I stopped kidding myself about that nearly two years ago. I can move small objects like any unicorn, and make some pretty lights and pictures, but I’m nothing more than average. Everypony’s got a few things they’re decent at, but that doesn’t make it a special talent.” She hung her head.

“I mean, surely if I’d been practicing my talent all these years, I wouldn’t feel so… incomplete. I’ve spent my life looking for new lives, I’ve reinvented myself over and over again, but it’s all been built around magic, and I have to admit that it never felt fulfilling. Look at you. You’re amazing with animals, but you love it as well. I can’t see you being able to imagine doing anything else with your life. It’s why us ponies are lucky, next to dragons and donkeys and goodness-knows-what else; everypony has a calling, and we all know what our calling is. Well… almost all of us. I spent so long fighting against mine that now… well, I don’t have the faintest idea. I’ve been waving that wand like a fool for years, and look at what’s happened. Nothing.” She rolled her eyes. “Abracadabra.”

Fluttershy bit her lip. “Trixie, I…” she faltered, and the unicorn sighed.

“I’m sorry, Fluttershy. I don’t mean to get so morose about this, it just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“I don’t understand it either,” murmured the pegasus, apologetically. Then, quite suddenly, she seemed to brighten a little. “But I do know somepony who might,” she suggested, tentatively.

“Who?”

“Twilight,” Fluttershy said, looking closely at Trixie to gauge her reaction. The unicorn opened her mouth, but Fluttershy hastened to clarify herself. “I mean, I know you probably won’t feel up to facing her yet, but I could go to the library for you. She already knows about you, and she can keep a secret, so it wouldn’t be like I was telling anypony new about you. I could get out a few books on the theory behind cutie marks, and I can ask her any questions you need answering.”

“You’d do that?” Trixie asked, feeling a rush of gratitude, and a flare of something dangerously close to hope. She suddenly felt awkward. “I mean… look, Fluttershy, I know I’m being a coward here, I just… I can’t face them. Not yet. I want to though. I just need to be a little stronger first; I want to know who I am, before I apologize for what I did, otherwise it’s meaningless.” She shook her head almost violently, as if trying to discourage a cloud of flies. “I just need a few more days. I know how stupid and crazy this must be for you, and I hate myself for making you keep me as a secret like this…” She let out a low, frustrated sound. “Just a few more days. I promise.”

She turned to meet Fluttershy’s gaze, and saw that the primrose mare was smiling at her. “You’re a secret I don’t mind keeping, Trixie,” she murmured.

For a few long moments, both mares were silent. Trixie did not honestly know how to respond. Fluttershy looked a little embarrassed, as if she wanted to regret her words, but could not quite bring herself to do so. Then, Trixie sniffed, realizing that her eyes were swimming with tears. “Th-thank you, Fluttershy,” she choked out. She wanted to embrace the timid pegasus, but something indefinable held her back. “Thank you for… for everything.”

Fluttershy grinned shyly at her, holding out her forelegs in a silent gesture of invitation. “Come here,” she said, quietly.

Trixie, her fears allayed, wasted no time in complying, leaning over and catching her friend in a tight hug. Fluttershy reciprocated without hesitation, letting slip a happy little squeak at the moment of contact. For what could have been infinite seconds, or momentary hours, they held each other in silence. 

Strangely, despite its intimacy, the moment did not feel at all romantic, and none of the earlier warmth resurged in Trixie’s cheeks, or haunches, as she buried her hooves in the silken fur of Fluttershy’s back. She rested her cheek against the side of her friend’s neck, and felt the mare squeeze her gently closer.

She found herself gazing over the primrose mare’s shoulder, out across the alabaster valley spread out below them, and let out a low, happy sigh.

“You’re right,” she murmured into Fluttershy’s ear.

The pegasus looked up at her, their wide eyes inches apart. “About what?”

Trixie smiled a simple, contented smile. “This does feel like home.”
	 
	
> IX: The Cracks in the Surface
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Nine
The Cracks in the Surface

The evening was beginning to wear on, and the chilly, primrose pegasus let out a sigh of relief as the library door swung shut behind her.

“Twilight?” Fluttershy called out as she wiped her hooves on the welcome mat, feeling the warmth of the recently lit fire wash pleasantly over her. She knew perfectly well that it was a public library, but she always felt more than a little uncomfortable about entering a friend’s home unannounced.

The purple unicorn was facing away from her, compulsively re-shelving books with the air of a pony trying to distract herself. She looked deeply concerned about something as she turned to face Fluttershy. Pushing a magically-clutched book back onto the shelf at random, she did her best to smile. “Hey, Fluttershy.”

Without the mental occupation of her books, Twilight seemed to slump a little, as if only the momentum of her chores had been keeping her upright.

“I just came over to—” Fluttershy’s voice broke off in concern. “Twilight, are you okay?”

The unicorn bit her lip, and sniffed loudly. “It’s… it’s Spike,” she replied, her voice a little shaky.

Fluttershy’s eyes widened a little. “What’s wrong?” The words came out high-pitched and fearful.

“Don’t worry, he’s okay,” Twilight clarified, hastily. She motioned for Fluttershy to sit down on the frayed old sofa. The canary pegasus obeyed, and Twilight followed suit, sinking down to sit beside her. “It’s just… well, he’s a dragon. They normally live around volcanoes; they thrive in the heat. The winters aren’t exactly kind to him here, and he always gets a cold.” She shook her head. “This year was just worse than most; yesterday it developed into a full-blown dose of flu. Dragon-flu’s horrible; it kills their fire, and without it… well, they’re technically cold-blooded, aren’t they? They start to freeze.

“He couldn’t so much as make a spark, and I couldn’t do a single thing for him. Neither could the hospital; they’d never even as seen a dragon before. In the end, I asked the Princess to take him back to Canterlot for a while, so he’ll be able to recover. She raised him after he hatched; I know I can trust her to look after him better than I can. She took him away this morning.” She heaved a deep sigh, and Fluttershy noticed the deep bags under her eyes.

“Twilight, I’m so sorry,” Fluttershy whispered. She could hardly have helped; she knew no more about dragon physiology than the ponies at the hospital, but could not help but feel guilty that she had been too busy with Trixie to realize that such a crisis was occurring amongst her other friends. “Thank Celestia he’s alright.”

Twilight nodded, fervently. “I know… he’ll probably have to stay there until the spring, to convalesce.” She half-smiled, despite the fact that she was obviously drained with worry. “I guess it’ll be nice for him to see his old room again. The Princess always loved having him around, back when we both lived in the castle. I… I know he’s in safe hooves, at least.” She looked around at the book-lined walls, a little wistfully. “I’ve promised I’ll visit him at weekends, it’s just… well, the place just seems so empty without him.”

Fluttershy gave a sympathetic sigh. “Do the others know?”

“Rarity helped me pack his things and wave him off, but I don’t know about the rest of the girls.” She giggled, quietly. “Seeing Rarity cheered him up a bit, like you’d expect. You know how she fusses over him.”

Fluttershy smiled, but tutted quietly nevertheless. “She’s going to give him the wrong idea, poor thing.”

The unicorn shrugged. “I don’t think he really believes she’s interested in him; not in that way, anyway. He’s happy if she just pays attention to him, and she finds him so adorable that she does that in spades.” She shook her head amusedly, turning to Fluttershy. “Anyway, he’s safe now. From Rarity and the winter. What’s up?”

The pegasus chewed on her bottom lip. “Twilight… you know I told you a couple of days ago that Trixie had been sneaking around in my garden?”

There was no doubt about it; at the mention of the sapphire mare’s name, Twilight’s ear definitely twitched, flattening itself down against the top of her head. The unicorn gave a quick, nervous grin that was obviously intended to be quite nonchalant, but came across as anything but. “Mhm?”

“Umm…” Fluttershy’s voice trailed off at her friend’s odd behaviour, and a sudden sense of foreboding arose in the pit of her stomach. She was suddenly not entirely convinced that it was a good idea to tell Twilight the truth of what had happened. What if she was afraid of Trixie? Or hostile, and bent on revenge for the Ursa Minor incident?

Don’t be stupid. She’s probably just worried for your sake. Yes, she can be a bit obsessive sometimes, but she’s not a vengeful pony. Besides, she’s your friend; she deserves to know the truth.

“Well,” she began, “yesterday morning, I was at Applejack’s farm, and…”

As the minutes ticked by, and the fire began to gutter, Twilight sat and listened attentively to Fluttershy’s story. She did not interrupt, but she winced upon hearing about Trixie’s unwitting attack upon her timid friend, eyes darting to the scabbed-over wound on Fluttershy’s temple. At the news that Trixie was now staying at the pegasus’s house, she made an involuntary move forwards in her chair, eyes widening with an emotion that Fluttershy could not place. 

The pegasus told Twilight the story of Trixie’s past, and the mystery of her talent. However, she left out their time together on the hilltop, and most certainly left out the heated squirms that churned in the pit of her stomach whenever the sapphire mare touched her, or murmured private, trusting words in her ear.

“…So, she said it was alright if I came to you,” Fluttershy concluded, helplessly. “I mean… I don’t know anything about cutie marks. I always thought they appeared once a pony realized their talent.”

For a few moments, Twilight was silent. Fluttershy expected her to address the matter of Trixie’s talent, but when she finally spoke, it was to voice an entirely different question. “So… you’re taking care of Trixie over the winter?”

Fluttershy nodded, taken aback. “Until she gets back on her hooves, at any rate.” She shrugged. “I think she’s past her travelling days. Maybe she’ll come to live in Ponyville permanently; I mean, she really is different now.”

“Yeah.” Twilight leaned forward in her seat, her brow creased with what looked bizarrely like worry. “Yeah, she… she sounds different.” Then, she shook her head, as if attempting to disabuse herself of some foolish idea. “Who knows?” she muttered, under her breath.

“Twilight…” Fluttershy met her friend’s gaze, tentatively. “Is everything okay? I mean, apart from the worry over Spike, obviously.”

“Oh… yes, I’m fine.” The unicorn’s cheeks coloured ever-so-slightly, and she looked almost fearful. Her left ear flicked compulsively upright. “I just can’t believe she’s changed so much.” She was obviously doing her best to appear pleased at the news, although she was chewing her lower lip as if stirring herself from a train of thought she hoped to avoid. “Anyway, you wanted to know about cutie marks?”

“Yes,” Fluttershy replied, nodding, although she was a little unwilling to press on with a discussion that seemed to be eliciting ever stranger behaviour from her friend. “I… I thought it was all about realization. I thought that when a pony understood what their calling was, that was when the mark would appear.”

The unicorn looked thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t think that’s necessarily the case,” she said, her tone pensive. “It’s a combination of two things; firstly, a pony has to be emotionally mature enough to understand the significance and meaning of a cutie mark. If that’s the case, then the mark will appear when their talent is first exercised.” She smiled at Fluttershy’s confused expression. “Of course, normally, a pony will realize what their special talent is when they first exercise it; ordinarily, the circumstances make it obvious. I mean, say for instance that a foal tried their hoof at baking. If it turned out that baking was their special talent. It’d be more-or-less impossible for them to misinterpret what it meant when a loaf of bread appeared on their flank, and besides, it’d just feel right.”

Fluttershy sighed. “But what about Trixie? Are you saying that if a pony uses their talent without realizing it they can still get their mark?”

Twilight leaned back in her chair, an expression of quiet absorption on her face. Fluttershy was glad that Twilight’s earlier, worrying twitches had dissipated, and with her focus on the problem at hand, there was no longer any hint of the faint psychological unraveling that had caused her so much trouble in the past. The pegasus reflected that her distractibility was, perhaps, fortunate. 

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like everything’s in place for Trixie except for the talent. She wanted to be a great magician, she put on a magic show at school, and was given an obviously-magical cutie mark as a result. Naturally, her talent should be magic or at least related to it, but… well, you’re right. From what I saw, she’s no more magical than any other unicorn. Everything points to a magical talent, except for… well, except for the talent.”

Fluttershy nodded. “That’s what’s so confusing.” Her eyes widened as another thought occurred to her. “Oh, by the way, Twilight, can special talents be hereditary?”

Her friend brightened a little at the prospect of a question that she could easily answer. “They can be,” she explained, “but they don’t need to be. I mean, Rarity’s mother was a costume designer for the Canterlot Playhouse, years ago, so you can see how that’s been passed down… but on the other hoof, look at Pinkie Pie. Four generations of rock farming, and then… well, look at her.”

The pegasus smiled. “That’s what I said to Trixie,” she remarked. Then, she bit her lip, a little worried at how much of a dead end they had struck. “So, you’ve got no idea what might explain Trixie’s mark?”

The unicorn shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you, Fluttershy; I never studied cutie mark theory in any great detail, I just learned the rudiments. Feel free to get some books out, though.” Her eyes suddenly widened slightly, and for an instant she looked almost calculating. “Can… can I meet her?” she asked, and although the words sounded quite innocent, an inkling of suspicion rose in the back of Fluttershy’s mind. “I mean, if I can talk to her, maybe I can get a clearer idea of—”

“Not yet,” Fluttershy cut firmly across her, unsure as to the source of her sudden bout of assertion. “She’s still very weak. She says she’d like to apologize to everypony and just do her best to reconcile, but she doesn’t feel up to it just yet.”

A flash of what could have been anger glinted momentarily in Twilight’s eyes, but once again it was gone so rapidly that it could just as easily have been a trick of the firelight. When she spoke again, her voice was calm and measured. “Well then, let’s try to find you a few books on the subject.”

She got to her hooves, trotting over to one of the room’s many bookshelves with a practiced certainty, and Fluttershy stood to trot along in her wake. The pegasus noticed that the circular table in the middle of the room was strewn with a sparse covering of magazine and newspaper cuttings. Pausing, as Twilight began perusing the shelf, Fluttershy glanced surreptitiously down at the table.

With a small and insuppressible gasp of surprise, she realized that all of the clippings pertained to a single mare. The Great and Powerful Trixie’s face was sneering up at her from almost every scrap of paper. Some were scathing reviews of her shows cut from local magazines, whilst others mentioned the mare only in passing for one petty reason or another. Most, however, were glossy-magazine speculations as to why the showmare had retreated into obscurity a year previously.

At a glance, they seemed for the most part to be idle, speculative gossip. Few made any mention of Ponyville, and only one mentioned the involvement of a monster, although it appeared under the impression that the creature was a hydra, and that Trixie had been killed in the struggle. The town’s absence was not a surprise, considering that Trixie had wandered the world for almost another year before returning to the Everfree. One cutting seemed convinced that Trixie had been forced into hiding by the unearthing of her links to a widespread kidney harvesting scam, and yet another opined that the showmare had changed her identity entirely, and was now making a comfortable living as a fortune teller in Las Pegasus, well away from the public eye.

All in all, Fluttershy could hardly see why Twilight had gone to the trouble of collecting such dross, but she reflected that Trixie had never exactly been famous, and that it would be highly unlikely to find her as the subject of any serious piece of journalism.

“You’ve been busy,” Fluttershy remarked, gesturing down at the cuttings.

Twilight turned, three books magically hovering around her head, and nodded. “I’ve kept an eye out these last two years, but this is all I’ve been able to find. To tell the truth, I’d almost given up. I only got this stuff out again now because she’d turned up again, and I had to see if I’d missed anything.” She let out a low groan. “I just wanted to know that she wasn’t dead; I’d have felt completely responsible.”

Fluttershy gave her a searching look. “Well, she isn’t dead,” she replied, reassuringly. “If you want to know what happened over those two years, then I’m sure you can ask her yourself, as soon as she’s ready. I’ve… I’ve not gone into detail with her about it.” She pawed at the floorboards, breaking eye contact. “I don’t think they were good years.”

The unicorn nodded, suddenly eyeing her friend a little suspiciously, the three weighty volumes still orbiting her head. “Are you sure it’s healthy for you to keep her shut up like this?”

Fluttershy felt a stab of annoyance at the question. “What do you mean by that?” Had she not been of such a timid disposition, the words would doubtless have sounded hostile. “I… I mean, we spent most of this afternoon taking a walk together, and considering how cold it is, I don’t think too much time outside would do her any good at all. She’s still very weak.”

“So you keep telling me,” Twilight raised an eyebrow, her tone slightly disbelieving. “Why aren’t you letting anypony visit her?”

Fluttershy was extremely taken aback by this sudden aggression, and infuriated at being all but accused of lying about Trixie’s health, but a combination of shyness and patience kept her voice from rising. “I’ve told you,” she explained doggedly, through gritted teeth. “I’m not keeping her from seeing anypony. If she told me she wanted to make a speech to the entire town tomorrow, then I’d be more than happy to help her with her notes. The only reason I’m not letting anypony see her is because she doesn’t want to be seen yet.” 

She sighed, hoping that Twilight would get the message. “She knows that she owes us all an apology, but to tell the truth, I think she’s a little afraid that everypony will… I don’t know, run her out of town, or at least give her a hard time about it. She wants to meet you, and the others, but she needs to be a little stronger first because, let’s face it, some ponies like Rainbow Dash might be kind of a hard sell. You do understand, Twilight, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Twilight replied. Her tone was conciliatory, but she avoided Fluttershy’s eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Fluttershy smiled at her, although she was still a little worried by her friend’s bizarre and hostile behaviour. Twilight dropped the books onto the table, and Fluttershy looked down at the covers. The book atop the pile was heavy and leather-bound, entitled ‘Making a Mark: A Study Into Equine Aptitude Determinism’. 

The pegasus slipped them carefully into her saddlebags, fully expecting the books to be nigh-indecipherable, and most likely of no help whatsoever. At that moment, however, she would take whatever she could get. “I’d better be getting back now. Thanks for the books, Twilight.” She turned to leave the library. “Give my love to Spike when you visit,” she called back over her shoulder. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Fluttershy?” The pegasus halted, turning back to face Twilight. The lavender mare met her gaze, looking a little shamefaced. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she sounded sincere. “I’m just on edge about Spike, and everything…” She sighed. “I’ll be alright.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fluttershy replied, quietly, trotting back over to her friend. “But…” she paused, but could not let it go; it needed to be said. “Is there something else going on? I mean, whenever I mention Trixie, you just…” Her voice was almost inaudible by now; she needed to confront her concerns head-on. “Twilight, you don’t want revenge, do you?”

The unicorn’s mouth had fallen open a little, and her eyes were wide. “Revenge?” she barely mouthed the word. For a few long moments, she was silent. “Why would I want revenge?”

Fluttershy felt the colour rise in her cheeks. “I… I just thought, maybe… I mean, she nearly did so much damage…”

“I don’t want revenge,” Twilight stated, a little coolly. “If she really is as different as you say, then I… I’m not sure I know what I want anymore.”

“Twilight, what do you mean?” asked the pegasus, a little exasperated, and more than a little concerned. “What did you want, then?”

“I… I want…” Twilight’s voice trailed off. “I want to think,” she muttered at length, turning away.

Fluttershy took the hint. She could not fathom why Trixie’s presence in the town engendered this morose, impulsive attitude in the librarian. The pegasus had seen that look in Twilight’s eyes before, but this time, there was no Spike to summon the princess, should things spiral out of control. She wanted to stay and talk to Twilight, but she did not want to force her presence onto her friend if she was not wanted, and in truth, the unicorn was beginning to scare her a little.

Don’t be a stranger, Twilight.

As she turned to leave, she felt as if she were weighed down by far more than the books in her saddlebag.


*


The cottage’s windows were an impenetrable, wintry black; the three weighty tomes were stacked on the coffee table, and two tired mares reclined beneath a blanket on the soft sofa. Fluttershy had been pleasantly surprised to find that Trixie, presumably drawing on skills developed in the Everfree, had built an immaculate fire in her absence, and the room was filled with a wonderful, soporific warmth. Two empty cocoa mugs and a half-finished game of draughts stood beside the books. The air was full of the soothing smells of the chocolate and the fire.

“This is my fault.”

Fluttershy looked up at Trixie’s words. She had just finished describing Twilight’s strange behaviour at the library, and the sapphire mare had lapsed into a long silence, which she had only now broken.

“She’s afraid for you,” Trixie continued. Her lower lip was still covered by the protective gauze, rendering her words a little indistinct. “You told me she seemed disbelieving when you told her I’d changed… She thinks I’m using you.”

Fluttershy shook her head, meeting Trixie’s eyes firmly. “It wasn’t that,” she promised. “If anything, she blamed me. She seemed to think I was trying to…” She struggled to find the right words, feeling a hot flush creep up her neck. “…Trying to keep you all to myself, or something like that.”

“What?” Trixie’s eyebrows shot skywards. “But I’m the one who asked—”

“I know,” Fluttershy groaned. “I told her it was you who wanted to be left alone.” She sighed. Whatever Twilight’s problem was, it would surely pass. The unicorn had never coped well with change, and losing Spike combined with Trixie’s reappearance had probably thrown her ordered world far enough off its axis to render her uptight and irritable. It would doubtlessly pass, once she adjusted, as long as her friends made sure to visit her regularly, and do their best to curtail her loneliness. 

Even so, Fluttershy’s stomach clenched with anger when she recalled Twilight’s passive-aggressive accusations, and the way she had so coldly dismissed one of her best friends. “Don’t blame yourself for this,” she said, still squarely meeting Trixie’s gaze. “It’s her problem.”

Trixie stared at her for a few moments, opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t want to come between you and your friends,” she eventually said, in a quiet, meek voice.

Fluttershy smiled at her, the sudden spike of anger bubbling away. “You won’t,” she replied, reassuringly. “They’re better than that.” She glanced for a moment out of the gloss-black window pane, watching the night press in on them. “Anyway,” she added, “Twilight didn’t have much to tell me, apart from confirming a lot of what we thought already.”

The unicorn nodded. “She wasn’t a complete dead end, though. At least we know there’s nothing wrong with me; it is possible to earn a cutie mark without knowing what it’s for.”

“I’ll have a look through these books over the next few days,” Fluttershy promised. “I mean… I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be, to tell the truth. It’s not the mechanics of the mark that are the problem, it’s more like… the circumstances. What we really need is somepony else who’s had the same problem with their talent as you have, but as Twilight said, it’s not going to be a very common difficulty, is it? Talents usually make themselves pretty obvious.” She sighed, glancing over at the thick volumes. “There might be something in there, though, and if there’s a chance that it’ll help, it’s worthwhile.”

“Fluttershy…” Trixie was still looking at her, apparently trying to find the best way in which to phrase the thoughts running through her mind. “Look,” she said suddenly, in a rush, “everything’s gone so fast since you brought me here. I still can’t believe that I was still living in the Everfree yesterday morning, and with everything that’s happened… I stole from you, I followed you, I hurt you…”

“Trixie, I don’t want—” Fluttershy began, but the unicorn cut across her.

“I’m not going to apologize; I know you don’t want me to. Please let me say this.” Trixie sighed, looking at the floor. “You gave me food, you came after me… you saved my life, and you took me in. Before now, hope just meant finding some new way to keep running; some new way to avoid looking back. You made me stop; you made me look at myself. I’ve got a chance now, and I know you don’t want me to feel like I owe you, but I want to say it, just once. Properly.” She met Fluttershy’s eyes, shyly. “Thank you,” she choked out the words, her voice suddenly laced with tears. “Thank you for everything, Fluttershy.”

At that moment, it took every last ounce of Fluttershy’s resolve to not lean across the sofa and embrace the unicorn, but she already felt as if she were on shaky turf considering her actions earlier. She had promised herself that she would rein in her gestures of affection, knowing that this mare was dependent upon her care and comfort, and that it would be utterly wrong to use that fact to her own advantage. 

Yet, somehow, that resolution had crumbled into dust, up on the hilltop overlooking Ponyville. She had been unable to regret taking enjoyment in her actions as she had curled up in Trixie’s warm, tight embrace, but looking back now, the matter preyed mercilessly on her mind.

Her thoughts clouded with annoyance for a moment at the realization that, as always, she was denying her own desires for the sake of others. Would it be so very wrong of her to do something selfish, for once in her life?

Then, the pulse of anger was gone, leaving behind only a vague and untraceable sense of guilt and frustration. She reached out to cradle Trixie’s hoof between her own, under the blanket. The contact sent a warm shiver of electricity along her spine. “It’s my pleasure,” she murmured, answering Trixie’s timid smile with one of her own.

Even so, she reflected as they resumed their game of draughts over refilled mugs of cocoa, it had hardly been a perfect end to the day.

She could not ignore her own growing frustrations for much longer; so much as brushing up against the showmare made her stomach feel as if it had plummeted from a great height. She was afraid that, without some kind of outlet, she would end up doing something horribly rash, and alienating the vulnerable unicorn altogether. 

Superimposed over these concerns, however, was the more pressing matter of Twilight. The look that had flashed from time to time in the unicorn’s eyes had scared her, as had her skittish, erratic bursts of anger and despondency. It was a pattern that Fluttershy recognized, but this time, its precise source was far harder to pin down.

It seemed as if tensions of one sort or another were mounting wherever she looked. It was surely only a matter of time before something snapped.
	 
	  
	  
	
	
> X: The Ripples and the Waves
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Ten
The Ripples and the Waves

Four days later.


*


Fluttershy’s eyes cracked open, and she felt an incoherent, sleepy mumble slip from her lips. She unconsciously settled closer to the unidentifiable warmth clutched between her forelegs, snuggling her cheek into the soft, yielding surface. A light scent filled her nostrils, not unlike wild mint, and her groggy, blurred vision was filled with a rich, sapphire blue. 

With a sudden pang of horror, her eyes shot wide open. Her fears were instantly confirmed; both of her forelegs were draped unconsciously around Trixie’s midriff, and she had nestled her head into the soft curve of the unicorn’s neck. With an unpleasant shriveling sensation in the pit of her stomach, Fluttershy realized that it had happened again. 

She felt a shameful heat creeping up the sides of her neck, and she tried to extricate herself from the embrace as subtly as possible, praying that she did not disturb the sleeping mare.

As she eased her left foreleg out from underneath Trixie’s belly, she let out a small sigh of relief. Her friend was still peacefully asleep, unaware of the affections that Fluttershy had unintentionally foisted upon her. The pegasus’s cheeks burned a dull, blotchy red with embarrassment, and she privately thanked Celestia that she tended to wake earlier than the unicorn.

She rolled over onto her back, deliberately putting several inches between herself and the supine unicorn, staring up at the ceiling. The previous morning had found Fluttershy entwined around the sleeping mare in exactly the same awkward embrace, but she had shrugged it off as an anomaly, perhaps a reaction to the night’s chill. 

This morning, the cold was no longer an excuse. A nagging, guilty sense of violation bubbled in the pegasus’s stomach. She knew that if this continued, then one morning, Trixie was bound to wake up first. The last thing she wanted was for the pony in her care to think her clingy or overbearing. If any part of Fluttershy was going to betray her, she knew it would be her subconscious.

But what could she do? The mare behind the mask was so disarmingly empathic; she was so genuine in her desire to find herself, and in her refusal to hide any longer. Fluttershy’s eyes drifted to rest on Trixie’s sleeping face, and she felt herself gravitate a little closer to the mare. Her eyes lingered on the livid scar that ran its jagged path across the unicorn’s lower lip and chin, thankfully healed to the point where its dressing could be removed without fear of infection.

There was a warm glow in the unicorn’s cheeks, and her ribs no longer stood out visibly through her chest. Overall, the unicorn’s demeanour had seemed vastly more comfortable over the last few days, and the pegasus privately hoped that she would soon feel strong enough to meet the others, and give them the apology that she so wanted to make. She had made great progress, even over such a short time, Fluttershy reflected, leaning a little closer still.

She resisted the sudden temptation to caress a forehoof over the warm curve of Trixie’s belly, internally snapping at herself to not be so weak and idiotic. An unconscious reflex was one thing, but to reach out now would be a deliberate violation of the sleeping mare’s space and dignity.

But, the unicorn was so deliciously soft…

With a snort of inwardly-directed anger, Fluttershy shook her head sharply and rolled over, climbing to her hooves as quietly as she was able. A good, long session at the spa with Rarity should go some way to clear her fogged head. Over the last few days, the pegasus’s time with Trixie had made her feel as if she were living in a bubble, quite cut off from the rest of the world. 

They had spent long evening hours walking the sun-gilded paths that bordered the Everfree, sharing interests and discussing snippets of this and that. Eventually, Trixie had felt able to open up a little, and had told Fluttershy of her old haunts in the forest. She told her of close encounters with bears and wolves, and of the tricks and skills she had been forced to acquire, in order to keep herself intact and fed. 

In return, Fluttershy had told her companion stories from her childhood in Cloudsdale; of her parents, and of how Rainbow Dash had grown to be all but a sister to her. 

Although neither of them acknowledged it, the mares developed an enjoyable system of trades, whereby every little tale or snippet that Trixie felt able to divulge was matched by one of Fluttershy’s. They whiled away many miles exchanging their lives’ little comedies and tragedies, hardly caring along which paths they were walking.

Looking back on the last few days, Fluttershy thought it had been an undeniably agreeable bubble in which to live. Nevertheless, a healthy dose of gossip would doubtless do her the world of good, and prevent her mind from wandering to the salacious, frustrated places she endeavoured to keep securely locked up. Provided she kept her distance from the sauna, at any rate.

Fluttershy had, of course, not abandoned her friends; the previous day, she had attended their weekly pet play-date. She had left with Trixie’s assurances that she would be fine on her own, but even so, leaving the vulnerable unicorn alone had played on the pegasus’s mind. More concerning still had been Twilight’s conspicuous absence at the park. The others had thought little of it, and had returned to their homes believing that the unicorn must simply have been snowed under with study tasks from the princess. Fluttershy, however, had walked back through Ponyville with another pebble of worry lodged and itching at the back of her mind.

Deliberately putting Twilight out of her mind, the pegasus trotted quietly across the room, drawing back the curtains to let in the weak, wintry light. She had arranged to meet Rarity at ten o’clock, as always, and she idly glanced around the room for her saddlebags and scarf. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the slow rise and fall of Trixie’s chest. 

The mare shifted a little in her sleep, half-reaching out for a pony who was no longer beside her. The motion caused the tip of her horn to trace a line against the wooden headboard, and the unicorn let out a low hum of contentment, stroking a hoof along the pillow beside her, where Fluttershy’s head had lain minutes previously.

Fluttershy felt her wings twitch, for a reason she could not quite place. This was hardly an invasion of privacy, she reasoned; all she was doing was glancing fondly at her sleeping friend. Even so, the momentary observance felt unpleasantly voyeuristic to Fluttershy’s timid and comparatively innocent mind, and she made a rapid beeline for the kitchen, intending to put together a light breakfast before leaving for the spa.

With a sudden patter of paws, Angel bounded across the room and clambered up onto her back, clutching onto her mane with a proprietorial air. He cast a deeply suspicious look back into the bedroom, as if determined to catch sight of the interloper who had so rudely invaded his territory. The rabbit was ordinarily able to monopolize Fluttershy’s attention whilst the pegasus was at home, but since Trixie had arrived, that attention had been somewhat divided.

In fairness, he had taken it better than Fluttershy had expected; the majority of her property was still intact, and their unicorn guest had no fresh bite-marks to match the ones she had inflicted upon herself. Even so, it was with a grudging air that he began to eat the tomatoes and celery which the pegasus set down for him.

Humming quietly to herself, Fluttershy began to slice up some bread to make toast, checking the cupboard to see if her latest batch of blackcurrant jam had finished setting. The tune was punctuated by a yawn as she slipped the bread into the oven; somehow her sleep was far more restful when she knew it was shared with somepony, although deeper sleep had always tended to leave her more tired in the mornings.

As she waited for the bread to finish toasting, she set about putting away the previous night’s washing up, still humming idly. It would be nice to see Rarity; aside from their meeting at the park, she had to admit that she had been neglecting her friends a little.

Behind her, the sound of an egg cracking made her start a little, and she turned.

“You told me you’d let me help with breakfast.” Trixie’s tone was a little reproving, but her words were marred by a wide yawn, and she smiled at the surprised pegasus.

“I wanted to let you sleep,” returned Fluttershy, flushing at how easily startled she was. “I don’t mind bringing you breakfast, honestly.”

“I know you don’t, but one of these mornings you’ll have to give me a turn.” The unicorn smirked.

Fluttershy was unable to resist breaking into a timid grin. “That’ll be the day, sleepy,” she teased, poking out her tongue at the sapphire mare before turning back to the toaster. Angel was chewing irritably on a tomato, glaring daggers at the unicorn as if attempting to set her on fire with his mind.

“What’s that tune?” Trixie asked suddenly, taking up a whisk with her magic, and beginning to beat the eggs. “The one you were humming?”

Fluttershy thought back. “Oh, that?” She sighed, but it was not an unhappy sound. “I don’t even realize I’m humming it, half the time. It… it’s a lullaby, actually. Mom used to sing it to me. After dad left, I… I didn’t sleep so well for a while.” She smiled. “It’s a nice memory from back then, I guess.”

Trixie nodded, biting her injured lip with a deliberate lightness. The sounds of whisking momentarily ceased. “I’m… I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked. It’s just, you were humming it in your sleep, last night.”

The pegasus flushed again. “Oh Celestia, I didn’t know. Sorry, I don’t keep you awake, do I?”

“Don’t apologize.” The silver-maned mare smiled, shyly. “It’s beautiful. I fell asleep listening to it, so… well, I guess it works.” She returned her attention to the eggs. It was a few long moments before Trixie spoke again. “Fluttershy,” she said, with a sudden determination, letting the egg-whisk fall with a clatter into the bowl.

Fluttershy turned. “What is it?”

“I… I don’t want to be a burden like this anymore; I don’t want to be a secret. I feel ready; I’d like to meet your friends, and apologize to them.”

Fluttershy eyed the unicorn seriously for a few seconds. “Trixie…” She paused for a moment, searching for the best way to frame her thoughts. “You promise you aren’t just forcing yourself to do this because of me? Because I told you; you aren’t a burden. You can be a secret as long as you need to be. ”

Trixie nodded, and her expression was one of conviction. “I honestly feel strong enough; if I want to make progress, I need to face up to what I’ve done. I needed to hide while I got my strength back, but it’s more-or-less back now; if I wait any longer, it’d just be cowardice.”

Fluttershy met the unicorn’s gaze steadily. “If you really do feel ready, then that’s wonderful,” she said, quietly. Suddenly, the pegasus beamed, her eyes widening. “I’ve just thought of the perfect way to do it,” she exclaimed, her voice almost at an ordinary speaking pitch.

“How come?” Trixie asked, returning once again to the neglected bowl of eggs.

“Well,” she took in a deep breath, “Pinkie mentioned yesterday that she’s throwing a party the day after tomorrow at Sugarcube Corner. Sometimes she invites half the town, but every few weeks she puts on a party for just the six of us, plus any guests we want to bring along.”

Trixie smiled a little nervously, as she realized where this train of thought was leading.

“Anyway,” Fluttershy continued, “if you came with me, then it might be a lot easier. I mean, if we called everypony together specifically to meet you, it might be a little awkward, but at a party, everything might be a bit more… you know. Relaxed.”

The unicorn nodded, absently dropping a pat of butter into a frying pan on the stove. “That sounds perfect,” she said, gratefully. “But,” she broke Fluttershy’s gaze, “please let them know I’ll be coming in advance. I don’t want anypony to think I’m gatecrashing, and if I turn up unexpectedly, there might be awkward questions.”

Fluttershy smiled. “Deal,” she said, then sniffed the air, catching the acrid tang of burned toast. With a groan of annoyance, she whipped open the oven door, and pulled out the two slightly-blackened slices, before any more harm could befall them.

“Why don’t you use the toaster?” Trixie asked, bemusedly glancing at the cobwebbed contraption sitting unused on the kitchen surface.

Fluttershy threw it a dark look. “I tried for a while,” she admitted. “But I… I jumped out of my skin every time the toast popped up.” She spoke the words very fast, her voice small and embarrassed at the confession. She flushed, stealing a glance at the unicorn. Trixie was quite obviously trying hard not to giggle. “It’s not funny!” The pegasus pouted. 

There was a moment of silence, in which Fluttershy glanced from the toaster to Trixie, the expression of mock-hurt still on her face, before both mares burst out laughing. “I really am a scaredy-pony, aren’t I?” Fluttershy asked, giggling despite her slightly rueful tone.

“I’m worse,” Trixie pointed out, smirking. “At least you’ve not been going out in a disguise all week!”

Fluttershy grinned, but inside she was relieved on a deeper level. The fact that Trixie felt able to joke about her fears in this way was encouraging, along with her desire to meet the others at last. She was not fully healed as yet, but she most certainly seemed mending. It was only half acknowledged, but Fluttershy could not repress a small, further sense of relief that Trixie had not abandoned her the moment she had felt strong enough to travel again. The pegasus had not, by any means, expected her friend to do so, but seeing her trust vindicated was inexpressibly gratifying.

Of course, that still left the problem of Twilight. Her grin slid like oil from her face as she remembered that darting, frightening look in the unicorn’s eyes. Hurriedly pushing the thought aside, she seized a butter-knife between her teeth, and began to scrape the worst of the blackness from the toast. “Are you alright with waiting a couple more days?” she asked after spitting out the utensil, more to break the sudden silence than anything else.

Trixie nodded, stirring the scrambled eggs with a magically-clasped spatula, a look of intense concentration on her face. The more fiddly acts of telekinesis apparently did not come easily to her. “Of course I am.”

Fluttershy turned, dropping the stack of rescued toast neatly onto a rack. She raised a cautionary eyebrow as a thought occurred to her. “Just… be careful if you decide to do any dancing.”

“Why would you say that?”

The pegasus shrugged, smirking. “You’ve never met Pinkie Pie, have you?”


*


“Ahh…” Rarity let out a low sound of contentment as she sank into the hot tub, rolling back her shoulders luxuriously and smiling at Fluttershy. “I need this, darling,” she confessed. “The commissions are simply flying in, and winter coats are hard work.” She shrugged. “I strive to make each one unique, of course, but I hope my clients feel I’ve retained my usual flair.” She sighed, a little dramatically. “Repetition has a way of sapping one’s je ne sais quoi, does it not?”

Fluttershy nodded, not entirely sure she could relate, but glad to be in her friend’s company nevertheless. She settled back in the water, letting her wings float out lazily on the surface.

“Anyway,” Rarity continued, leaning forwards, “do tell me what’s been going on.”

“Huh?” Fluttershy gave her friend a quizzical look.

The unicorn rolled her eyes, but smiled. “We’ve hardly seen you for days, darling. I’d have assumed you were having trouble with the animals, but when I asked Applejack about it, the poor dear didn’t know where to look.”

Fluttershy bit her lip. She felt a wave of gratitude towards Applejack for not divulging her secret, followed swiftly by a pang of guilt for the way she had treated the earth pony. Maybe Twilight had a point; maybe she was being a little overprotective. Even at this point, even now Trixie had explicitly asked her to tell her friends the truth, it pained Fluttershy to divulge the truth to Rarity.

Trixie had been her little secret; somepony with whom she could lie in the evenings, sharing idle, intimate conversation in the knowledge that the unicorn trusted her and her alone to keep her safe. Some tiny, selfish impulse on the back of her mind wanted more than anything to hold onto that monopoly.

But she could not. Kindness was, after all, a matter of self-sacrifice.

She gulped, wondering quite where to begin, and whether a green mane was something Rarity would be willing to forgive. She decided to attempt a condensed version of events; reiterating the story yet again was too much, particularly in such a relaxing environment. “Remember the Great and Powerful Trixie?” she asked, a little resignedly.

The unicorn leaned forwards, her interest piqued.


*


In hindsight, Rarity’s reaction was quite predictable. One long-ago incident of green hair, it seemed, was a perfectly acceptable trade for such sumptuous gossip. Fluttershy left out the more delicate parts of Trixie’s past, but nevertheless Rarity gasped her way through the tale in a satisfyingly melodramatic manner.

A burst of genuine anger flared in her expression when Fluttershy explained how she had come by the scabbed-over cut on her temple, but the alabaster mare seemed satisfied by Fluttershy’s defence of Trixie’s actions. She nodded understandingly at the pegasus’s explanation of her reclusive nature over the past few days.

“…So that’s it. She’s going to be coming to Pinkie’s party, this Saturday, so she can meet you all and apologize,” Fluttershy finished, nervously meeting her friend’s eyes.

Rarity was gazing appraisingly at her, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Fluttershy, in all seriousness…” she looked away for an instant, as if nervous. “I’m perfectly fine with this; I’m more than willing to let bygones be bygones, but… you are sure you can trust her, aren’t you? You are sure she won’t let you down?”

Fluttershy nodded, without hesitation. “I trust her,” she replied, firmly. “She’s not a bad pony; you never saw the real Trixie.”

“That brings me on to my second point, darling.” Rarity’s tone was light, but her eyes were perfectly serious. “That whole ‘Great and Powerful’ business; you honestly think it’s gone for good? You don’t think she might change back, one day?”

The pegasus was silent, for a moment. “I… I hope not,” she replied, honestly. It was the best she could offer. “I don’t think we can ever really be sure, not until—” she broke off. She knew perfectly well that if Trixie could work out the truth behind her talent, all of the feelings of inadequacy that the Great and Powerful side of her fed on would be swept away. Until then, there was always the possibility that she could regain a foothold. “Not until she’s better,” Fluttershy finished, a little lamely.

She sighed, looking shyly at the fashionista. “She’d be more prepared now; it’s amazing how much she’s coming on.” Fluttershy shrugged. “I trust her,” she added, simply.

Rarity smiled. “And I trust you, dear. If you vouch for her, then I’m more than happy to forgive, forget, et cetera.” She leaned forwards, conspiratorially. “But between you and me, I imagine Rainbow Dash and Applejack might be somewhat harder to convince. I imagine their prides might still be a little dented.”

Fluttershy gazed down into the water, wistfully making ripples with a forehoof. “I know,” she groaned. “I’ve already told AJ; she wandered by the cottage a few days ago, so I had to tell her. It was all I could do to stop her barging in and… well, she listened to me in the end, but I don’t think she’s happy about it. Rainbow’s probably going to be even more difficult about the whole thing.”

Rarity nodded. “We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

The pegasus relaxed back in the hot tub, letting out a low, happy hum. “Anyway, let’s not think about it anymore. I need to get my mind off her, anyway.” The last words slipped out naturally, but she immediately regretted them, and felt her face burn hot again.

Her alabaster friend was looking quizzically at her. “Get your mind off her? I thought you said you were enjoying having her around?”

“Oh, I— I am!” Fluttershy exclaimed. “I just… I just meant…” her words tailed lamely off into silence. The colour of her cheeks and nose was answer enough. Suddenly, Rarity was smirking at her, looking positively delighted.

“Oh dear.” The unicorn grinned. “Does somepony have a little problem?”

“I…” The pegasus cursed herself silently for her poor choice of words.

“You know, I thought this all sounded a little more than simple kindness, darling.”

Fluttershy sighed; Rarity was her best friend, and apart from Rainbow Dash, her oldest. The mare knew her too well to be fooled.

“It is kindness,” she replied, choosing her words carefully. There was little point in denial at this stage. “I want to be kind to her as much as anypony else, I just… when I’m around her, I…” Fluttershy was quite sure that her face had bypassed red and turned almost purple by this point. “I… I don’t just want to be kind to her.” By the last few words, her voice was a scant squeak, barely audible over the little splashes of the water and the sounds of the boiler in the adjoining room.

Rarity smiled gently at her flustered friend, with the air of an older sister offering advice. “You find yourself wanting to do certain other things, am I right?” she prompted.

After a moment’s pause, Fluttershy nodded resignedly, gazing down at the surface of the water, unable to meet the unicorn’s eyes. Suddenly, the pegasus slapped the smooth surface of the liquid with a groan of frustration, sending a silver spray of droplets over both ponies, and drawing a whine of protest from Rarity. “But I shouldn’t!” she burst out. “I shouldn’t want that! I’m… I’m looking after her; she doesn’t have any other choice but to live with me. If I’m thinking… those kinds of thoughts about her, it’s just taking advantage of her! It’s dirty, and- and horrible, and… oh, I’m not that kind of pony!”

The last words echoed around the tiled room, and Fluttershy momentarily dunked her face under the surface of the hot tub, coming up a second later, spluttering and shaking the water out of her eyes. Rarity was gazing at her, genuine surprise and concern etched on her face.

“Darling…” she began, tentatively, “you’re acting like you’ve made some kind of mistake.” She rested a damp hoof on the pegasus’s shoulder, and the primrose mare instinctively shied away from the contact a little. “You can’t help developing feelings for somepony; it’s not a choice you made. From what you’ve told me, this is the first time you’ve been able to connect so intimately with another pony. It’s perfectly natural for you to want that connection to become something more, and you should absolutely not beat yourself up about it. Why, it’s simply unhealthy to look on such lovely possibilities as ‘dirty’ or ‘horrible’.”

She sighed, tapping her chin pensively with a hoof. “Although, I take your point; you must endeavour to not make your guest uncomfortable. By all means make your move, but perhaps do so at a time when she’s less dependant upon your care and houseroom.”

Fluttershy nodded, a little despondently. “The worst part is when I feel… I don’t know… wronged,” she admitted, quietly. “Sometimes I’ll catch myself thinking that it’s unfair; that I can never have what I want, and that I should just tell her how I feel. Then I feel so guilty for wanting to be selfish like that.”

“We’re not saints, Fluttershy,” Rarity reminded her friend, a little sternly. “You’ve never met anypony who made you feel this way before; I know you’ve suffered purely physical crushes in the past— you still need to return Dash’s Spitfire poster, you know,” she flashed the blushing pegasus a teasing smile. “But this is something different; you have a genuine connection with this mare, and I might hazard a guess that you find her… physical form worthy of admiration, too.”

Fluttershy nodded again, sinking down deeper into the water, as if hoping to extinguish her glowing cheeks.

“Precisely.” Rarity leaned back lazily against the side of the tub, basking in the warmth. This was her territory, and she knew it well enough to enter it with perfect ease. “Ultimately, none of us are free from temptation; to admire what we feel unable to attain, for whatever reason, is inevitably a torture. You are most likely a horrendously frustrated mare at present, I dare say.”

The pegasus thought back to the cruelty she had leveled upon Applejack, to the anger she had felt towards Twilight, and to the hot bubbles that swelled and burst in the pit of her stomach whenever she so much as brushed against Trixie’s fur. For a third time, she nodded mutely.

“The only advice I can offer you is this; bide your time. Try to gauge what your objet de l'amour thinks of you, and decide whether or not you feel it would be a gamble worth making. Wait until she finds her hooves first, naturally, but then, if you feel the moment is ripe…” she slapped a hoof altogether more gently into the water, creating a demure little wave, “act!”

She glanced at the pegasus, and patted her shoulder, as if at an afterthought. “Oh, and it might well be worth finding a way of venting some of that excess frustration, dear.”

“How?” Fluttershy asked blankly, incredulously picturing herself joining Rainbow Dash for Karate lessons at Ponyville dojo.

Rarity raised an eyebrow, and let out an airy chuckle. “Oh, you’re a big filly now; I’m sure you can think of something!”

Fluttershy suddenly gave a little ‘oh!’ of realization, and sank even further down into the tub; she was quite sure the glow from her cheeks was by now sufficient to give the smirking unicorn mild sunburn. “Rarity!” she exclaimed, giving her friend a reproachful look.

Rarity raised her hooves apologetically, still smiling. “You know I don’t mean to pry, darling; I’m merely trying to act as a voice of experience.”

“Anyway!” Fluttershy squeaked, trying her utmost to alter the course of the conversation to a topic she found less mortifying. “I…” Her voice tailed away, and she sighed. “Thanks, Rarity,” she mumbled, at length. “Thanks for helping me with this.”

The unicorn nodded. “We’ve all been there, Fluttershy,” she replied, sagely. “Just promise me you’ll stop beating yourself up over something you can’t help.”

“I… I’ll do my best,” Fluttershy promised.

Rarity sighed. “Well, at least you seem to be handling your troubles better than certain other members of our social circle.”

“Huh?” Fluttershy turned to look at her, a little confused.

The unicorn shrugged, looking a little dejected. “You aren’t the only one to become something of a recluse these last few days; I’ve only seen poor Twilight once in these last few days, and even then she was just placing an order at the boutique.” She shook her head. “The poor dear looked dreadful; bags under her eyes, mane all over the place, and she didn’t so much as stop to chat. She doesn’t look as if she’s sleeping well.”

“Really?” Fluttershy’s voice held a rising note of serious concern.

“Mhm,” Rarity squirmed her shoulders back against the side of the sub, working out a little of the tension. “I don’t think she’s taking Spike’s illness very well,” she confided. “I presume you’ve heard about that?”

The timid mare nodded. “She told me what’d happened. I visited her… it must have been four days ago, now.” She bit her lip. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think Spike’s the only thing on her mind right now.”

“You doubtless know more than I do, darling,” Rarity conceded. “I knocked on her door yesterday, after she failed to arrive at the park, but I heard not so much as a peep from inside.” She shook her head, frowning. “What in Equestria’s troubling her? It must be serious if she won’t talk to us about it.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Fluttershy said. “But… I think it’s something to do with Trixie. When I told her the story, she got all… strange. Aggressive, I guess. I don’t know; she said she didn’t want revenge, but I’m not sure. Maybe she’s afraid?”

“Afraid?” scoffed the unicorn. “Why should she be? Even if your little showmare weren’t a reformed character, I fail to see that Twilight would have anything to fear from her; not magically, at any rate.”

“Maybe she’s worried that she’ll try something other than magic?” Fluttershy suggested. “Maybe she thinks that Trixie’s going to try and… I don’t know… take her friends away, or something like that.” She shook her head in confusion.

“Perhaps…” Rarity replied, pensively. “There could be any number of motivations for such behaviour.” She glanced up. “Is she aware of your feelings for Trixie?”

Fluttershy shook her head. “No… no, I didn’t tell her.”

The unicorn’s brow furrowed. “I thought perhaps that she was afraid of losing you as a friend, should you and Trixie become romantically involved at the expense of your other friendships.”

“No, if anything, she seemed angry with me,” Fluttershy said, helplessly. “She seemed to think I was deliberately keeping Trixie to myself; like I was hiding her away, and being… being selfish.”

Rarity’s eyebrows raised a little. “Ah,” she said, quietly. Then, she smiled. “Well, with a bit of luck, she’ll be attending Pinkie’s party. She’ll be able to meet Trixie first-hoof, and see that whatever concerns she’s harbouring are simply baseless.”

Fluttershy felt a trickle of hope in her chest. “You really think so?”

“Well, naturally I can’t be sure, but I think meeting Trixie should sort everything out for her. It’s my belief that she suspects Trixie is trying to take you away from her. To her mind, you’ve been taken in by a ploy, and hence, her anger at the situation is all to likely to manifest itself as anger towards you. It’s a strange quirk of how ponies minds work, and besides, you know as well as I do that dear Twilight is prone to arrive at… shall we say, illogical conclusions? Remember how worked up she became over that silly letter?” 

She chuckled at the memory. “My point is that the prospect of sending poor Spikey away, coupled with the sudden upheaval or Trixie reappearing from out of the blue… well, her world must feel rather upside-down at the moment, and we can hardly blame her for being a little paranoid.”

Fluttershy nodded, but she still felt a little uncertain.

Rarity relaxed into the warmth with a low sigh. “Anyway, darling, let’s not think about these things any further. It sounds like you’ve been through the mill this week, and I insist that you stay for a preening session; my treat.”

The pegasus blushed, smiling shyly. “Oh… well… thanks, Rarity. But only if you’re—”

“I insist, dear!” Rarity repeated, giggling at the awkwardness with which her friend inevitably responded to acts of generosity. “Besides,” she gestured to her horn, “I was planning on staying behind for an alicure, and it will be infinitely more pleasant with somepony to keep me company.”

Fluttershy grinned. “You’ve convinced me.”

“Oh, and Fluttershy…” Rarity touched her friend’s forehoof, looking a little worried again. “One last thing; let me tell the others that Trixie will be attending Pinkie’s party. I don’t want you to have to be interrogated about it by ponies such as Rainbow Dash, and besides, I don’t doubt you’ve trotted out the story enough times now.”

“You’re… you’d do that?” The pegasus blinked, taken aback. It was true; she had not in the least been looking forward to breaking the news to her friends, but she knew it was her task. She could not have reasonably expected her friend to take the awkward questions, confusion and possible hostility upon herself. Then again, she reflected, for such a connoisseur of gossip as Rarity, perhaps the unicorn would find the whole process rather enjoyable.

“Of course I would, dear.” The fashionista rolled her eyes a little, but smiled. “You’ve had enough to deal with lately. You can arrive the day after tomorrow, knowing that the others are fully primed and informed.” She frowned a little. “Although, of course, I cannot promise a universally warm welcome.”

“Thanks, Rarity,” Fluttershy murmured again, slopping a fair amount of water out of the hot tub as she leaned across to bestow a quick hug on her alabaster friend.

As they clambered from the tub, wrapping their manes up in tightly-tied towels, Fluttershy wondered if Rarity’s assessment of Twilight’s behaviour was accurate.

She recalled, once again, the way Twilight had spoken to her, the words cutting across her mind: “Why aren’t you letting anypony visit her?”

Fluttershy’s stomach clenched with protective anger. She had every sympathy for Twilight’s worry over Spike, but she thought determinedly that Trixie should not have to deal with Twilight’s foalish behaviour on top of all of her other worries.

Twilight’s your friend; you ought to try and help her, not ignore her.

She brought this on herself; she can sort it out herself. Right now, Trixie has to come first.

But… surely Trixie brought her problems on herself, just as much as Twilight did, spoke up a small, reasonable voice in the back of her mind.

Trixie was unlucky; she had every reason to feel wronged, and you can’t blame her for ending up the way she did. Twilight’s just making a mountain out of a molehill.

It was a feeble argument, but combined with the nagging sense of resentment she felt towards the librarian, it seemed convincing enough.

I’ve got better things to do than worry about Twilight being Twilight.

She suppressed a small snort of contempt, as she shook a fine mist of spray out from her wings.

It’s not our problem. 
> XI: The Cost of Silence
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Eleven
The Cost of Silence

The day before the party dawned under monotonous banks of pale-grey clouds. The previous evening had been spattered with rain, which had turned to black ice in the chill of the night, leaving the countryside tracks around Ponyville quite treacherous underhoof.

With a snort of surprise, Trixie struggled to stay upright, her stomach lurching horribly as she almost fell on her rump for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning. She had barely been walking for ten minutes, before resolving to leave the path as soon as possible, and instead make her way through the trackless fields. Snow, at least, afforded some measure of grip, and the boots that she had borrowed were sturdy and well up to the task.

She straightened her hat, looking around embarrassedly. Fortunately, nopony was around to witness her ungainly progress.

Fluttershy had naturally been reluctant to let her go out on her own, particularly in such unpleasant conditions. Yet, with a little persuasion, Trixie had overridden the timid, protective mare. For one thing, Trixie felt honour-bound to allow her host a morning alone, to pursue her own activities and not need to worry about keeping her guest comfortable. 

The unicorn’s strength had dramatically improved, but even so, Fluttershy insisted upon making the remainder of Trixie’s convalescence as smooth and pleasant as possible. Yet, somehow, to call it mollycoddling seemed uncharitable. The pegasus did not want to wrap her up in cotton wool and keep her away from the world; the truth was that Fluttershy simply wanted to care for her. 

Her care was not exhaustive however, and seemed to be built more around small things, rather than grand gestures. For instance, she would ensure that the kitchen always contained a few vases of tulips; one of Trixie’s favourite idle snacks.

Occasionally, Fluttershy would take the time to introduce the unicorn to a friendly bird or mouse, and gradually, Trixie grew to be far more comfortable with the veritable menagerie that lived in and around the house. Even Angel had made a tentative peace with her, although his protective gaze made it quite clear that his approval was not yet won and that she was still walking on eggshells.

Most importantly, Fluttershy recognized Trixie’s need to not feel parasitic. The unicorn had always been a proudly independent mare, and the idea of accepting another’s care whilst offering nothing in return was unbearable to her. As such, Fluttershy ensured that the mare had ample opportunities to reciprocate her little acts of kindness; it had formed into a pleasant symbiosis.

The previous night, for instance, Fluttershy had blushingly allowed Trixie to brush her mane for her, after the unicorn had discovered her struggling in front of the dressing table’s mirror. It was a task which, without a horn, the pegasus found awkward and time-consuming to achieve alone. They had curled up together on the sofa, and Trixie had diligently worked out every knot and twist in the carnation cascade.

Fluttershy had grown quiet and shivery as Trixie had applied herself to the work, breath blooming across the back of the primrose pegasus’s neck. More than once, the unicorn had caught herself wondering just what would happen if she were to let the brush fall, and instead wrap her forelegs around her friend’s midriff, simply to see where the gesture might lead.

The atmosphere had felt somehow volatile, as if waiting for somepony to strike a spark into life. Yet, Trixie had to concede that she may have simply been detecting the tension of Fluttershy’s awkwardness at their proximity; she knew from experience that her imagination was not entirely trustworthy.

Still, she could have sworn that the primrose mare’s wings had been unusually twitchy.

She shook her head with a snort, trotting off across one of the many fields that made up the valley’s snowy patchwork. This was the very reason she had come out alone today. She was bound for the hilltop to which Fluttershy had taken her almost a week ago.

Above all, Trixie needed to think; tomorrow, she would meet the ponies whom she had wronged in the past. She would come face-to-face with Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Rarity… Twilight Sparkle. More than fear, the thought filled her with an odd invigoration; it was time for her to move on. She would not simply be apologizing to these ponies; she would be apologizing to herself. After all, out of all the ponies she had insulted or hurt or humiliated, Trixie was the one who had sustained by far the most damage from her own actions.

Fluttershy, naturally, had offered to come with her, but Trixie had insisted that the pegasus remain at the cottage, and have some time to herself. Of course, the unicorn did not share the true reasoning behind her sought solitude. Trixie knew that she would find no calm reflection whilst in the pegasus’s company. Even in perfect silence, she found Fluttershy’s presence deeply distracting.

On an impulse, she reached into her saddlebags with a tendril of magic, searching for the bottle of water she had brought along for the journey. The unicorn had prepared thoroughly, packing the lilac saddlebags she had borrowed with water, sandwiches, and a couple of Twilight Sparkle’s experimental warmth-spheres. The hilltop would be bitterly cold today, and without the heat afforded by the glass orbs, the trip would be quite useless.

However, the exploratory tendril of magic encountered not a bottle, but the sharp corner of what felt like a hardback book. Absent-mindedly glancing down at the open saddlebag, Trixie’s eyes widened a little. It did not contain provisions; instead, it held a hoof-mirror, a small purse of bits, and a book entitled ‘From Hares to Harlequins; the Lapine Enthusiast’s Essential Handbook’, along with a few other eclectic items.

In confusion, Trixie dropped the lid of the saddlebag shut, as if expecting its contents to be more agreeable when it was re-opened. Then, with an unpleasant sinking feeling in her stomach, she noticed that the bags were constructed of a pale green canvas, quite unlike the pale purple velvet of the ones she had packed that morning.

The unicorn groaned in annoyance, and struck herself over the head with a forehoof. “I’m an idiot,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes. Somehow, through some infuriating moment of absent-mindedness, she had managed to pick up Fluttershy’s saddlebags from the coffee table, instead of her own. However, Fluttershy’s cottage was already out of sight amongst the hills behind her, visible only by the column of smoke rising up from the chimney.

If she doubled back now, it would be at least a ten minute walk, but she knew it was one she would have to make. The hilltop’s charm lay in its serenity, but she could hardly hope to relax if she were forced to lie in the freezing snow.

It could be worse, she told herself. At least Fluttershy was not planning on leaving the house that day, and she had discovered her error now, rather than when she was marooned on the freezing hilltop.

Even so, it was hardly a perfect start to the day. With a sigh, and a small shake of the head, the unicorn turned and headed back towards the cottage.


*


The cottage door swung ajar with a quiet squeak, and Trixie stepped into the warmth with a miniscule huff of annoyance, magically hanging up her hat on the stand by the door.

She opened her mouth to call out a greeting to Fluttershy, but caught sight of Angel snoozing on the arm of one of the living-room chairs, and thought better of it. The rabbit could at least tolerate her presence at this point, but a rude awakening could easily reignite his hostility.

As quietly as she was able, Trixie crept across the room, looking around. She rolled her eyes irritably as she caught sight of her lilac saddlebags lying forgotten on the coffee table, and swept them magically up with a shake of the head. Exchanging them for her own, she placed the green bags back carefully onto the table, so as not to wake the gently snoring Angel.

Trixie momentarily considered finding Fluttershy to jokingly bemoan her own absent-mindedness, but decided against it. She was already behind on time, and it was not a particularly interesting story to tell. Then, as she had almost reached the front door, there came a thump from upstairs, followed by what sounded like a low groan.

The unicorn halted, a little concernedly, wondering if Fluttershy was alright. The thud had sounded like a heavy object falling to the floor, and the noise that had followed had sounded almost pained.

Releasing the door-handle from her magical grip, she turned and began to climb the staircase. The unicorn knew that it was likely nothing, but she could not bring herself to leave without checking. Perhaps it was the mare’s timidity, but she felt an overwhelming protectiveness towards Fluttershy. One that seemed quite distinct from the more private attraction she felt for the pegasus.

As she reached the top few steps, her hooves silent against the carpet, she noticed that the air felt a little muggy, heavy with the unmistakable half-smell of hot water. Fluttershy had obviously taken a shower in her absence, but as she glanced to her left into the bathroom, Trixie saw that although the windows were steamed up and the shower-head was dripping monotonously, the room was now unoccupied.

She opened her mouth to call out a tentative greeting, but was cut off by another muffled, drawn-out groan from ahead of her, making her jump a little. She turned her head back to meet the source of the sound.

Stifling a gasp with difficulty, she froze, feeling a sudden, cringing horror as she realized what she had walked in on. The blood rushed to her face so suddenly that she could feel it hammering in her ears.

Fluttershy was lying on her back in the middle of the expansive bed, clad in a fluffy bathrobe that had come partially untied, half-hanging off her heaving shoulders. Her teeth were clamped around the fetlocks of one foreleg to muffle the sounds rising irrepressibly from her throat, her eyes closed and cheeks glowing warmly. Her other forehoof was buried deeply between her thighs, moving in slow, luxurious circles.

Trixie was rooted to the spot, pleading with herself for the strength to shift her gaze away from this most private of scenes, but so frozen with shock that she was unable to so much as blink. The pegasus let out a fresh moan, her hips moving in time to the rhythm of her hoof, and Trixie felt the fire in her cheeks rise with equal vigour between her haunches. The unmistakable sharp scent of an excited mare was hovering in the air, wafting from the bedroom and hazing her mind.

A thousand different thoughts cascaded through the unicorn’s head, but one stood out above the others: I need to go. Now. She could not be found standing here; if Fluttershy opened her eyes, she would never be able to look Trixie in the face again. Worse, she might think that the sapphire mare was deliberately spying on her in so compromising a situation. Either way, she could never speak of this. Fluttershy could never, ever know.

The pegasus had released her foreleg from between her teeth, and was now chewing on her lower lip so hard that it must have been painful, as she settled into a steady, insistent rhythm. Her mane, still a little damp from the shower, was splayed out in a halo around her head, and she was curling a few carnation locks almost unconsciously around her free forehoof. Every breath was rising as an urgent moan from her throat, each one a little higher-pitched than the last.

Shock, arousal and sheer embarrassment dueled in Trixie’s head, but an instant later, respect for her friend’s privacy won, and she tore her gaze away. Shaking her head, she turned back towards the staircase, moving as silently as possible, but also as quickly as she dared. She knew that until she was halfway down the stairs, she would not be out of Fluttershy’s field of view, and she could not count on the mare to keep her eyes closed indefinitely.

Of course, whilst she could look away, she could not block her ears. As she slunk back towards the stairs, she heard the pegasus give a sharp, delighted little gasp, as if taken pleasurably aback by the audacity of her exploration. The sound transitioned smoothly into a low moan, and Trixie winced, face burning with shame, as the unwilling heat in her own marehood redoubled.

She did not want to take pleasure from this; she was determined to not take advantage of this intrusion into her friend’s privacy. As she reached the topmost step, however, her determination was belied by the cool droplet of moisture she felt trickling treacherously into the fur of her hind leg. She cursed her lack of control, hating the way her body was making an unwilling voyeur out of her.

Somehow, more than the sight itself, she was struck by the realization that pure, innocent Fluttershy felt the same carnal urges as everypony else. Of course, she had known all along that Fluttershy was just a pony, with a pony’s needs, and yet… this was something she would never have expected. To be confronted with the sight of her timid friend pleasuring herself with such carefree abandon was something she found disconcerting, and shamefully, intensely arousing.

Get a grip, she told herself, sharply. She had descended the first few steps of the staircase, still moving as stealthily as hooves would allow, but then she heard something that made her freeze.

“Mmm… Trixie…” Fluttershy’s voice drifted after her, sounding oddly low and husky.

The unicorn froze at the sound of her own name, blood resurgent in her cheeks, convinced that she had been spotted. Her heart began to hammer in her throat. She braced herself to bear the brunt of Fluttershy’s anger and mortification, but no shout, sob, or scramble for privacy came.

Tentatively, Trixie turned her head, praying that Fluttershy would believe that she had happened upon the scene by mistake. However, as her resigned gaze fell back into the bedroom, she saw to her surprise that the pegasus’s eyes were still closed. She was lying on her back, wings splayed haphazardly over the edges of the bed, looking every inch the awkward angel. She had withdrawn the hoof from her flushed lower lips, obviously taking her time.

One foreleg was sweeping with long, gentle strokes across her lower belly, the other tracing the butterflies on her flank, and she let out her breath in a ragged huff at the self-inflicted frustration. “Oh…” she murmured, breathily. “Don’t tease, Trixie… please.” The last word came out as a hungry little whine.

The unicorn on the stairs was rooted to the spot. The components of her brain seemed to have fused together.

“I… I love- aah!” Fluttershy’s words broke off into a squeal as she relented, letting her hoof fall to press up against the centre of her pleasure again. She pulled her thighs together, trapping the hoof in place, preventing it from abandoning its sensual duties. “That’s… that’s right…” her voice sounded quite unlike its usual timid squeak; it was warm and languid, positively dripping with satisfaction. “Oh, that’s perfect…”

Her hind leg was twitching reflexively, kicking down against the mattress. A hardback book lay where it had fallen on the floorboards beside the bed, and somewhere in Trixie’s numb brain, she realized that it must have created the thud that she had heard downstairs. Beside the pegasus, on the bed, lay an abandoned hairbrush, and in an instant, the unicorn could guess what must have triggered this sudden desire in the timid mare.

“Why… why do you have to make me f-feel like this?” sighed the pegasus, the last word trailing off into a sibilant hiss of pleasure, tainted by some deep-rooted frustration. “It’s just not fair…” She rolled over onto her stomach, her hind legs becoming tangled up in the duvet, tail flipping rapidly from side to side. She must have bitten down on the pillow, because her next moans were muffled, and if she tried to form any words, they were lost to Trixie’s ears.

The unicorn turned, and stumbled down the staircase, trusting the thick carpet to silence her movements.

Jamming her hat magically back onto her head, she was out of the house before she knew where her hooves were carrying her, the front door closing with a miniscule click behind her. As she stepped outside, the sudden cold clawed at her, but she ignored it, and all but galloped away in the direction of the hills. 

Her mind was churning; her stomach heavy with shame at having intruded so thoroughly on her friend’s private feelings. And yet, try as she might, she could not repress a rising feeling in her chest that could be nothing other than delight.

I… I love… The gasped half-sentence resonated in her mind, and it felt as if her trademark pyrotechnics were putting on a stunning show inside her chest. More than anything, she wanted to hear that sentence finished.

Although, she did have to admit that if she had imagined such a confession, the circumstances would have been somewhat different. She would have liked to envisage a shy, private admission in a secluded and beautiful place. It felt somehow wrong to know how Fluttershy felt, because the knowledge had been gleaned in such an underhand, unintentional manner.

Naturally, she could not repress a deep-rooted sense of joy that her feelings were reciprocated, but theirs had been a subtle and intricate dance. For fate to interrupt it in such a brutal way seemed almost cruel, and now she was left with a single question.

What am I going to do about this?

She slowed her pace, but walked on, still heading for their secluded hilltop. Now, more than ever, she needed to think.


*


Fluttershy lay on her back, flushed and panting a little, basking in the afterglow. She made no attempt to disentangle herself from the sheets, instead letting a warm little shudder pass through her curled form, savouring the last trickles of ebbing pleasure.

She realized that the morning’s activities had left her with a certain amount of laundry to be done; she would have to take another shower, and perhaps light a few scented candles before Trixie’s return, but in that moment it was utterly worth it. The tension and frustration that had reached boiling point in the pit of her stomach had alleviated a little. They were still present, but for the moment were satiated.

For a few long seconds, she reclined with a small smile playing around her lips. It was not as if she had never engaged in such pastimes before, but they had never felt quite so satisfying prior to now. Her first, confused forays into adolescence seemed a lifetime ago, back when she had no distinct object upon which her fermenting desires could settle.

Idly, Fluttershy picked up the hairbrush that she had been running through her mane, before all of those badly-suppressed needs had refused to be ignored any longer. She knew all too well what had caused her resistance to crumble. She shivered a little at the memory of Trixie running the brush smoothly through her mane, the magical field tingling against her scalp, and the unicorn’s breath hot against her neck.

More than their proximity, she had been affected by the care and diligence with which the unicorn looked after her. Trixie had worked out every knot and twist with deft, gentle motions, and Fluttershy had found herself reveling in being the object of such attention. She had come so close to pleading with the sapphire mare to continue, to take care of the rest of her coat, but she had not been able to work up the nerve.

She sighed; perhaps someday. Physically, she felt more relaxed than she had in days.

Growing in the pit of her stomach, however, was a crushing sense of shame, chasing away the last vestiges of pleasure and relaxation. The warm glow of her cheeks had turned angry and blotchy, and she kicked off the covers in disgust. Trixie was her guest. She had shared her home with the unicorn to care for her, not to fantasize about her.

Rarity’s image swam in her mind’s eye, lounging languidly back in the hot tub, blithely offering platitudes to help the pegasus rationalize her own perversion. Phrases such as ‘perfectly natural’ and ‘doesn’t hurt anypony’ drifted through her imagination, each sounding more feeble and rote-learned than the last. She snorted.

She could not bear the smell of her own weakness any longer. Angrily, she stalked across the room and threw open the leaded windows, gasping a little as a blast of wintry air caught her in the face. Then, the pegasus tugged the bedcovers off and onto the floor with a gesture that was almost violent. Balling the duvet up inside the sheets, she began to tug the heavy mass of fabric downstairs.

Angel’s head snapped up as she accidentally collided with the coffee table on her way across the lounge, and he glared at her reproachfully. At that moment, though, she could not bring herself to care. She felt a horrible shriveling sensation in her chest as she imagined how Trixie would react if she could see inside her shy friend’s head.

It might not be all that bad, spoke up a reasonable, hopeful voice in the back of her mind. She might understand; she might even feel the same by now.

You’re a fool, snapped back another, less charitable instinct. She got burned badly enough by Rosemary; she won’t want to dip her hooves back into those feelings for a long time.

It’s been a long time; she told me herself that she wants to move on. Maybe she wants to leave Rosemary behind too? She made some terrible mistakes with that mare, and maybe she’ll never be able to forget her, but she wants to heal. She is healing.

She’s still in your care. It doesn’t give you the right to inject her into all your little fantasies.

As she dumped the incriminating evidence into her washtub, however, she felt her inwardly-directed anger drain a little, and she groaned. Trotting back upstairs, she pulled the windows closed again with a resigned shake of the head.

Rarity was right. She could not help how she felt towards the unicorn, and surely it was better that she relieve the frustration of the unattainable this way, rather than bottling it up inside until she did something idiotic.

She was still uncomfortable with the idea, and with her own loss of control, but her pragmatic side was undeniably in the right. The sense of shame slowly retreated to a nagging pinprick, as she looked out over the snowy Everfree beyond her cottage.

It was true; she was not hurting anypony.


*


When Trixie finally returned, the early winter night was drawing down, and Fluttershy was reading idly in front of the fire, nestled beneath a patchwork blanket that covered the entire sofa. She looked up at the click of the latch, and smiled at the chilly unicorn, gesturing for Trixie to join her on the sofa.

“You look frozen,” she said, her tone one of sympathy and slight concern.

The unicorn nodded with a slight shiver, trotting across the room after dropping off her saddlebags by the door, and holding her forehooves out to the fire. A bloom of colour had flared in her cheeks as she met the pegasus’s gaze, but Fluttershy put it down to the sudden warmth after the snowy outside world. “I haven’t eaten yet,” the pegasus added. “I’m keeping a nut roast warm in the oven, I thought we could eat on the sofa tonight.” She smiled. “You know; closer to the fire.”

Trixie’s brow furrowed a little, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, Fluttershy, I didn’t realize I’d been gone for so long, I didn’t mean to make you wait for dinner.” She smiled, timidly, although Fluttershy definitely caught a distinct reddening around the bridge of her nose. “Thanks for waiting, I’ll go plate some up for us.” She trotted towards the kitchen, idly plucking the head off a tulip from the vase by the door, and dropping it into her mouth with a low fizz of magic.

Fluttershy opened her mouth to ask that Trixie stay and warm up while she readied their food, but thought better of it. She knew that the unicorn needed symbiosis, and that she could never feel right simply taking, without being able to reciprocate in some way. She had learned over the last few days that kindness covered a far wider spectrum than she had once imagined, as did compromise.

After a few minutes, the sapphire mare returned, her horn glowing warmly and holding aloft two trays, each bearing a steaming plate. Fluttershy’s stomach rumbled audibly, and she flushed a little as Trixie deposited the tray gently on her lap, before curling up under the blanket beside her, balancing her own meal upon the arm of the sofa.

“Thanks.” Fluttershy smiled, taking a large mouthful to satiate her embarrassingly audible appetite. “How was the hilltop?” she asked, swallowing. “Do you think you’re ready for tomorrow?”

“Oh…” Trixie grinned back, but she seemed a little distracted. “It was fine,” she replied, at length. “You’re right, that place is wonderful if you’re trying to think straight. I… I feel a lot clearer on everything now, although I still don’t really know what I’m going to say.”

“At the party?”

“Huh?” Trixie seemed momentarily confused, as if unsure to what party Fluttershy was referring. Then her expression cleared. “Oh. Yes… yeah. The party.” She shook her head minutely. “I know I need to say something sooner rather than later, but it’s still a challenge to work up the nerve.”

“True.” Fluttershy nodded sympathetically. “Rainbow Dash can be a little intimidating, but I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

“I guess I’ll have to play it by ear.” Trixie did not elaborate on her vague statement, instead applying herself to her food, and the pair of them lapsed into a companionable silence.

Now that she was sitting beside the unicorn again, however, the pegasus felt a slight resurgence of guilt. What would her friend think of her if she knew what she, Fluttershy, had been up to the moment Trixie left the house? What would she think if she knew the subject of Fluttershy’s overactive imagination, and of the deeply intimate situations that it could conjure up?

Fluttershy realized that she was staring into the fire, legs curled up beneath her. She turned to look at Trixie, and caught the unicorn gazing at her, leaning forward a little as if the pegasus were a code that she had spent years attempting fruitlessly to decipher. She expected the powder-blue mare to blush and look away, and whilst Trixie’s cheeks stained a deeper rose, she did not avert her gaze.

Why is it that I can never have what I want?

The voice had come unbidden from the back of Fluttershy’s mind, tiny and insidious. Trixie’s lavender eyes were glittering in the firelight, and she seemed to be fighting some painful internal battle.

Why does kindness always hold me back?

Trixie opened her mouth as if to speak, appeared to struggle for an instant, the flush creeping along her neck, then seemed to give up. She broke her friend’s gaze, and slipped a forkful of nut roast into her open mouth, her attitude one of defeat.

Kiss her.

The pegasus’s eyes shot suddenly wide at the thought; she was utterly unaware of where it had originated, only that it had hit her with a sudden, insane insistence.

What?

Kiss her. The impulse was stronger this time. You’re a beautiful mare; she’d be crazy to refuse you. Kiss her… it’d be so easy. You want her, so why not try and get what you want for once in your life?

She looked away from Trixie, blushing to the roots of her mane, but still perfectly determined. No.

Why not?

I’m not going to take advantage of her, it’d be cruel of me. That was why I let some steam off today; it was so I wouldn’t do something stupid now.

But now you’ve had a taste, haven’t you? You’ve tried the entrée, and now you want the main course, because you know it would be so much better. You shouldn’t try to trick yourself with fakes and fantasies, Fluttershy, all you’re doing is making yourself hungrier for the real thing.

No! That’s… that’s not… She chewed a mouthful of nut roast almost aggressively. That’s not how it works. If I can let off tension safely, then I can resist. If I just let it build up, then…

Sounds like you’re going to slip up either way, then. The voice was feigning bored indifference now. All I’m asking is whether you want to keep on torturing yourself, or tell her the truth now and save us all so much pain and laundry.

I’m stronger than that.

Well then, I wonder how long you’ll hold out. You won’t last forever, you know. One day you’ll weaken, and looking at the way you make her blush… Fluttershy’s gaze snapped unconsciously to Trixie, who seemed engrossed in thought again. Well, I’m not sure she’ll exactly be complaining when that day comes.

How do you see her? A reward? A prize? I’m not entitled to her, and it’d be disgusting to think of her like that. I’m caring for her because I want to, and she doesn’t owe me anything.

“This is lovely,” Trixie commented, her mouth half-full of food, snapping Fluttershy out of her reverie.

“Huh? Oh… thank you. I just threw it together, really,” she replied, smiling a little distractedly.

The unicorn bunched the blanket around herself, leaning back into the sofa a little, her expression difficult to read. “So… who’ll be at this party tomorrow?”

Fluttershy swallowed her mouthful of nut roast, and thought for a moment. “Well, Pinkie Pie will be hosting it… I don’t think you’ve met her before. Twilight should be there… if she isn’t, I’ll go around to the library and find out exactly what she’s playing at. Applejack and Rainbow Dash will both be there, and I can see them being the hardest to convince, but if Rarity and I both vouch for you, it should be alright. Rarity’s going to be there too, of course, purple mane and all.” She smirked, a little teasingly, and Trixie blushed, but giggled. “It’s okay,” she added, “she told me that she’s more than willing to bury the hatchet.”

Trixie nodded, obviously relieved. The pegasus noticed her shivering a little, and the unicorn  blew on her forehooves, rubbing them together.

“Still cold?” Fluttershy asked, in concern.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Trixie replied. “I didn’t expect to be out for so long; I thought I’d be back before it got dark.”

The primrose mare reached out to touch her friend’s forehoof beneath the blanket; despite the fire, it still felt icy. “You shouldn’t have gone out on your own,” she murmured, guiltily. “I should never have said you were ready; you just look so much better now… but I saw the state you were in when I found you. You were never going to recover that quickly.”

“I’m fine, honestly,” insisted Trixie, magically raising another forkful of food to her lips.

“No you aren’t,” Fluttershy snapped, then shied away from the unicorn, blushing again. “I… I’m sorry. I’m angry with myself, not you.” She stood, choking back a sudden spring of tears for a reason she could not quite explain. “I’ll… I’ll fill you a hot water bottle. Just stay under the covers, and you’ll… you’ll be f-fine.”

She could feel Trixie’s confused eyes on her back as she walked away, wings tucked defensively tight against her sides. “Are you… Fluttershy, are you okay?” The worried voice sounded from behind her, low and caring, and she halted.

The pegasus turned, breathing out a long sigh. For a few moments, there was silence. “I’m fine, Trixie,” she said at last, in a small voice. “I’m sorry, I just… I worry about you.”

Trixie did not respond vocally; instead, she held out a hoof, magically lifting the blanket to create room for the primrose mare beside her. After a moment’s hesitation, Fluttershy trotted timidly back across the room, and climbed back beneath the patchwork cover beside the unicorn. Trixie could not know what was preying on her mind, but she could at least offer comfort for her obvious distress.

She snuggled tightly against the unicorn, leaning her forehead against Trixie’s chest with a low mumble of gratitude. The unicorn’s forehooves still felt cold against her own, and she half-raised her wings in silent invitation. Accepting the offer, Trixie rested her forehooves gently on Fluttershy’s sides. The pegasus felt herself jump minutely as the chilly hooves touched her, but folded in her wings close against her sides again, so that the sapphire mare’s hooves were warmly enveloped beneath the primrose feathers.

Fluttershy heard Trixie give a tiny sigh of relief, and smiled, feeling her own stresses retreat as she nestled against her friend. A single tear had soaked into the fur of her cheek, but no further droplets followed its lead.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Trixie murmured. She fell silent for a few seconds, then continued, “Fluttershy… if having me here is causing you stress, I… I don’t want to be a burden on you. You know you can always tell me the truth, and I wouldn’t be hurt or offended, don’t you?”

Fluttershy was a little taken aback by the question. “W-what makes you think you’re a burden?” she asked. “It’s wonderful having you here, and I…” Her voice tailed off. She could not truthfully say that Trixie was not causing her stress of any kind, but she could hardly admit to that particular internal struggle.

You can always tell me the truth.

But how could she? Whatever Trixie was expecting in response, it would not be an admission of such an intimate nature. Besides, she would far rather retain Trixie as a friend, and privately deal with the frustrations it entailed as best she could, than risk alienating her with a rash confession.

She smiled. “I know I can tell you the truth,” she whispered, cuddling closer to the unicorn’s neck, “but everything’s wonderful.”

As her eyes fluttered shut, however, she did not see the small, knowing smile, as it played across Trixie’s lips.
> XII: A Night to Remember - Part I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Twelve
A Night To Remember - Part I

“There! How’s that?”

The sun was beginning its westerly decline on the evening of the party, and Fluttershy’s cottage was a scene of last-minute preparations. The animals had all been fed early, and the floor was strewn with empty bowls and snoozing rodents.

Trixie withdrew a shimmering purple tendril from the lace-up back of Fluttershy’s dress, after carefully tugging the final bow to just the right tightness. Panting a little at the magical exertion, she stepped back to inspect her handiwork. The pegasus half-turned, running an appraising eye over her reflection, lingering on the braiding of her mane before examining her dress with a critical gaze.

Pinkie Pie’s parties were by no means formal affairs; Fluttershy had opted to wear an airy, honeydew-green construct of Rarity’s, the silk subtly detailed with pale-yellow rivulets of gauze. Trixie had to admire Rarity’s grasp of her art; her creation succeeded in catching the eye without seeming ostentatious and felt appropriate for a friendly get-together without appearing prosaic or overly functional. Its backless, laced design accentuated Fluttershy’s natural curves, yet did not show off enough to seem revealing or coquettish, beyond the barest hint of flirtation.

“Do… do you think it looks alright?” Fluttershy stretched out her wings, and rose gently into the air, hovering a few inches from the floorboards. She twirled slowly around in mid-air, looking a little concernedly at Trixie, as if awaiting her judgment.

“It’s…” Trixie tailed off and smiled. “I know I’m stating the obvious here, but you look beautiful.”

Fluttershy alighted, flushing to her ears, but grinning shyly nevertheless. “You do that on purpose,” she mumbled with a hint of playful reproach.

“Do what?” returned the unicorn innocently.

The pegasus pawed at the floorboards, looking sideways at her friend. “Say… things like that; you know it makes me blush…”

Trixie giggled, smirking at the adorable glow in the mare’s cheeks. “Well, who could blame me?”

Fluttershy blushed harder than ever, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

Trixie returned the smile, looking around for her scarf. She herself had decided to attend the party unclothed; she felt that to arrive in an ostentatious gown would be a mistake, given that she was trying to dispel her old, arrogant image. Nonetheless, she wanted to present a good first impression, and had shampooed her mane and coat until they shone. Perhaps they had not regained the old luster of her travelling days. Maybe the Everfree’s hardships still showed on her face, but she felt strong enough to face the ponies she had wronged in the past.

“Ready to go?” Trixie asked.

The timid mare nodded. “I think so.” For some reason, she looked a little nervous.

Trixie trotted over to stand beside her. “Are you okay?”

Fluttershy nodded. “I’m… I’m fine; I’m being silly. I just feel like tonight’s going to change things. Everypony’s going to know about you, and everything’s going to be different.”

The unicorn shrugged, flashing her a reassuring smile. “Maybe it will be different, but I’m not going anywhere; not unless you want me to.”

The primrose pegasus sighed happily, leaning up to wordlessly nuzzle Trixie’s cheek, before pulling the front door ajar and stepping outside. The sapphire mare was about to follow, when an unerringly accurate carrot caught her a sharp blow on the side of the head. She turned with a small yelp, rubbing her stinging temple, to see an irate Angel sitting on the arm of the settee and giving her the most cautionary of looks.

Trixie rolled her eyes, waved sarcastically at the fuming rabbit, and trotted out into the cold. She pulled the door shut behind her, hearing the thud of a second carrot impacting with the wood behind her, hurled an instant too late.


*


The windows of Sugarcube Corner were aglow with shifting, multicoloured light as the mares approached. Ordinarily, Pinkie’s parties were confined to her apartment upstairs, but the Cakes were celebrating their wedding anniversary with a week in Los Pegasus, and the hyperactive confectioner had taken their absence as permission to commandeer the entire building for her own purposes.

Trixie shivered in the cold air; it would be a welcome relief to be indoors again. She glanced at Fluttershy.

Was it just cowardice? The thought flashed across her mind, seemingly from nowhere.

Huh?

You always told yourself you were trying to protect her, by not acting on your feelings for her. You didn’t want to dirty her by thinking of her in that way, but now… what about now? You know how she feels; you know she’s just like anypony else inside, but you’re still not making a move, because you’re scared of admitting the truth to her, even now. Did you ever really want to protect her? Or was it always just cowardice?

Trixie shook her head, trying to clear the nagging thoughts that were flitting like flies inside her mind. Now was not the time to second-guess her own motives.

She noticed that her heart was pumping rather faster than usual as they approached the door to Sugarcube Corner. Her nervousness must have showed in her face, because Fluttershy halted, turning to face her. “Do you feel okay?”

The unicorn nodded uncertainly. “I’m…” She could not bring herself to complete the sentence. “Fluttershy, do you think they’ll forgive me?”

Fluttershy seemed to deliberate for a moment. “I hope so,” she said at length. “I… I think so,” she added after a moment. “I mean, my friends and I, we… we always forgive each other when we get into fights; I don’t see why you’d be any different.”

“Fluttershy, I almost destroyed the town; ponies nearly died because of me.”

The pegasus sighed. “No; all you did was boast, and make a few ponies look silly. You didn’t ask anypony to go and fetch an Ursa from the forest, and you couldn’t have known those foals were going to take a stage-show so seriously, could you?” She smiled. “You must have told that story in a hundred towns, and none of them ended up in ruins, did they? All they need to forgive is bigheadedness, and between you and me,” she leaned in conspiratorially, giving Trixie a playful smile, “considering we know Rainbow Dash, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Trixie nodded. She was still not quite convinced, but there was sense in Fluttershy’s words. “I… I’ll just do my best. Thanks.”

The pegasus beamed at her. “Oh, you’ll be fine.” She leaned across, planted the swiftest of kisses on Trixie’s cheek, and trotted up the steps to the pink front door.

The sapphire mare followed a few steps behind, feeling ever-so-slightly stunned. The spot where Fluttershy’s lips had touched her tingled, and she could not help but feel a little braver.

The bakery’s counter was empty, and the shop area had been deserted and left perfectly tidy in the absence of the Cakes. However, if the thump of loud music and the glow of light from beneath the door behind the counter was any hint, the living room had not been likewise abandoned.

The door swung ajar, the music immediately growing twice as loud, and an excitable face poked around the doorframe. Judging by her grin, and the voluminous, violently fuchsia mane that bobbed around her head, Trixie deduced that this mare must be the Pinkie Pie about whom she’d been told so much.

“Hey, Flutters!” The effervescent pony vaulted over the counter, and bounced across the tiled floor to greet them. The mare skidded a little as she halted, legs flailing a little as she attempted to find purchase on the slippery surface. Her choice of attire for the evening consisted of four hooped blue-and-white cotton socks, the hind pair reaching almost up to her cutie mark.

Trixie noticed, with mild amusement, the slight blush that crept over Fluttershy’s nose at the sight of the slightly suggestive garments. “Oh… hello, Pinkie.” The pegasus smiled a little awkwardly, keeping her eyes fixed determinedly on the mare’s face. “You look… nice.”

“Oh, these?” Pinkie giggled, gesturing to a socked forehoof and leaning in conspiratorially. “They’re for Dashie; I’m gonna get my own back on her!”

“Get your… own back?” Fluttershy looked a little confused.

“Yep!” Pinkie nodded. “Remember last time, when she turned up in that Wonderbolts uniform?” She smirked. “I think she forgot that I know what she likes, too!”

Fluttershy flushed again, but Trixie could tell that she was trying not to laugh. It was pleasant to see her so relaxed around her friend; able to leave behind a little of her natural nervousness for a time.

At that moment, Pinkie turned to Trixie with a wide grin. “A-ha! And this must be the mare Rarity told me was coming to commandeer my party!”

Trixie blinked. “Oh, I… I’m—”

“I’m joking, silly,” Pinkie said with a surprisingly gentle smile.

“Oh… okay.” Trixie returned the smile nervously, acutely aware that, aside from Fluttershy, this was the first pony with whom she had spoken in almost a year.

“Anyways,” continued the party pony, bouncing slightly on the spot, “I’m Pinkie Pie, and it’s great to meet you at last!”

“I… Thanks, Pinkie.” Trixie met her eyes shyly. “I guess I owe you an apology for… well, everything that happened last time I was here.”

Pinkie waved a dismissive hoof. “Nah, it’s fine! It’s what you’re like now that matters, and if you’re not a big mean meanie-pants anymore, then you’re good in my books.”

Trixie broke into a relieved smile. She was about to thank the mare, but Pinkie suddenly looked thoughtful. “Y’know,” she mused, “I think ‘meanie-pants’ is getting old, I need to come up with something new. Trouble-trousers?”

Fluttershy gave Trixie a look which quite clearly said, ‘don’t ask’.

Pinkie’s brow was furrowed with thought. “Disagreeable-drawers?” Her expression suddenly cleared, and she grinned with an almost startling rapidity. “Anyway, come on through, girls, we’ve got a party to partify!”

“Yes, Pinkie… about that…” Trixie turned at the sound of Fluttershy’s voice, and saw her looking a little concernedly at the door, behind which a multitude of voices were sounding. “It sounds a bit… busy in there for just the seven of us.”

“Seven?” Pinkie looked a little nonplussed, then she brightened. “Oh yeah! I was thinking yesterday that I never get the chance to use the front room these days, so I thought we might as well make the most of it! It’s way bigger than my room upstairs, plus we’ve got the kitchen and everything, and it’d just seem like such a great big waste if we didn’t take advantage!” She heaved in a great huff of air, having given her explanation on a single breath. “So I invited a few extra ponies, because we never get so much space usually, and it seemed mean not to share it!” She grinned broadly.

Fluttershy, however, did not look pleased. “How… how many is a few?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Oh, you know… a few. How long’s a piece of string, anyway?” She grinned, then tapped her chin with a socked hoof, thoughtfully. “Well, I mean theoretically speaking, length’s a concept based on our three perceived dimensions, so it’s really kind of meaningless when it comes to a string, since it’s a big ol’ ten dimensional entity… I mean, what they hay, if you go ahead and add the eleventh dimension, a string then becomes a membrane and any sense of proportion goes completely out of the window, and everything goes all melty, but that’s when they kicked me out of the bar, so I—”

“Pinkie!” Fluttershy shouted, and the mare’s ramblings trailed away. The pegasus looked angry. “You do know why I’m bringing Trixie tonight, don’t you?” She took a step forwards. “You do realize that she wanted to ease herself back into things, right? A quiet little get-together? She didn’t want you inviting the whole town!” She prodded Pinkie in the chest with an accusing hoof.

Pinkie had taken a step back from her friend, who seemed momentarily to tower over her. The earth pony’s eyes were suddenly glistening with moisture. “I… I didn’t mean… I just—”

“Fluttershy,” Trixie stepped forwards, placing herself firmly between the mares, “I don’t mind.” Her voice was soothing, although she had to admit that her heart had risen to her throat at the prospect of immersing herself in a far larger crowd than she had expected. “I don’t care if I’ve got to talk to five ponies or fifty, it’s all the same to me.” It was not entirely true, but she knew that she could cope, and she could not bear to be responsible for a falling-out between Fluttershy and her friends. She turned to the tearful Pinkie. “Don’t worry about it,” she murmured.

“No, I-I didn’t think!” The party pony looked exceptionally guilty.

“It’s easy to do.” Trixie smiled reassuringly. “No harm done, okay? Just have a good time.”

Pinkie nodded and sniffed. The sound was echoed a moment later by Fluttershy, whose posture had diminished a little. “I’m… I’m sorry, Pinkie,” she mumbled. “I shouldn’t have lost it like that…”

The earth pony stepped around Trixie, blinking away the hint of tearfulness that had glinted in her eyes and nudged her friend, playfully. “Hey, maybe you can buy me a cupcake sometime!” She winked, but then her giggles died away as she looked appraisingly at Fluttershy. “Really though, it’s okay… when you find somepony who means that much to you, of course you’re gonna treat them like they’re made of glass. S’only natural.” Smiling broadly, she bounced away towards the living room door.

Fluttershy followed a few paces behind, face flushed at her own outburst, and at Pinkie’s moment of strange insight. Trixie brought up the rear with Pinkie’s words echoing in her mind, but Fluttershy’s aggressive behaviour was dominating her thoughts. 

Some small part of her was quietly pleased that Fluttershy was so willing to defend her, but at the same time, the rapidity with which she had been set at the throat of a good friend was almost frightening.

The unicorn did not want to be the force that dragged such friendships apart, and above all, she hated the growing indication that Fluttershy could be willing to sacrifice those friendships, in order to stay close to Trixie and keep her safe. Sometimes, she could not help but wonder what was hiding behind Fluttershy’s kindness.

Then, she followed the pegasus through the door, and the train of thought melted away under the sudden barrage of sights and sounds.

The front room was unrecognizable, as it always was when Pinkie and her party cannon were turned loose upon it. A row of trestle tables had been set up along the back wall, groaning under punch-bowls and plates of enough sugar-filled food to give a dentist an apoplexy at a single glance. The ceiling was hung with streamers, and bunches of balloons hovered, seemingly untethered in the dimmed light.

A large nest-like pile of cushions had been strewn around in one corner, occupied by an eclectic bunch of non-unicorns, all of whom needed both free forehooves to hold their glasses. Near the kitchen door, a patch of floor had been cleared for dancing, currently populated only by those initial brave or overconfident souls who were willing to dance without a protective crowd around them.

The place was full of ponies, standing in small groups or perusing the food. The party did not feel overcrowded and oppressive, but nor did it feel sparse and under-attended. The music was loud enough to allow for dancing, but not so loud as to prevent conversation. The arrangement of the lighting and decorations gracefully avoided appearing tacky or seedy, without losing one iota of their cheerfulness. Much like Rarity’s abilities to balance every facet of a dress, Trixie could not help but be impressed by the care and simple subtlety that underpinned the evening’s seemingly-anarchic organization.

Rarity and Applejack were already present, engrossed in gossip and idly nodding in time to the music. The unicorn was dressed impeccably in a sparkling sapphire gown, perhaps a little too sparkling for the occasion, and the farm-pony was wearing her usual scuffed brown hat. Trixie recognized both of them with a fresh pang of nerves. It appeared as if Twilight and Rainbow Dash were yet to arrive, unless they were lost in the crowd.

Oddly enough, Trixie felt almost encouraged by the noisy, busy atmosphere. It prevented her from being the centre of attention upon her arrival, and indeed, it seemed that nopony had yet recognized her, or even so much as noticed her.

“Okay, so…” Pinkie glanced quickly around the room. “There’s AJ and Rarity.” She indicated them for Trixie’s benefit. “I’ll let you know when Twi’ and Dashie turn up.” She giggled. “You girls behave yourselves, now!” With a wink, she turned and bounced off across the room, effortlessly negotiating the crowds.

The mares stood silently in the middle of the bustling party, the atmosphere growing suddenly a little awkward. “I… I guess you’ll want to go speak to them on your own,” Fluttershy said softly, indicating the mares at the buffet table. Rarity had said her farewells to Applejack, and was now engaged in conversation with a cream earth mare in an immaculate cocktail dress; both were opining enthusiastically about one another’s choice in eveningwear.

“I don’t mind you being with me,” Trixie replied quickly.

Fluttershy nodded. “I know, but it’s between you and them. Whatever you need to say, you don’t need me hanging around. Besides, I need to talk to Carrot Top about her rabbit problem anyway.” She paused, looking a little worried. “I mean, if you do want me to stay with you, for moral support, then that’s fine too, I just—”

“It’s okay,” Trixie cut gently across her. “You’re right; this isn’t about now, it’s about what’s happened in the past. If I’m going to get beyond that, I need to do it on my own.”

Fluttershy smiled timidly at her, and for a moment Trixie thought the pegasus was about to kiss her again, but then she turned, and trotted away between the groups of ponies.

Trixie watched her go, that familiar yet strange mixture of emotions bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She wished that she understood the workings of that shy, loving, sometimes-frightening mind a little better, and yet at the same time, Fluttershy’s mystery only served to enhance her allure.

Two unicorn mares trotted past, giggling vacuously at some banal little joke, and sipping on glasses of punch. Trixie felt several worlds apart from them, as if a glass wall had fallen between them. She felt almost contemptuous, but it was nothing close to her old, sneeringly arrogant contempt. She had faced pain and starvation; she had nearly died on several occasions, and lived in a world where every scrap of food and every restful night felt like a blessing. Now, immersed for the first time in months amongst those with happy, balanced lives, she looked around, and saw such emotion over miniscule, prosaic things. It felt irrelevant.

She sighed, realizing that she had a long way to go before she could truly function around others again. Forgiving, angelic Fluttershy was one thing, but she needed to find a way to reconnect with the world in general.

“Hey.” The unicorn jumped, whipping around. With a pang of that insistent urge to flee that life in the Everfree had imprinted into her psyche, Trixie found herself face-to-face with Applejack. “So, y’all turned up.” She sounded indifferent to the news.

“I… I had to,” Trixie replied in a small voice, her heart still thumping. “You’re… you’re Applejack, aren’t you?”

The farm-pony nodded, unsmiling. The look on her face said that she was waiting for Trixie to speak, but did not expect to be impressed.

Trixie took a breath, intending to apologize for tying the mare up, but halted at the last moment. Applejack was clearly a proud pony, but somehow, she did not seem the type to hold a grudge for some petty, personal humiliation. No, the obvious anger in the mare’s eyes stemmed from somewhere else, some deeper blame.

“I…” Trixie met Applejack’s eyes shyly. This was not time for lengthy introductions; she needed to clear the air. “I’m sorry I hurt Fluttershy.”

The earth pony looked extremely taken aback; she opened her mouth to reply, but it seemed as if the response she had expected to give was no longer applicable.

“I know you care about her,” Trixie continued. “I care about her too; I don’t expect you to trust me after everything that’s happened, but I’d never mean to hurt her.” She scuffed a hoof against the floorboards. “And I’m sorry I ran away that night, after the Ursa business. I should’ve stayed, but something… something broke. I couldn’t carry on; I couldn’t face you then, and I know it’s a little late, but I can now.” She held out a nervous hoof. “I’m sorry, Applejack. For everything.”

For several, long moments, Applejack stood silent. Her eyes moved between Trixie’s face, and her outreached hoof.

Then, she reached forwards, and touched the pad of her own forehoof gently to Trixie’s. “Last couple years ain’t been kind to ya, have they?” She did not quite smile, but her voice was less harsh, and some of the stoniness had left her gaze.

“I guess it takes quite an upheaval to get rid of that much stupidity,” Trixie mumbled.

“I hear that.” Applejack shook her head, and met Trixie’s eyes seriously. “Just promise me somethin’, will ya?”

The unicorn nodded tentatively.

“Don’t go leavin’ her,” Applejack said quietly. “Fluttershy, I mean. Y’all look darn near ready to hit the road again, but… please don’t just go without any warning. You mean a whole lot to her; I tried to get in to see ya’ll when she first brought you in, an’ she shot me down pretty bad. Both of us said a few things we regret, but the point is, she doesn’t get so stubborn over just anypony.” She sighed. “I’m not gonna make threats of you, Trixie, but my friends mean a lot to me.”

“I’m not going to leave her, Applejack,” Trixie replied without a moment’s hesitation. “The road used to reel me in like nothing else, but all it did was let me keep on running. I spent half a lifetime out there, and what’ve I got to show for it?” She snorted, but smiled a tiny, satisfied smile. “The road’s run out for me. She’s all I’ve got left now, and that’s so much more than enough. I won’t abandon her.”

Applejack nodded slowly, her expression softening. “I reckon I understand, Trixie; I went out on the roads myself, years back, an’ all they did was lead me back here. Either way, if Fluttershy’s safe with you, then you an’ I ain’t got a problem.” For the first time, she returned Trixie’s smile with a small one of her own. “That pony’s so caught up in all that caring… she needs somepony to care for her.” She shrugged, her smile fading, still clearly a little untrusting of Trixie’s motives and character. “Now maybe that pony’s you, an’ maybe it ain’t, I dunno yet. Either way, that’s between you and her, I just—” She broke off, her eyes hardening a little as she looked over Trixie’s shoulder.

The unicorn turned, following Applejack’s gaze, and caught sight of a familiar, somewhat brash-looking pegasus mare standing in the doorway. Her body was cyan-furred, lithe and obviously athletic, her mane a vivid, prismatic shock comprising nearly every colour of the spectrum. She was wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue saddlebags, which were bulging with what looked suspiciously like a wide selection of bottles.

Her appearance radiated every indication of easy self-assurance, except for the expression upon her face, which was a little wide-eyed, as if she were a rabbit caught in the headlights of a carriage. Her wings seemed quite disinterested in remaining furled to her sides, despite her obvious best efforts. Half with apprehension and half with amusement, Trixie realized both who the pegasus was, and precisely what she had spotted approaching across the room.

Instantaneously confirming Trixie’s suspicions, Pinkie Pie bounced from the crowd and caught Dash in a tight hug, running a socked foreleg playfully through her marefriend’s mane. She pulled back to share a few whispered words, then set about kissing the pegasus very thoroughly indeed. Fortunately, most of the party’s attendees were well occupied by the company and food, and the enthusiastic greeting in the doorway went largely unnoticed, barring a couple of wolf-whistles from a group of nearby pegasus stallions.

Giggling at the sight, Trixie turned back to Applejack, but the expression on the mare’s face made the laughter die instantly in her throat. It was halfway between bitter resignation, and a regret that was made all the more unbearable by its appearance on the face of so stoic a mare. Then, she swallowed, and closed her eyes for a moment with a slight shake of the head. When she opened them again, the pain was perfectly hidden from view, although there was no longer any trace of a smile in her gaze.

“Y’all have a good night, Trixie,” Applejack said, her voice flat. Then, she turned, and before the unicorn could articulate a response, she was lost in the crowd.

That could have been worse, spoke up a small, reasonable voice at the back of her mind. Of course, it seemed as if Trixie were not the only point of contention for Applejack that night. The look that had flashed onto the farm-pony’s face at the sight of Dash and Pinkie was strangely haunting.

Delaying the moment when she would be forced to speak with Rainbow Dash, Trixie turned and made her way towards the buffet table, magically seizing a sandwich without glancing at the filling, and taking a distracted bite. Across the room, she could see Fluttershy chatting animatedly with a goldenrod pony, apparently making suggestions for humane pest control. There was no sign of Rarity at the table any longer; she must have joined the throng on the dance floor.

“Hey, are you new in town?” Trixie looked up, mouth still filled with egg and cress, meeting the eye of a burgundy earth mare with a thick, pale-pink mane. She seemed a little older than most of the ponies in attendance, if only by a few years, she seemed somehow more well-entrenched in adulthood than Fluttershy or her friends. “I’ve not seen you before,” she added thoughtfully.

Trixie swallowed. This was a difficult situation; naturally, the entire town had not attended her shows, much as the thought would have affronted her at the time. It was hardly as if they would have passed around posters of her after she left, so not everypony in town would recognize her. Letting slip her name, on the other hand, would be far more likely to give the game away. Then again, she supposed reintegration was the reason she was here, and she could hardly make progress on that front under an assumed name.

“My name’s Cheerilee,” continued the mare, her voice a little uncertain now, faced with the unicorn’s silence.

Oh, what the hay. Trixie smiled shyly at the earth pony. “I’m Trixie,” she said. “I… I guess I am new here.”

“Trixie…” Cheerilee frowned. “Rings a bell…” Her expression suddenly cleared. “Oh yeah, Snips and Snails wouldn’t shut up about you for weeks, a few years ago now… weren’t you some kind of stage magician?”

Some deeply-buried piece of Trixie’s psyche twitched irritably at being addressed as a ‘stage magician’, but her prevailing emotion was a surprised relief at not receiving a hoof to the face. “Snips and Snails? You know them?”

Cheerilee nodded. “Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that I teach up at the schoolhouse, and they’re in one of my classes. They’re not the most coherent of storytellers, but apparently they ended up with quite a wonderful pair of moustaches as a result of your visit.”

Trixie’s confusion must have shown on her face, because Cheerilee giggled. “Like I say, they’re hardly reliable sources. So, are you living here now?”

“Wait, hold on a moment.” Trixie held up a hoof in bemusement. “Was that all they told you?”

Cheerilee’s brow knitted in thought. “Well, I only heard about everything afterwards; it was exam time so I was pulling an all-nighter marking papers. Ponies in town told me something about an Ursa Minor, but I don’t remember too much; you know what it’s like when you don’t sleep enough.” She waved a hoof. “But it didn’t sound like that big of a problem, not with Twilight Sparkle here.”

Trixie gazed incredulously at her. “Not that big of a problem? Surely the ponies here hate me now?”

The schoolteacher shook her head, amusedly. “Trixie, there’s a hydra living ten minutes down the road, we woke up one morning to find Cerberus wandering around the town square, there’ve been parasprite infestations, and a few months ago the living embodiment of chaos itself decided to set up shop right here in Ponyville.” She shrugged. “Like I say, Ursa Minors et al are kind of par for the course here.” She leaned in with a conspiratorial air. “One piece of advice if you’re new here; this town isn’t as quiet as it looks.”

Trixie blinked. “Apparently,” she said a little dazedly. Then, she smiled, still a little taken aback, but gratified that this unplanned meeting had been a success. Even though the mare seemed a little on the eccentric side, it was pleasant to see her expectations exceeded. “Good to meet you, Cheerilee.”

“Likewise,” the teacher replied grinning. “Celestia, it’s good to get away from the classroom and just have a chat.” She stretched her neck, yawning. “You wouldn’t believe the way your work can become your life.”

Trixie smirked, as if at a private joke. “Actually, I kind of would.”

Cheerilee giggled again, gesturing to a silver platter towards the back of the table. “Hey, mind magicking me one of those sandwiches over? I keep getting mayo on my neck whenever I try and reach the plate.”

“Sure.” Trixie seized a cheese and pickle sandwich from the pile, and with no small exertion, hovered it over to Cheerilee, who took it between her teeth with a muffled sound of thanks.

“Talk to you later then,” Trixie said.

“Mff-fuff!” replied Cheerilee, which the unicorn took to indicate assent. The burgundy mare turned away, heading for the dance-floor, and Trixie let out a sigh of relief.

See? It’s not so hard to just talk to ponies, is it? spoke up a small voice at the back of her mind.

Maybe with her; she wasn’t exactly in touch with current affairs, was she? Anypony who was actually at my show might be a lot harder to convince.

Even so, it was not without a small smile that she bit into one of the artful daffodil-flavoured hors d’oeuvres that Pinkie Pie had left scattered amongst the sandwiches.


*


“Sorry! E-excuse me! N-no, that’s fine, I’ll wait…”

It was barely a quarter of an hour later, but already, the party was in full swing. It seemed as if the final few guests had made their appearance, and the room felt a little more packed than Fluttershy was quite used to. Keeping up a steady stream of apologies and capitulations, she eased her way through the crowd, looking around for a face she knew well enough to make eye contact with. Carrot Top had joined her coltfriend amongst the dancing throng, and she had not caught sight of Trixie for some time.

She was tempted to seek out the unicorn, but also wanted to give Trixie a chance to make whatever reconciliations the mare felt were necessary, without Fluttershy intruding. In truth, she herself was still a little shaken by her own actions towards Pinkie.    

What’s wrong with you, Fluttershy? What’s made you so… angry?

She skirted around two pegasus stallions, who were locked in a heated discussion on stormball tactics.

It’s like Pinkie said, it’s not so much anger… I feel protective.

And yelling at your friends for no good reason is protecting her? Who said she needs or wants your protection, anyway?

She bit her lip, looking up at the densely-decorated ceiling to avoid eye-contact with anypony in the crowd. I… I don’t…

And what was that kiss all about? What happened to subtlety?

More out of a need for something to do than actual thirst, she edged towards one of the trestle tables and poured herself a glass of punch. She seated herself amongst four other mares who were resting on the cushion pile, beside a sea-blue pony who she knew by sight but had never spoken to. All of them seemed occupied with non-magically handling their drinks, and there was little conversation, which suited Fluttershy perfectly.

You’re just going to end up scaring her off if you keep this up. You realize that, don’t you?

On second thought, perhaps a more distracting environment was precisely what she needed. Downing her drink in one, she stood up again, seconds after having planted herself amongst the cushions. The blue mare was giving her a slightly odd look, but fortunately she caught sight of a familiar expertly-coiffured purple mane amongst the crowd, which gave her an excuse for her indecisive departure.

She trotted in Rarity’s direction, but halted a few paces away, as she caught sight of the unicorn’s conversation partner.

“…But really, dear, you worked up the nerve to come here tonight, didn’t you? Besides, Fluttershy needs somepony like you.” Rarity raised a decisive hoof. “No, I insist; let not one more ‘sorry’ pass your lips.”

Fluttershy took a couple of steps backwards, watching as the contrite Trixie nodded mutely. She did not want to intrude, not when things seemed to be going so smoothly.

“You’re really willing to believe me?” Trixie sounded surprised, but immensely grateful. “You’d… you’d trust me?”

“Fluttershy trusts you,” Rarity replied simply. “I must confess, I had my doubts when I first heard of your reappearance. I imagined some elaborate scheme of revenge, but from what Fluttershy’s told me… well, let’s just say that I know how time can change ponies.” She smiled warmly at the sapphire mare. “I hope you’ve found a home at last, Trixie.”

Rarity let out a little squeak of surprise as, quite suddenly, Trixie darted forward and hugged the alabaster mare in one quick, impulsive motion. When the blue mare spoke, her voice was a little choked. “I—sorry, it’s just, y-you’ve all been so… I—I never expected… I never had any r-right to…”

After a moment’s startled stillness, Rarity apparently decided to abandon her ladylike decorum, and returned the hug. Neither of them had yet noticed Fluttershy, who was lurking half-concealed behind a trio of idly-chatting unicorns, and who barely heard Rarity’s next, quieter words. “Everypony deserves a chance to be happy. It’s about time you had one, darling.”

All was quiet for a few seconds, as the mares pulled apart, Trixie wiping her eyes dry with a thin tendril of lilac magic. “Thanks, Rarity,” she mumbled.

The alabaster unicorn suddenly giggled, her eyes glinting mischievously. “But even so, you’d better watch your back…”

Trixie’s took a half-step backwards, suddenly looking a little worried. “Huh?”

Rarity winked, smirking broadly. “Well, some slights are of such magnitude that they cannot merely be forgiven; they can only be… avenged!”

The pearly mare’s horn suddenly glimmered with a sky-blue pearlescent sheen, with a small ‘pop’, Trixie’s head was suddenly engulfed in white smoke. A few passers-by looked curiously at the sudden piece of spellwork, but minor acts of exuberant magic were common enough at parties, and it did not hold anypony’s attention for long.

With a small gasp of horror, Fluttershy started forwards, but stopped just as quickly when the fumes began to clear from the blue mare’s head. She realized, with a sigh halfway between relief and amusement, just how fitting Rarity’s act of ‘vengeance’ had been.

For a moment, Trixie stood quite still, blinking as her vision returned. Then, she raised a hoof, and prodded gingerly at a lock of the wild, bubblegum-pink curls that now spilled over her face and neck, her expression one of perfect consternation.

She gazed at Rarity for a few seconds in open-mouthed astonishment, patting at the chaotic, magenta mass that her mane had become. The unicorn responsible let out a demure little giggle, covering her mouth with a hoof.

Then, both mares burst out laughing.

The half-concealed Fluttershy could not suppress a chuckle, as she turned away to watch an impromptu breakdancing contest that had broken out nearby, waiting for Rarity’s conversation to conclude. Although her sense of morality gave an uncomfortable twinge, she could not quite bring herself to move out of earshot. Trixie’s laugh was infectious, and quite impossible to walk away from entirely.

“Okay, that’s spell’s a good one,” Trixie conceded, snorting with a mirth that Fluttershy could tell was born partially from joy at the unexpected acceptance with which she had met. “Where’d you learn that? I thought you were a dressmaker!”

Rarity waved a hoof, smirking. “Not merely a dressmaker, darling, I’m an artist. The equine form is my canvas, and frankly, impromptu recolouring is an essential tool for any unicorn versed in the cosmetic arts.”

“You do realize that this means war, right?” Trixie replied lightly.

“Ah, but surely we’re even now?” returned Rarity, still grinning broadly.

“Well, I suppose so,” sniffed Trixie, her tone one of faux-haughtiness. Her horn flared, and with a magnesium-bright flash of white light, her mane returned to its normal silvery smoothness.

Rarity pouted. “You could have kept it; I thought it was something of a masterpiece. It wouldn’t hurt to embrace a more frivolous style from time to time, would it?”

The sapphire mare smiled. “Tempting, but I don’t want Pinkie Pie to think I’m stepping on her hooves.”

“Umm, hey there.” Fluttershy jumped violently at the sudden voice sounding close behind her. She had been so engrossed in watching the conversing mares out of the corner of her eye, she had forgotten that she was standing a little stupidly in the middle of the bustling room. The burst of ad-hoc breakdancing that she had halted adjacent to, with the pretence of observing, had long-since dispersed.

She turned to see a young, unicorn stallion, his coat a deep royal blue, his face a perfect mask of nervousness. A group of his friends stood some distance away, apparently having encouraged him into opening the conversation.

“H-hey!” he repeated, attempting to smile, the bridge of his nose rather flushed. “My name’s Cygnus.”

Fluttershy felt her cheeks burn in response, as she realized what was happening. The stallion looked quickly over his shoulder, seeking moral support. One of his friends made an encouraging ‘go on’ gesture, and the other clapped a despairing hoof to his forehead. Cygnus turned back to Fluttershy, a little discomfited by her silence. “I… I was wondering if… maybe you wanted to dance?”

Okay Fluttershy, the pegasus thought to herself, in the small portion of her mind that was not melting from sheer embarrassment. Remember what Rarity told you. Be cool and mysterious, retain your poise, and offer an air of polite disinterest. Your attitude must communicate that you are to be won over, and appear neither offended, nor over-eager.

She opened her mouth, but the only sound that came out was a small squeak. Well, so much for that advice.  She dearly wished that Cygnus would stop trying to make eye contact with her. Attempting to turn and face the unfortunate colt, she stumbled a little over her own hooves, almost toppling over.

Just say you’re here with somepony.

Another squeak. She felt the heat creeping down her neck now. Cygnus was somewhat attractive, although not without a certain adolescent awkwardness that had pursued him into adulthood. Then again, he could have been a royal guard with the charisma of a compère in the Canterlot playhouses, and Fluttershy would have found the situation no more enjoyable; her desire for inexpert wooing from random colts had never been at a lower ebb.

For Celestia’s sake, just say something!

The silence seemed to stretch onwards. Fluttershy was staring fixedly at a point on the floorboards, and Cygnus, blushing harder than ever, was now looking anywhere but at her.

Come on, Fluttershy! Try to start a conversation or something!

But I’m not even interested in him…

Yes, but you should at least try to talk to ponies you don’t know from time to time. Come on, try and find a shared interest to talk about!

Like what?

Improvise!

“Do… do you like rabbits?”

Oh, Celestia.

Fortunately, her voice had come out so softly that, over the music, there was no way that Cygnus would have been able to make out her words. He took a half-step back, face still burning. “Oh, it’s… if you don’t want to, that’s fine… I’ll… I’ll just…”

The stallion sidled back to his friends, looking thoroughly humiliated. His mortified voice met the equally-humiliated pegasus’s ears. “See? I told you somepony like her wouldn’t be interested…” The group moved quickly away, their voices lost in the general hubbub.

Fluttershy would have liked nothing better than an extremely solid surface against which to hit her head, but none were within immediate reach. Celestia… what idiot ever thought parties were a good idea?

This was not the first time something of that nature had occurred at one of Pinkie’s town-wide get-togethers. Ordinarily, she was with a few of her friends, who were able to keep the situation from developing into something so cringingly awkward by taking up the slack that Fluttershy inevitably left in the conversation.

But really, he didn’t exactly have much finesse, did he? muttered the more courageous, critical side of her mind.

She shook her head, feeling the blood recede a little from her face and neck.

Turning, she saw with a sigh of relief that Trixie had gone on her way, leaving Rarity alone in the crowds, looking around for a friendly face. She made an immediate beeline for the blue-robed figure, doing her best to put the whole mortifying episode out of her mind.

“Rarity!”

The unicorn appeared to be watching something intently through the crowds, her brow creased in a slight frown, but she turned with a smile at the sound of her friend’s voice. “Ah, Fluttershy!” She waited for the pegasus to reach her, her expression one of contrition. “I’m sorry for not greeting you when you first arrived, darling, but I saw you were with Trixie. The poor dear looked just so nervous, I thought it best to let her approach me on her own terms, rather than barge in and make the whole business still more awkward for her.”

Fluttershy smiled. “That’s alright; I guessed it was something like that.”

Rarity giggled, prodding her friend’s shoulder playfully. “And don’t you look rather stunning tonight?”

For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, the pegasus flushed a predictable shade of scarlet, scuffing a hoof timidly against the floorboards. “Well, it is one of your dresses, so if anypony’s going to take the credit, it should really be you,” she mumbled.

“Oh, nonsense,” Rarity admonished, smirking. “If one were to come across an original Trotticelli, it would hardly be fitting to accredit its beauty to the frame, now would it?”

“I wish I had your way with words,” Fluttershy muttered, half rueful and half flattered. “But… thanks, Rarity.”

Rarity suddenly dropped her voice. “Pleasantries aside, you’re certainly correct about Trixie’s reformation. She seemed for all the world an utterly different mare.”

Fluttershy smiled a small, secret smile. “She is a different mare.” She suddenly giggled. “But you’re right; she should definitely have kept her mane that colour.”

The unicorn grinned guiltily. “Oh, you saw that?”

“It’s hard not to notice a Pinkie-Pie-ification spell,” remarked the primrose mare. “But really, thanks for accepting her like that; it really means a lot to her.” She paused for a moment. “It… it means a lot to me, as well.”

Rarity waved an airy hoof. “It would hardly be fitting for a lady to bear a grudge over something so petty, dear. Besides, if she makes you happy, I’m not going to be the one to get in the way of that.” She leaned in conspiratorially, eyes suddenly alight with the fervour of an experienced gossip. “Speaking of which, Fluttershy, have any further developments occurred between you and your little… problem?”

Fluttershy looked away awkwardly, her voice falling to a pitch that was barely audible over the music. “Oh, I… no, not yet. Even if I could work up the courage, I wouldn’t want to risk making things awkward between us.” She shrugged. “Like I said, I want to let her get back on her hooves before I say anything. It’s okay though, I think I’ve gotten it all under control.”

You really are a terrible liar.

Rarity raised one immaculately-penciled eyebrow. “You honestly think that Trixie would harbour even the slightest distaste for such a confession?”

The pegasus’s gaze snapped back to her friend’s. “I… what?”

The unicorn rolled her eyes, looking a little bored, as if she were a professor of mathematics explaining addition to an inattentive three-year-old. “Darling. I saw you come in together, and she can’t keep her eyes off you. Earlier, when you were talking together, she was watching you like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Whatever it is she does to you, it’s fairly obvious that you do the exact same to her.”

Fluttershy blinked; her cheeks were burning, but her heart seemed suddenly to be quite weightless in her chest. “You… you really think so?”

“I’m not usually wrong about these things, dear.” Rarity tapped her chin with a thoughtful hoof. “You know how all of this time, you’ve been holding back because you’re living together, and you don’t want things to be awkward between you?” She sighed with a melodramatic exasperation. “I would be willing to bet every bit I possess that she’s been refraining from a confession for the precise same reason.”

“So…” Fluttershy’s brain seemed to be running abnormally slowly, as she tried to process this deduction. “You… you’re saying…”

The unicorn grinned. “Darling, I imagine you could kiss her until she was blue in the face… well, bluer, at any rate… and I highly doubt she would utter a single word of complaint. Quite the opposite, I might venture.” She deliberately restrained her smile, turning to look secretively at the pegasus from out of the corner of her eye. “Of course, dear, it’s entirely up to you what use you make of my speculation.” She gave a demure little sigh. “But it would be a pity if all of this theorizing went to waste, wouldn’t it?”

Fluttershy shook her head. This was all so sudden, and what if her friend was wrong? Rarity had made miscalculations of character before, although her skills in identifying social cues were admittedly second to none. “Rarity, I… I just don’t know. I need to think about this.”

Rarity rested a hoof on her shoulder. “Think all you need, darling. There’s no need to rush, and I’m merely offering my opinion. In all seriousness, this is a decision you must make yourself.” She sighed again, and this time, it sounded genuine. “You can at least console yourself that yours is by no means the most difficult or awkward of romantic situations at this party tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

In response, the unicorn pointed a hoof through the crowds, towards the part of the room that Fluttershy had seen her observing earlier. The pegasus’s eyes followed her gesture, alighting on a small, secluded stack of cushions in the corner of the room. It was occupied by Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash, who were entwined so closely together that it was somewhat difficult to tell them apart as separate entities. The fuchsia pony was nibbling on her marefriend’s ear, and the expression on Dash’s face was quite intoxicated, as she nuzzled at the socked foreleg draped around her neck.

“Oh my…” Fluttershy privately wondered if, after this evening was out, she would ever manage to stop blushing again. The room was dotted with couples, many of whom were airing their affection equally candidly, but the pegasus knew why Rarity had singled their two friends out. “Poor Applejack,” she murmured sympathetically.

Rarity nodded. “Indeed; the poor dear’s been through a hard enough time as it is; she doesn’t need to see that.”

“But… surely Pinkie realizes how insensitive they’re being?” Fluttershy asked incredulously.

The unicorn shook her head. “Doubtless she would, but I don’t honestly think she knows of the previous… understanding that Rainbow and Applejack had shared. If you recall, they were both exceedingly private about it, on Applejack’s request, naturally. I think you and I were the only ones of our friends who were informed of the extent of their relationship. Certainly Twilight was never made aware, and I don’t believe Pinkie was ever told. Or if she was, I doubt she assumed their situation was anything more than a friendship with… benefits, shall we say?”

Fluttershy’s eyebrows shot upwards. “I… I never knew Twilight and Pinkie hadn’t been told. Why not let them know?”

“Darling.” Rarity sounded minutely exasperated again. “You and I are capable of keeping secrets, and keeping them well. Twilight, on the other hoof… bless her, she’s the most well-meaning of souls, but she can be a tad absent-minded at times. Equally, Pinkie would never knowingly betray a friend’s trust, but she is a little too gregarious for the good of her secrets, sometimes.” She let out a sympathetic little groan. “Meanwhile, Pinkie’s too oblivious and Dash is too meat-headedly insensitive to realize what Applejack’s going through right now. Combined with the messy breakup… well, had it not been for your constantly sympathetic ear, I don’t doubt that poor Applejack would have begun self-medicating with the hard cider by this time.”

“Thank Celestia it didn’t come to that,” Fluttershy replied, her gaze downcast. “Somepony needs to have a talk with Rainbow about this. I just wish Applejack would tell Pinkie and Twilight, that way Pinkie would make her show some sensitivity, and…” Her voice trailed away, and her eyes suddenly widened with an unpleasant realization. “Where in Equestria is Twilight, anyway?” she asked. In the noisy atmosphere, she had failed to notice the librarian’s absence, but with a slight pang of foreboding she realized that she had not seen Twilight since her visit to the library.

The more defensive, uncharitable side of her mind, however, felt more irritable than concerned.

If she wants to shut herself away and refuse to resolve her worries, that’s her problem.

Rarity shook her head. “I honestly can’t tell you, darling, but I propose that tomorrow we both visit the library and fix things up once and for all. I don’t know what’s the matter with the poor dear, but it must be something serious.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Fluttershy rolled her eyes, her voice cool. “She’s just being Twilight; I expect she’s got it into her head that Trixie’s trying to steal her friends away, and she’s shut herself up in the library to avoid a problem that doesn’t exist.”

The unicorn was looking at her in surprise, and Fluttershy bit her lip, realizing how unpleasant her words had sounded. “I—I’m sorry,” she faltered. “It’s just… you know Twilight; she gets so worked up over nothing.”

Rarity was still eyeing her friend a little concernedly. “Darling, everypony has their faults,” she said, tentatively. “We just need to be patient with her, stop her from lurking all alone in the library, and explain that everything’s alright over a nice cup of tea.” Her expression was suddenly serious. “If we ignore this, we run the risk of her going off the deep end again, and you remember what happened last time, I’m sure.”

Fluttershy nodded, feeling suddenly intensely guilty. “I should have done something about this sooner, shouldn’t I?”

The unicorn sighed. “You were occupied with Trixie; you can hardly be expected to mediate all of our problems, can you?” She fell again to gazing pensively at their two flamboyant friends, who were now kissing with great enthusiasm. “I just hope we’re not too late.”
> XIII: A Night to Remember - Part II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Thirteen
A Night To Remember - Part II

The night continued dancing onwards, and showed not the least sign of losing its momentum. The music was louder now, the front room filled with strobing, wavering lights. The kitchen was full of ponies worn out by the incessant thudding of the Cakes’ much-abused stereo, and the slippery tiles of the shop floor had become home to an impromptu sliding contest, masterminded by Pinkie Pie.

Trixie watched amusedly from the doorway that led to the living room, as the socked form of Pinkie took a run up, and skidded a good six feet along the chequerboard tiles, her legs flailing wildly as she did her utmost to remain upright. “Wheee! This is so—whoops!” Losing her balance, the party pony toppled back onto her rump, to general cheers from the watching crowd.

The sapphire mare had not yet been given a chance to speak with Rainbow Dash. The pegasus had been at Pinkie’s side for most of the evening, or otherwise at the centre of the dance-floor, living up to her exuberant appearance and reputation. Whether she was attempting to avoid Trixie, or was simply too preoccupied with her marefriend to remember of the more serious function served by tonight’s festivities, the unicorn did not know.

“S’not fair,” Dash exclaimed, darting forwards and squaring up to Pinkie with an expression of mock-indignation, as the observing ponies began to disperse. “You’re wearing socks, Pinks; we don’t stand a chance…” Her voice tailed away, and she broke into a grin.

Pinkie giggled. “You’re welcome to borrow ‘em if you’d like.”

Dash raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, tempting, but I’m gonna pass. You look way too cute for me to go makin’ changes.”

The earth pony grinned mischievously, darting to Dash’s side and nuzzling the back of her neck as she traced one forehoof along the indentation between her marefriend’s wings. “Cute, am I?” She giggled as Dash leaned longingly back towards her lips, teasingly pushing her muzzle away with her free hoof. “Want me to show you just how cute I can be?”

Trixie turned away. Interrupting such a moment would hardly endear her to the pegasus.

Looking around at the crowds, she found herself wondering how it was possible that nopony had challenged her yet. A thought sparked across her mind, injecting a small burst of hope into her heart.

Perhaps it was not simply that nopony had noticed her; maybe she had faded from the town’s memory over the interceding years since her last visit. It would make sense; she was far less recognizable without her hat and cape. Besides; if what Cheerilee had said was true, maybe the Ursa Minor attack had registered more as a mere irritation, than as a true catastrophe for those who lived here.

Of course, many more would recognize her if they connected a name to her face, and she had noticed two ponies pointing quizzically at her from across the room, their expressions showing pensive half-recognition. If she were to settle into a life in this town, anonymity could not shield her forever. Tonight, however, it would be enough to get her though.

In fact, it would be wrong to suggest that she had gone completely unnoticed. She had been invited to dance by a blue unicorn stallion not ten minutes ago, although she had politely declined his stammered request. In hindsight, perhaps she had been a little distant with him; she had distinctly heard him mutter, “What’s the matter with all the mares at this party?” as he retreated back to his sympathetic friends.

Of course, the most enjoyable parts of the evening had been the ones spent in Fluttershy’s company, although these times had been few and far between. She tried to keep her distance, so as to allow the pegasus time to spend alone with her friends as she was used to. Trixie was determined that she would not come between Fluttershy and her friends, no matter how close she personally became to the mare, and at this early stage it felt wrong to try and intrude upon their social circle.

She had, however, played an enjoyable round of darts with Rarity, and was relieved to find her just as warm and welcoming as she had been during their first conversation. They had discovered a shared taste in rather tasteless novels, and the alabaster unicorn had trounced Trixie thoroughly in their game, her delicate and precise magic proving perfectly suited to aiming the fiddly little darts.

Looking around, she saw Fluttershy chattering to Applejack at one of the food tables, showing an uncharacteristic effervescence, and drinking from a tall glass of bright purple fruit punch. The farm-pony looked a little surprised at her friend’s suddenly outgoing behaviour, but watching from a distance, Trixie presumed that she had simply been made less inhibited by the party’s atmosphere. As she watched, the mares trotted over towards the dance-floor, still chatting animatedly. Some impulse in the pit of her stomach told Trixie that maybe she ought to join them.

At that moment, there was a loud cough behind her. She turned with a slight jolt, realizing with embarrassment that she was blocking the door to the living room. Looking up, she saw Rainbow Dash looking at her, eyebrows raised. Pinkie was trailing a few steps behind, bouncing a little on the spot.

“Oh!” Trixie hastily stepped aside, biting her lip. “Sorry, I’m in the way, aren’t I? I just sort of zoned out, and…” Her voice died away. Dash had trotted past without so much as acknowledging her existence, her stony expression melting to a grin as she turned to speak to Pinkie, presenting Trixie firmly with the back of her head.

“C’mon Pinks, wanna grab a bite?”

“Sure!”

The couple trotted away through the crowd, leaving Trixie standing rather stupidly, staring after their retreating forms. Trixie doubted that Pinkie had even noticed her, she was so caught up in Dash’s company, but the cyan pegasus certainly had. 

The unicorn’s heart sank horribly; Dash, it appeared, was not prepared to give her a chance. Trixie had the distinct impression that Pinkie could be exceptionally oblivious when distracted, otherwise she would surely have remarked upon her lover’s unfriendly behaviour.

The expression on Dash’s face in the half-second that their eyes had met was deeply disheartening. It was not anger or hatred; more a contemptuous indifference which made it perfectly clear that, as far as the pegasus was concerned, Trixie did not exist.

On an impulse, Trixie followed them through the crowd, keeping a safe distance between herself and the two mares. A short distance from the refreshment tables, they halted. The unicorn noticed that both mares seemed to be eyeing the crystal bowl filled with purple punch, from which Fluttershy had refilled her own glass a few minutes previously. Neither seemed to want to be the first to make a move.

Dash suddenly smiled a little slyly at Pinkie, obviously unaware of Trixie’s observation. “Hey, wanna get some of that punch? Seems like the only bowl you’ve not touched yet.”

The earth pony frowned, obviously feigning indecision. Then, she grinned. “Nah, I’m not too keen on that one… why don’t you grab yourself a glass, Dashie?”

Dash shrugged, but was eyeing her marefriend a little suspiciously. “Nice of you, but I’m all punched out, y’know?”

Pinkie pouted. “Aww, go on…”

The pegasus grinned again. “Don’t want to try your own punch, huh?”

“Well, you don’t want to try mine!” Pinkie fluttered her eyelashes. “A lot of work went into it, you know…”

“Exactly, so are you tellin’ me you don’t want to try the punch that you worked so hard on?”

“Only if you will, Dashie!”

Silence fell for a moment between the two mares, then Dash and Pinkie turned to each other, perfectly deadpan expressions on their faces. “You’ve spiked it, haven’t you?” they said in unison.

“Yep,” they replied, together.

Another, longer silence fell, as the confectioner and flyer stared at each other in mounting horror. Dash’s eyes flew to the punch bowl, then back to her marefriend’s face. “Oh Celestia,” she groaned, pointing at the liquid. “Who’s been drinking from that?”

“No idea, but I put in half a bottle of Los Pegasus special,” Pinkie said, raising a hoof in admission.

“Snap, ‘cept I used Smirnhoof,” replied Dash, dully.

“We really need to get more original, don’t we?” observed Pinkie.

Trixie was watching the exchange, wide-eyed. Suddenly, Fluttershy’s bout of outgoing behaviour seemed far easier to explain.

“Are you crazy?” The unicorn had darted forward, the words slipping between her lips before she could stop them. Dash turned to face her. “You realize Fluttershy’s been drinking from that, right? Who knows how strong it is by now!”

For a moment, a flash of something close to guilt passed across Dash’s face, but it was quickly quelled. Apparently unable to maintain her policy of ignoring Trixie any longer, she snorted. “Huh. Look who’s come crawling back to Ponyville.” Her voice was loud, and several passers-by turned to look for the source of the sudden commotion. Trixie was devoutly thankful that Fluttershy was not within earshot; moral support would not have gone amiss, but the sapphire mare did not want to be responsible for an altercation between the two pegasi.

“Dashie,” Pinkie murmured reproachfully, tugging at her marefriend’s foreleg. Dash ignored her.

Trixie did not meet the pegasus’s eyes, instead looking down at the floorboards in a submissive gesture, hoping against hope that the brash mare would see reason, and at least be civil with her. “I… I guess Rarity told you I’d be here?” she asked.

She jumped back a little as Dash flared her wings, darting forwards so that their faces were inches apart. “Uh-huh, she did. What I don’t understand is why the hell you think we want you here.” A fleck of saliva struck Trixie’s cheek, and she bit her lip. For all the world, she wanted to appear strong and unruffled by this aggression, but there was a sudden lump in her throat that seemed to be restricting her ability to speak.

“Dashie…” Pinkie repeated, a little pleadingly now. “Just give her a chance, won’t you? I know how she used to be, but she’s different now.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Dash shot back, contemptuously. She looked around at the circle of observing ponies, many of whom were glaring at her. “What’s the matter with you?” she shot at the crowd in general. “Y’know who this is, right?”

The murmur that rose from the onlookers was one of general confusion, although now that they had the chance to get a better look at Trixie, a few voices held the rising tone of dawning comprehension. The unicorn suddenly became aware of how fast her heart was beating.

Dash nodded, turning to look at Trixie again. She was a little taller than the unicorn, and undeniably intimidating up close. Shaking a few polychromatic strands from out of her eyes, she let out a derisive snort. “Yep, would you look at that? The Great and Powerful Trixie is here again, everypony! Prepare to be amazed.”

There was a more pronounced murmur of recognition this time, and now, some of the accusatory glares were directed towards the unicorn. “What’s she doing here?” piped up a green mare who Trixie did not recognize. She looked around wildly again, desperate for a friendly face. Fluttershy would doubtless cause something of a scene, but at that moment, her presence would have been much appreciated, either way. Unfortunately, the hubbub Dash was creating did not carry far over the music, and the mass of ponies on and around the dance-floor had not yet noticed the growing conglomeration by the trestle tables.

“Yeah, care to explain?” Dash turned back to Trixie, poking her hard in the chest. The unicorn felt herself cringe away from the contact, and the cyan mare raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Oh, sorry. Do you want us to bow down? Are we not worthy of touching you?”

“I… I’m sorry,” Trixie choked out, her words jumbled and almost inaudible.

“What?”

“I’m sorry!” Her voice had grown louder, although it was still hoarse with tears. “I came here because I don’t have anywhere else to go. Like Rarity told you, I’m living with Fluttershy, and I came here tonight because I owe you all an apology for the way I behaved.”

Dash had alighted on the ground, and had taken a half-step back, so that Trixie could no longer feel the mare’s breath beating against her face. “You think ‘sorry’ can sort this out?” she asked, sounding almost incredulous. “I thought Rare was kidding at first; I really did. You made fools out of me and my friends,” she spat. “You nearly got the whole town ripped to pieces! You nearly got Twilight killed! And Fluttershy’s letting you live with her?” Her voice had risen angrily again, but then it fell to a far quieter, more even pitch, still laced with an ugly contempt. “But you’re sorry. That’s okay then; she’s sorry, everypony. The Great and Powerful Trixie is—”

“Don’t call me that!” The words had ripped out of Trixie’s mouth in a harsh, anguished yell, before she could even begin to restrain herself.

The watching crowd had fallen perfectly silent. Pinkie Pie was observing from the sidelines, her face slack and mortified.

Make her pay. Make her pay for humiliating you like this. The snide, arrogant thought cut across her brain, quite unbidden. It was a voice she had last heard in a dream, standing at her side, atop a storm-whipped clifftop. It felt like an icicle cutting into her chest, but somehow, she was prepared for it.

No. She’s trying to provoke me into showing who she thinks I really am. 

I’m who you really are; that’s why you’ve let me back in when you need me. She’s mocking you; she can see how weak you are without me. Do you think I’ll ever really be gone?

Everypony has a voice like you. That nasty, childish, tempting little urge. I should have left you behind years ago; you’re pathetic.

Bite me again, why don’t you? 

Trixie ran the tip of her tongue over the rough scar tissue cutting across her lower lip, and she felt as if another tiny, essential piece had clicked into place inside her.

Goodbye.

Trixie’s eyes were boring into Dash’s, her breathing ragged. “I’m not her anymore,” she said at length, her voice quiet and a little shaky. “I haven’t been her for a long time now. I’m… I’m just me, and I’m so, so sorry for what she did.”

Her eyes were hot and stinging, and she knew that she could speak no more, no matter how hard she tried. Once more, she was quite alone in her mind.

She could not make out Dash’s expression through the haze of tears, but the pegasus seemed indecisive. She clearly recognized Trixie’s apology as genuine, but seemed not to want to back down now, not after she had already shown so intense a dislike for the unicorn. At that moment, however, Trixie felt a hoof on her shoulder.

“You need to back off, Sugarcube.” Applejack’s voice was calming and reconciliatory, although there was a hardness in her eyes as she examined the pegasus. Trixie realized that the earth pony had placed herself in the gap between the mares, shielding the unicorn. “Let’s just calm down, okay?”

“A-Applejack?” Dash’s voice was a little higher-pitched than usual, and her eyes were wide with surprise for the briefest of moments. Then, her tone became belligerent again. “Don’t ‘Sugarcube’ me. I guess you’ve been taken in by her too, huh?”

“Rainbow…” Applejack’s voice was still doggedly placating. “Can’t y’all see she’s changed? I know you don’t wanna go backin’ down in front of a big ol’ crowd like this, but it wouldn’t make you weak. I know you, Rainbow Dash; I daresay I know you better’n most. Sure, you’re loyal, an’ you’re proud, but you ain’t a bully.”

“She’s right, Dashie.” Pinkie’s voice was uncharacteristically subdued, as she too stepped forwards, placing herself between the tearful mare and the cyan pegasus.

As Trixie blinked back tears, she saw Dash’s eyes moving between those of her former lover, and her current marefriend. Then, she seemed to droop a little, and she turned her face away, apparently unable to articulate a suitable response. Then, biting her lip, she turned and met Applejack’s eyes. There was regret in her gaze that went far beyond the scene for which she had just been responsible. “AJ, I…” her voice trailed away to nothingness.

The farm-pony gave a deep sigh. “I reckon we’ve both got a few things we need to say, huh?”

Dash bit her lip, and nodded minutely.

Trixie would have liked to thank Applejack, but some instinct told her that to do so would be a mistake.

Suddenly, she felt a hoof rest on her shoulder. She turned, finding herself face-to-face with Cheerilee. The schoolteacher jerked her head towards the door to the shop, and the unicorn followed her, gratefully. Nopony tried to stop them; if Rainbow Dash still harboured any ill feeling towards Trixie, it could be dealt with at some other time. Whatever had come between her and Applejack clearly ran deeper. Besides, at this stage, Trixie was willing to trade a clear resolution for a chance to get away from the pegasus.

“Are you okay?” Cheerilee asked, as soon as they had gained the peace of the now-deserted bakery.

“I knew tonight wasn’t going to be easy,” Trixie admitted, aware of how red her eyes must still be. The windows were a solid, oppressive black, the wind whistling up against the panes. “I… Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“Why are you here, Trixie?” Cheerilee asked sadly. “What’s there to keep you here?”

Trixie did not reply immediately; the answer was, to her, painfully obvious. “Everything,” she muttered, at last. “Everything I care about is here.”

Cheerilee’s gaze was searching. “You’ve never found anything worth caring for before?”

“Of course I have.” Trixie let out a short, bitter laugh. “But I was too much of a fool to realize it, and every time I look back on all those years, it just makes me want to…” She broke off with a low groan. “I… I can’t. Everything I was is just poison to me now. This place… it isn’t a second chance; it’s my last chance. It’s my last chance to prove that there’s more to me than smoke and mirrors.”

The burgundy mare was gazing at Trixie, and there was a strange understanding in her eyes that made the unicorn feel quite transparent. “You don’t strike me as an illusion, Trixie,” she said quietly.

At that moment, the door to the living room swung ajar and Rarity entered, looking worried. “Trixie? Cheerilee? I… I heard shouting from across the room, and I… what’s going on?”

Trixie bit her lip. “I… well, it turns out Dash was a bit less willing to forgive and forget than the rest of you.”

The alabaster mare stamped a hoof in frustration, shaking her head. “That mare can be an absolute ruffian at times. Are you alright?”

“I… I guess so.” Trixie shrugged, reasonably sure that she was telling the truth. She could not have expected everypony to accept her without question.

Rarity looked suddenly pensive. “Now that I think about it, I just saw her, Pinkie Pie and Applejack all talking together. I wonder what brought that on?”

“I’d better get back to the party,” Cheerilee remarked, turning to Trixie. “You will be okay, won’t you?”

Trixie nodded. “I’ll be fine. Hey, thanks for pulling me out of there.”

Cheerilee smiled a little sadly, resting a forehoof on the side of Trixie’s neck. Then, she turned, and trotted back through to the party, pulling the door shut behind her. Immediately, the insistent beat of the music grew a little quieter.

Trixie turned to face Rarity, hoping to find answers for Applejack’s strange behaviour. “Haven’t they been speaking lately? It’s just… Applejack... she stepped in to stop Rainbow Dash yelling at me.” She paused, replaying the events of the evening in her mind. “What happened between them? The look on her face when she saw Pinkie and Dash together, it was…” She shook her head. “Does she have… feelings for Dash, then?”

Rarity looked saddened. “She… well, she certainly used to. I don’t doubt that she still does, to some extent. Their relationship was short and messy, if you want the truth. They were too deeply at odds with one another to remain peaceful for long.”

“So they were together…” Trixie nodded, thoughtfully. “You mean it became too competitive between them?”

“Well, yes and no.” Rarity leaned sideways against the counter, her expression a little fatigued. “Applejack wanted to keep their liaisons quiet, which naturally didn’t sit well with Dash; I think she felt affronted, perhaps believing that Applejack considered their relationship a mark of shame. The poor dear’s always been an intensely private mare, but I suppose she failed to communicate that motive. I hear she became steadily more… pushy. The matter of secrecy became a paranoia that seeped into every aspect of their relationship, and as for Dash… well, she never was one to take compromise well.” She shrugged. “In the end, Applejack told me that it was mutual, but I believe Dash was the one to commit the final act of severance, so to speak.”

“And Pinkie stepped in to patch things up for Dash?”

“I don’t honestly think Pinkie was aware of precisely what she was patching up,” mused Rarity. “Certainly tonight’s the first time I’ve seen Applejack and Rainbow Dash directly speaking with one another in some time, so perhaps the whole story will come out now. I hope they can be honest with one another; it’s about time the air was cleared.”

With a pang of foreboding, Trixie suddenly remembered what had triggered her encounter with Dash in the first place. “Um, Rarity?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you know how much of that purple punch Fluttershy drank?”

The expression of concern on Rarity’s face suddenly mirrored Trixie’s own. “I think only one or two glasses, but they were a reasonable size. Why?”

“Dash and Pinkie Pie both added a little… well, a little something to it.” Rarity groaned. “Independently of each other,” Trixie added. The alabaster mare let out a second groan, and clapped a hoof to her forehead. Trixie nodded. “Exactly. I think each of them was trying to trick the other, but it seems like there was a crossed wire somewhere.”

“Ugh,” Rarity let out a little sound of frustration. “Those two. Ever since they got together, they’ve been locked in an endless war of pranks. You wouldn’t believe the collateral damage. I can tell you now, it is nigh-impossible to shift custard stains from a dress.” She sighed. “Now that you mention it, I thought dear Fluttershy seemed a little… vivacious.” The unicorn shrugged. “She should be alright, provided she doesn’t drink any more. She didn’t strike me as entirely off her hooves; merely a little less timid than usual.”

Trixie rolled her eyes, but smiled fondly at the image. “I’d better go find her.”

“Do what you must, darling.” Rarity gave a demure little wave, smirking, as Trixie trotted back into the thicket of ponies in the front room.

On a hunch, the unicorn made a beeline for the crowd on the dance-floor, looking around for a flash of primrose-yellow. For a few moments, she loitered on the edge of the crowd, the bass drilling into her skull.

“Long time, no see.” The voice was so close that Trixie felt the warm breath bloom in her ear, and for an instant, she fought to place that timbre, as she turned to face its owner. Then, as she turned and met Fluttershy’s gaze, the azure mare wondered how she could have not recognized her voice, even for a second.

“Oh, I—Hey,” said the unicorn, caught a little off-guard. Thankfully, Fluttershy was not holding a glass, and she seemed perfectly capable of remaining both upright and compos mentis, which Trixie took as a relief. The pegasus’s cheeks were rosy, and her legs swayed in time with the music. Her neck was a little bowed, and she was looking up at the unicorn with a playful, appraising air.

It seemed, fortunately, as if she had not witnessed the debacle between Trixie and Dash, because her smile was serene. “How’re you enjoying the evening?” Once again, her voice was quite different to her usual tones; gone was the breathy, half-whispered squeak, replaced by a warmer, richer timbre. When not caught up in her throat with nerves, the pegasus’s voice had a smooth, honeyed quality to it that could be described as nothing other than seductive.

“It’s… it’s nice. Everypony’s really…” Trixie’s words trailed off, and she felt colour rise in her cheeks. She had just realised where she had heard that voice before; it had met her ears the one other time she had seen Fluttershy abandon her inhibitions, and let her shyness take the backseat for a few precious minutes.

The pegasus raised her neck, nuzzling in a gentle, circular motion against Trixie’s cheek. “You’re so cute when you blush, you know that, right?”

Trixie giggled nervously, but inside, she felt as though a small explosion was taking place inside her chest, as two irresistible impulses came into conflict.

She’s drunk; don’t you dare take advantage of this.

She’s only a little tipsy, it was never going to take much to make feelings like that spill over. Maybe something’s finally going to happen, and we can stop this game.

You’d love that, wouldn’t you? But what about her?

She wants it as much as I do.

But… like this? Really?

“It’s not like I can help it,” she muttered.

“Well, I’ll have to make you blush more often then,” Fluttershy returned, nudging the unicorn, playfully.

“Fluttershy, are… are you feeling okay?” This sudden shift in behavior, pleasurable though the flirtation was, felt rather disconcerting.

The pegasus grinned, looking coyly down at the floor. She rubbed her forelegs together in an affectation of her usual shyness. “Never better.” She suddenly turned, and met Trixie’s eyes. “Hey… want to dance?”

Say ‘no’. Would she really behave like this if she were herself?

“Sure, let’s.”

Weak.

Trixie ignored the nagging, conscientious little voice, allowing Fluttershy to instead lead her by the hoof between couples, into the heart of the dance-floor. Try as she might, her eyes were glued to the curve of the pegasus’s back; to the cascade of her mane and the delicate little indentation between her wings.

Suddenly, forcefully, she remembered the first time she had set eyes upon Fluttershy, in a private, innocent moment under the stars. She had caught sight of an unexpected angel, her voice crystal-clear and soothing, despite its hushed tones. The figure’s mane had seemed almost liquid in the moonlight, and her eyes had evaded adequate description, as they still did to this day.

Would it be shallow to say I fell in love that night? she wondered. Would it be superficial?

No, she decided. The mare’s beauty had caught her eye, but it was her nature that had proven so captivating. She had been shown a glimpse of Fluttershy’s innermost self that night, and she would defy anypony not to fall in love at such a sight.

How could she resist now?

Fluttershy turned to face her, and Trixie was struck again by those aquamarine eyes. The song was upbeat and bass-heavy, with a bounce to the rhythm which made it impossible to remain stationary. The emboldened pegasus took the lead, swaying her hips in time to the music and stomping her front hooves as she shifted her weight from one to the other. Trixie followed suit as best she could, bobbing her head a little awkwardly and feeling rather foolish.

“Come on,” Fluttershy giggled. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Trixie bit her lip. “Once,” she mumbled. “Back in school; I wasn’t any good then, either. You might need to teach me.”

“Glad to.” The pegasus grinned, edging around until she and Trixie were standing side-by-side, close enough that their withers brushed together every time Fluttershy swayed to the right. The unicorn stiffened a little, her breath catching in her throat as she felt Fluttershy’s muzzle trace a line along the side of her neck, before edging around her jaw, finally alighting near her ear. “You just need to relax,” she murmured, placing a sensual stress upon the last word. The unicorn felt herself shiver, and Fluttershy giggled again. “You’re so adorable…”

“I… Fluttershy, I think you’ve had a few too many,” Trixie blurted out, feeling that she should at least say something to assuage the nagging guilt in her chest.

The pegasus shook her head, looking amused. “I’d say I’ve had exactly the right amount.” She pouted a little, nosing at the unicorn’s mane. “Don’t you like dancing with me?”

Oh, what’s the use? Trixie relented; she had no defences left. The unicorn smiled in return, leaning into Fluttershy’s nuzzles. “It’ll have to count as dancing before I can answer that.”

Trying to loosen her muscles, she did her best to imitate Fluttershy’s actions, rocking from side-to-side, in time to the beat. At first, she felt a little stiff and robotic, but as she turned to meet the pegasus’s eyes again, she was possessed by a momentary lack of care. What did it matter if ponies were watching? Somehow, the synchronicity of their motions, coupled with the occasional teasing brushes of their flanks and fetlocks, had ignited that unique, irrepressible fire in the pit of her stomach. She felt herself unconsciously relax; instead of trying to anticipate each beat, she gave up planning altogether.

To her surprise, as soon as she stopped resisting the music, the whole business became far more fluid and natural. Suddenly, it was as if she did not need to purposefully coordinate her actions; merely guide them, and allow the rhythms shuddering through her to take care of the rest.

Her tail tangled momentarily with Fluttershy’s, and the pegasus let out a low purr of satisfaction. “There, that’s much better.” She draped her neck over Trixie’s own, as they continued to move in concert. Their heated coats were now pressed closely together as the pretence of education began to fail.

The unicorn felt a molten thrill of desire spill throughout her body. Unless the shrill jangle of the alarm clock was about to rip her back to a colder reality, she knew that this was actually happening, and yet she could not believe or rationalise it. Nor, indeed, did she want to try.

Flecks of heat picked at her skin, concentrated in her chest, and growing between her thighs. She craned up her head with an animalistic longing, searching with her muzzle. Fluttershy was softer than velvet and infinitely warmer, the silk of her dress providing a cool, sharp counterpoint to her coat and downy feathers. Trixie suddenly felt very naked.

Without warning, Fluttershy pulled away. She spun to face Trixie with a graceful twirl, before the unicorn could quite realise what was happening, and draped her forelegs around Trixie’s neck. Her cheeks were still rosy, her smile sharp and almost hungry, with no hint of timidity. They continued to move instinctually to the music, sensing the press of bodies around them, faces inches apart.

For an instant, Fluttershy’s gaze bored into Trixie, her eyes blazing and irresistible. “Do you realise what you do to me?” the pegasus asked, quietly, her voice shaking a little.

Trixie’s mouth felt exceedingly dry, and her tongue seemed paralyzed. Fluttershy’s face filled her field of vision now, her eyes huge and all-consuming. Trixie felt almost as if she could fall straight through them and find herself anywhere. Their muzzles were hovering scant millimeters apart, so close that when Fluttershy next spoke, the motion caused their lips to brush tantalizingly together. Her words came out in a low hiss. “Do you have the faintest, foggiest idea of what you do to me?”

The unicorn could hardly breathe; she felt trapped by the crowd, pressed close to this mare by the mass of bodies. Yet, somehow, the sensation of entrapment was deeply pleasurable. Her cheeks were a raging, furious red, and she felt every bit as intoxicated as the pegasus in whose forelegs she was clutched. One of Fluttershy’s hooves was buried in Trixie’s mane, the other tracing long, stately strokes along the side of her neck.

The pegasus curled herself around Trixie again, until they stood side-by-side once more, flanks and withers meeting, each looking sideways into the other’s face. The unicorn could feel a downy wing quivering with tension, pressed close against her side; suddenly, there seemed to be very little oxygen in the room.

Then, just as it seemed that they were fated to simply stare at one another until the night had run its course, Fluttershy attacked.

“Mmmph!” The kiss was sudden, harsh and insistent, as if Fluttershy had screwed up her courage to the point where subtlety was quite impossible. Trixie felt her muscles stiffen instinctually, and she let out a sharp, muffled sound of surprise. Then, her conscious mind caught up with her subconscious reaction, and she leaned into the contact with a whimper of longing. After all that had happened, after so many awkward concessions and fears and second-guesses, all of it had come to a head in that instant. The intricate dance that they had been sharing since that first night had, at last, ended.

Now was the time for a new dance to begin.

Hungrily, impulsively, Trixie kissed back, moulding her mouth into the impossibly soft, heated contours of Fluttershy’s lips. The pegasus pulled Trixie closer, breathing hard and rapidly through her nose. Fluttershy’s head was tilted sideways a little, and she began to suckle and tug at Trixie’s lower lip. Finally, she pulled away entirely, giving a tiny moan as Trixie pressed blindly forwards, seeking to prolong the contact.

“I’ve always been so weak,” Fluttershy whispered, nuzzling desperately at Trixie’s face and neck. “I’ve never been able to take what I wanted before, but I guess I’ve never really wanted before, either.” She kissed the unicorn again, catching her a little open-mouthed and darting the tip of her tongue teasingly past Trixie’s lips, for the briefest of moments. Her wings were raised to their fullest extent, angelic, at her sides.

“You make me want…” She moaned the words into the kiss, their mouths still loosely pressed together. Trixie heard her give a tiny growling sound as she pulled away for a brief instant to catch a quick gasp of air. “You make me so selfish, because this is all just so new, and I want to try it all…” She began to suckle on the tip of Trixie’s ear, running her hooves over every inch of sapphire fur that she could reach. An enthusiastically-dancing couple bumped into them from the side, but neither mare heard their hurried apologies. “I want to taste it,” Fluttershy purred.

Trixie could sympathize. In a quick motion, she pulled the pegasus around to face her, buried her forehooves amongst the primary feathers of Fluttershy’s wings, and engaged her in another heated kiss, any last vestiges of self-restraint long lost.

Fluttershy groaned at the dual sensations as the unicorn toyed with her quivering wings, and Trixie felt the sound shudder between their mouths. Their tongues met with confident, exploratory sweeps, and Trixie was lost in the intimate, wet sensation as they struggled playfully for dominance. No matter what new pleasures she experienced in her life, she had never been able to grow accustomed to the delicious, slightly alien sense of delirious invasion that accompanied a deep French kiss.

“Let’s go home,” the pegasus whined as she broke away, snatching another breath, the need in her voice mirroring the desire that was rippling in the pit of Trixie’s stomach. She only seemed able to force herself into separation for a moment, however, because an instant later, Trixie felt her still-open mouth being occupied once more.

The pegasus gave a throaty moan, flicking her tongue from side-to-side, as if determined to explore every inch of this strange new world. Her technique was rather inexpert, and more than a little messy if the dampening fur around Trixie’s mouth was anything to go by, but the unicorn could not have cared less. Her every breath was rising as a shaky little sigh of pleasure, and she was devoutly thankful that the noises they were making seemed to be drowned by the insistent thudding of the music.

She could taste the punch on Fluttershy’s tongue, the warm tang of the fruit lending an undercurrent of intoxicating sweetness to their connection. Also present, however, was the subtle bite of alcohol; she could sense the sting of it rising on each breath. It should not have been there; in an ideal world, this moment would have been born of the kind of courage that did not reside in a bottle.

Somehow, the taste brought her back to reality.

This is wrong.

The thought burned across her mind like a flash-fire, wiping out all others. Arousal was still coursing through her blood, singing in her ears and fogging her brain, but she knew that she could not yield to it.

Trixie broke the kiss, letting her eyes flick open, forcing herself back under control. She had done enough damage in letting her resolve slip this far, but she knew that if she took Fluttershy home to bed, the pegasus would never be able to look her in the eye again. She would lose the trust that was the only thing sustaining her.

Fluttershy was not herself; more than that, she had not intended to get herself into this state. She had not known what she was drinking, and although Trixie knew that the feelings she professed were genuine, and not simply born of the alcohol, it felt wrong to see them aired in such a crass, candid way. Taking advantage thus far had been unforgivable enough; to allow events to progress to their logical conclusion was simply unthinkable.

The pegasus gazed at Trixie for a few long moments, breath coming in short gasps, her tongue poking slightly from between her lips.

If I refuse her now, she’ll hate me.

For tonight, maybe. Then, tomorrow, she’ll thank you.

This was not how she had imagined such a confession, if she was honest with herself. There was a connection between her and the pegasus that could not be encapsulated in simple physical displays, and to throw that away for a night of drunken fun felt like a disgusting act of vandalism.

Of course, Fluttershy had admitted everything, and made her feelings quite plain; there was no getting around that now. This time tomorrow, things would be forever different between them, one way or another. Maybe, just maybe, despite the rocky start that fate had thrown their way, it would be possible to salvage the situation.

She had to forcibly restrain her mind from wandering as her eyes ran over Fluttershy’s spread, quivering wings, and her rumpled, cascading mane.

If you care about her, if you’ve ever cared about anypony but yourself, you’ll say no.

“Fluttershy…” The unicorn jerked her head towards the door, choosing her words carefully. She needed to explain, as best she could, but the middle of a crowded dance-floor was not the place. “Let’s get you home.”

The pegasus giggled, looking up at Trixie with a faux-innocent gaze. “Goodness, Trixie, what are you suggesting? I hope you’re not suggesting that I be involved in any improp—” she hiccoughed, “imperp… funny business.”

Trixie did not reply, as she led the way towards the door, with the pegasus in tow. Fluttershy draped a wing closely over her back as they walked, nestling her cheek into Trixie’s mane.

I shouldn’t have kissed her like that. She’s not going to understand why I won’t go through with this.

She will tomorrow. Just pray she forgives you for not being able to control yourself sooner. You led her on this far; she’s got more than enough reason to be mortified as it is.

She caught sight of a familiar blue-clad back amongst the crowds, as they made for the exit. “Rarity!”

The unicorn turned, and trotted over to them. Catching sight of the way the mares were entwined, an expression of mischievous delight began to grow on her face.

“We’re… I’m going to get Fluttershy home now,” Trixie said, quickly, before the alabaster mare could speak. “She needs rest.”

Rarity giggled a little, in what could only have been polite acknowledgement of what she clearly assumed to be a euphemism. “Very well then, don’t let me keep you.”

Trixie bit her lip. “I’m… I’m sorry to rush off like this. Please thank Pinkie for letting me come tonight.” She smiled, a little weakly. “It’s great to have met you all.”

The other mare raised an eyebrow. “Even Rainbow Dash?”

Trixie shrugged. “If forcing Applejack to step in got them talking face-to-face again, I guess it was worth it.”

Fluttershy was looking from Rarity to Trixie, seemingly a little lost. “Step in on what? What’s… what’s happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” Trixie promised, privately thinking that it would be only chivalrous to allow Rainbow Dash time to emigrate before doing so.

“May I borrow you for an instant, dear?” Rarity asked Trixie. Her eyes darted to the slightly mutinous expression on Fluttershy’s face. “I promise I’ll only separate you two for the briefest of moments,” she hastily reassured the tipsy pegasus, who slid her wing a little begrudgingly from Trixie’s back, allowing the two unicorns to walk a few feet away.

“Am I to presume that something of a development has occurred?” Rarity asked in a rapid whisper, grinning. At Trixie’s hesitation in responding, she raised a hoof in faux-admission. “It’s alright; she and I have been co-conspirators for some time regarding these matters. You can trust me.”

The blue mare gave a weak gulp. “I… I think so.” She dropped her voice yet lower. “If all the kissing was anything to go by, at any rate.”

Rarity beamed so broadly that there seemed no longer to be enough room on her face to accommodate her smile. “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful; she needs somepony like you in her life, and I have every faith in you.” She suddenly chuckled, looking coyly sideways at the other unicorn. “I presume then, that for you two, this is not the end of tonight’s festivities.”

Trixie blushed violently, but bit her lip. “Actually, I think it will be,” she replied, heavily. “I know how she feels for me, but she would never usually be so… forward. I’m not going to take advantage of her; I know she wants me, but she also wants to suppress those feelings, and if I let her go through with them, she’ll hate herself tomorrow. If anything’s going to happen between us, it’ll be because she’s learned that there’s nothing to be ashamed of in feeling the way she does. It won’t be because she’s repressed that shame with a drink for a few hours, because that isn’t helping anypony.”

The pearly mare looked appraisingly at her for a few long moments, then she smiled an altogether calmer smile, albeit one tinged with guilt. “I… forgive me, I don’t mean to pry, I was just so caught up in the moment… I…” She looked almost tearful, suddenly. “Trixie… thank you. Thank you, for her sake. You’re exactly the kind of pony she needs. She’s spent so much of her life giving up things for others; she needs somepony who’ll do the same for her.” She rested a hoof on Trixie’s cheek, and nodded her head towards the pegasus standing close behind them. “She’s waiting for you.”

Trixie nodded. She could not think of anything to say, but she fancied that Rarity understood.


*


“Not far now…”

Fluttershy giggled, stumbling a little in the cold night air, and bumping up against the unicorn. She did not pull away again, instead leaning against Trixie’s side, half out of a need to support herself, and half from affection. It seemed she was the kind of pony for whom the worst effects of drinking came somewhat delayed; she had not been so ill-coordinated on the dance-floor, nor had her words seemed vaguely slurred.

They had been walking for nearly ten minutes. The pegasus’s cottage was in sight now, and Trixie suppressed a tiny sound of guilty pleasure as Fluttershy began nipping at her neck, and kissing teasingly along the line of her jaw. As the tipsy mare aimed once more for her lips, however, Trixie pulled away as best she could. “Look, Fluttershy…”

Fluttershy looked a little wounded. “Mhm?”

“I…” The unicorn met Fluttershy’s eyes, determinedly. “I don’t want our first time together to be something we’ll both regret.”

“W-what do you mean?”

They had reached the door, and Trixie seized the spare keys magically from beneath a flower-pot by the door. She turned, resting both forehooves on the primrose mare’s shoulders. “Fluttershy, I want this, but…” She sighed, hoping against hope that the pegasus would understand. “The punch was spiked. I… I think some part of you must have known, from the taste, but you didn’t stop because you wanted that courage.”

Trixie had unlocked the door, the key grasped in an absent-minded tendil of magic, and she trotted inside, relinquishing her grip on the pegasus’s shoulders. Fluttershy followed a few steps behind, looking distinctly put out. Swinging the front door shut with her magic, the unicorn turned to face the mare once more, gripping her hoof. “The courage won’t last forever, and I know you… tomorrow morning, you’d feel as if you’d forced yourself on me, and you’d hate yourself for it. I’m not going to be the one to make you feel that guilt.”

Fluttershy leaned forwards, entwining herself around the unicorn once more, and traced the tip of her tongue along Trixie’s neck. “You want me,” she whispered. It was not a question.

The blue mare gritted her teeth, trying to resist the molten sensation bubbling in her veins. “More than anything, but—”

“Then take me,” Fluttershy growled, interrupting the unicorn. She swayed a little as she tried to balance on only three legs, draping the fourth over Trixie’s back.

“You’re so different,” Trixie breathed. If anything, the thought hardened her resolve.  “Fluttershy, listen to me. Tomorrow, we can talk about this; we need to talk about it. There are so, so many things I want to tell you. I’ll stay with you, and I’ll love you in any way you’d like, but… right now, you’re not yourself. You’ve got no idea how much I’d love to let you do whatever you want with me, but I can’t. You’re worth so much more to me than one night we’d both regret.” She leaned in, and kissed Fluttershy gently on the cheek, feeling the pegasus’s hard, panting breaths begin to slow a little. “Tomorrow… can you wait for me until tomorrow?”

For a few long moments, there was silence. Then, the rosy-cheeked pegasus nodded, pouting. “You’re so mean,” she mumbled, “but if you…” She hiccoughed again, cutting herself off. “If that’s what you… what you want.” She yawned and pulled away from the embrace, a little sulkily, but not before leaning up and kissing Trixie once, warmly on the lips. The unicorn could not summon the strength of will to resist her.

One foreleg around the pegasus’s shoulder, Trixie guided Fluttershy gently up the stairs. The tipsy mare seemed suddenly half-asleep, and she collapsed into bed, still fully dressed. Trixie was unsure if Rarity would approve of her immaculate and delicate outfit being used as sleepwear, but something told her that helping Fluttershy to undress would be sailing in risky waters once again. Her resolve was not impregnable.

With a glimmer of magical energy, she poured Fluttershy a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table, and hovered it to the supine mare’s lips. “Drink this,” she whispered, climbing under the covers herself. “You’ll thank me for it tomorrow.”

Fluttershy drained the glass with a sleepy mumble of thanks. As Trixie settled back beside the mare, she felt a pair of forelegs wrap closely around her. She looked down a little concernedly at the pegasus, but Fluttershy giggled. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, grinning. “I’ll behave myself.”

Tentatively, feeling the drowsy arms of sleep closing around her as well, Trixie returned the embrace. Cuddling, at least, was something that she could morally rationalize, and Fluttershy’s warm, silken form was a joy to simply hold. Her breath was falling on Trixie’s neck with a pleasant, soporific regularity, and the world began to fade away.

She wondered for a moment how Fluttershy would react to these new developments the next day, and if she would forgive Trixie for failing to resist her earlier overtures. For the briefest of instants, Twilight Sparkle’s face flashed across her memory. The last wonderful, terrible, chaotic half-hour had driven the suddenly-reclusive librarian from Trixie’s mind.

Then, she slipped away, and she worried no more.


*


Trixie’s mind snapped back to reality, what seemed like an instant later, and for a moment she lay, letting the morning sunshine pound at her eyelids. She had not realized how tiring the previous evening had been; her sleep had been dreamless and seemed nigh-instantaneous.

She shivered, pulling the blankets closer to her body; the morning air was cold.

How could it be cold? The ever-warm Fluttershy was nestled beside her; they had fallen asleep in each other’s hooves. Hadn’t they?

Her eyes snapped open as the previous night’s events came crashing back into place. She was alone in the bed, and the rumpled indentation where Fluttershy had lain was cold, as if it had been deserted for some time.

Stumbling to her hooves, wiping at her eyes and trying to rouse herself, Trixie wove her way across the bedroom, looking down from the window. A fresh dusting of snow had fallen overnight, frosting the windowsill like icing sugar. The house felt very silent; the previous night felt like a dream. She could recall so vividly the warm caress of Fluttershy’s breath, and the sensation of the mare’s tongue tracing the contours of her mouth. She licked her lips, a little dazedly, as if hoping to find some residual taste upon them.

A dead, leaden weight seemed to slide into her stomach as she turned again to stare at the empty, rumpled bed. Turning on an impulse to stare down from the window, she caught sight of a trail of fresh hoof-prints, leading off across the garden, and over the fields.

Would Fluttershy hate her now? No; surely not. The mare had her flaws, but she did not seem capable of genuine hatred. Yet, there was another risk, and somehow it was worse. Would Fluttershy now be too mortified to bear being in Trixie’s company?

Heart hammering, she turned back into the bedroom, looking around for her coat. She knew how Fluttershy would be feeling, and she could not bear to leave the mare in such a state for long. Then, her eyes alighted on the dressing table, upon which lay a single sheet of writing paper.

Picking it up with a flare of magic, she glanced down at the note, feeling her heart sink horribly as her fears were confirmed. Part of the ink had stained and run, as the paper had been struck by what was obviously a falling tear, but the three words were clearly discernible, written in shaky, black letters.

‘I’m so sorry.’
	 
> XIV: The First Rays of Morning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Fourteen 
The First Rays of Morning

The living room bore all the signs of a hasty departure. A half-finished glass of water sat on the coffee table beside Fluttershy’s saddlebags, which she had obviously forgotten in her flustered state. Angel’s stare was accusatory as Trixie trotted dejectedly downstairs, winding a scarf slowly around her neck.

On an impulse, the unicorn seized the saddlebags in a magical grip, reasoning that Fluttershy might need them in the wintry morning. Moving quickly into the kitchen, she took a few of the enchanted heat-orbs that Twilight had given to her friend, before her sudden bout as a recluse. She dropped them into the bag, alongside Fluttershy’s mirror, brush, and a woolen hat that would doubtless come in useful for the cold return journey.

In truth, even without the hint provided by the tracks in the snow, Trixie knew where the pegasus had gone. Now, more than ever, Fluttershy would need to think. She would not speak to her friends; her friends would only want to reassure her, and irrational guilt cannot be assuaged by rationality. There was only one place the pegasus would be; perhaps it was that she knew, subconsciously, Trixie would come to find her.

Unconsciously, Trixie redoubled the speed of her preparations. The timid mare’s confession had ignited a warm, inextinguishable glow of contentment in her chest that burned even now despite the leaden worry that lay alongside it. She needed Fluttershy to know that she had no reason to be ashamed or apologetic, and that Trixie felt every bit as strongly for her in return.

Even so, her stomach seemed to shrivel a little at the thought of how awkward this meeting was likely to be.

As the mare walked towards the door, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. Her mane was somewhat bedraggled, and she looked almost shell-shocked. The fruity sting of Fluttershy’s kiss was still fresh in her memory, and even now, it seemed utterly surreal for everything to have changed with such painful abruptness. The scar on her lower lip was not so livid by this time, but she suspected it may never fade entirely.

She shook her head, looking away and wrenching open the front door; she could not afford to waste time.

Without a backward glance towards the ever-irate Angel, she wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. Pulling the door shut with a snap behind her, she trotted briskly out into the snowy fields, heading for the hills.


*


Despite the cold, Trixie’s flanks were shining with sweat as she approached the hilltop where—what seemed like a lifetime ago—she and Fluttershy had spent so much time. She had taken much of the journey at a canter and was a little surprised by her own endurance. Her time in the Everfree had rendered her physique lithe and willowy, although it was nowhere near the athleticism of a pony like Rainbow Dash, who had been able to supplement exercise with a good diet. Still, it was more than capable of carrying Trixie cross-country without too much difficulty.

Even so, the unicorn was panting as she neared the brow of the hill, hoping against hope that Fluttershy had indeed chosen this place as her sanctuary. She had lost the pegasus’s hoof-prints along the slushy pathways, and if Fluttershy had decided to visit Rarity or some other friend, rather than remaining in solitude, Trixie’s journey would have been an absolute waste.

Will she even want to talk to me? Would she rather I just left her alone?

The nagging, paranoid questions picked at the unicorn’s brain. She halted for a moment, trying to compose her thoughts before revealing herself. It was, however, no good; her head was swirling with countless fears that could only be allayed or confirmed by facing the pegasus. There was little point in lurking here, casting around for some kind of non-existent composure.

With a few determined strides, Trixie crested the brow of the hill, looking around for a primrose silhouette.

For a horrible moment, she thought the hilltop lay deserted, as no figure met her searching gaze. Then, with a pang of mixed relief and nerves, she caught sight of Fluttershy, lying cradled amongst the roots of the bare oak tree that clung to the hilltop’s edge. The mare was hunched, her face turned away from Trixie, obviously unaware of her presence.

As the unicorn approached, she saw that the pegasus was not crying, but seemed somehow deflated, as if the timid joy she normally took in the world had, for the moment, abandoned her. A mess of crumpled green fabric lay at her side, and Trixie realized that the pegasus had hastily pulled off her dress, and dumped it into the snow as though hoping it would eventually be buried there.

Trixie knew that if she crept up on the pegasus, or called out, she would startle Fluttershy out of her skin. However, she did not want to simply stand there, watching, until the yellow mare turned and caught sight of her. In the end, she decided upon a compromise.

Heart beating rather fast, she approached the prone mare. She knew that Fluttershy must have heard her hoof-falls crunching in the snow. The pegasus did not turn her head, but her ears flattened themselves in a subconscious gesture of shame.

“Fluttershy,” Trixie murmured, tentatively, once she was a few feet from the mare. Her tone was gentle, but Fluttershy cringed away from the word as if expecting Trixie to strike her.

The unicorn knelt down in the snow, keeping a respectful distance from the pegasus. “Fluttershy, I…”

Fluttershy was not looking at her, and Trixie could see a hot flush creeping along the shy mare’s neck. Her body language suggested that she wanted to speak to the unicorn, but sheer embarrassment was preventing her. “Are you alright speaking to me? I mean, I can… I can understand if you don’t want to, I just—” She broke off. Fluttershy had nodded minutely, stretching out a forehoof to the unicorn, before giving a little squeak and jerking it back to her chest, as if her nerve had broken.

Trixie sighed, resigned to conducting a one-sided conversation with the mortified mare’s profile. “Fluttershy, I’m sorry.”

To the unicorn’s surprise, Fluttershy turned her head at these words. Her eyes were only a little bloodshot, but self-disgust was etched in her face. “You’re sorry?” she whispered, looking stricken. The moment she tried to give voice, her words became choked. Her cheeks reddened blotchily, and she turned away from Trixie again, unable to look her in the face. “What must you think of me, Trixie?” She buried her muzzle in her forehooves again, muffling her next words. “I’m an inconsiderate, drunken idiot… I’m meant to be t-taking care of you, not taking… advantage of you.”

At this, Trixie moved forwards, and rested a comforting foreleg over Fluttershy’s back. The mare did not shy away; instead, she seemed to huddle unconsciously a little closer. The unicorn noticed that her mortified friend was shivering a little in the bitterly cold morning. Her mind was racing; this simply did not add up. Fluttershy had drunk nowhere near enough to have forgotten the previous night’s details, and yet she was acting as if she expected Trixie to consider her behavior repugnant, even though the unicorn had made the reason for her refusal quite clear at the time.

On reflection, Trixie supposed that the pegasus was so horrified at her own behaviour that she might almost want Trixie to hate her for what she had done. Every aspect of her attitude indicated that the mare felt herself deserving of some kind of punishment or loss, not to have her actions rewarded by acceptance.

“Fluttershy,” Trixie whispered seriously. “You know I don’t mind, I told you that…” Her voice tailed nervously away, but she swallowed, and ploughed recklessly on, feeling the heat rise in her own cheeks. “Refusing you last night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.” The words came out in a rush, and she took a second to ensure that her voice was intelligible before continuing in the same rapid, slightly panicked tone. “I… Fluttershy, I feel the same way about you. I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I just thought, if anything were to happen between us, I would want it to be something we could both look back on as… as something beautiful. Not something we’d both regret.”

She felt another, stronger shiver pass through Fluttershy’s body, although whether it was due to the cold or to some illegible emotion, Trixie did not know. The pegasus tried to reply, but her teeth were chattering from lying in the snow for so long.

“Here,” Trixie murmured. She reached a tendril of magic into her saddlebags, withdrawing one of the rough glass spheres, and dropped it into the snow between them.

Immediately, there was a sharp hiss, and both mares closed their eyes as a billowing column of mist rose up into the air around them, obscuring their vision. For an unpleasant moment, Trixie thought they would be burned by the spell’s heat. However, it seemed Twilight had done her magic well, for all she felt was a wave of pleasant warmth as her snowy coat dried out. She heard Fluttershy give a little sigh at the pleasurable sensation.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the air cleared. The mares were left lying in the centre of an invisible bubble filled with the heat of a summer’s day, gazing out over the whitened town beneath them.

Their eyes met for an instant, and then Fluttershy looked away again. Trixie caught an unmistakable glimpse of yearning in her momentary gaze, but it seemed the pegasus was too embarrassed to act on it. Her muscles were tense and her breath a little ragged.

“Hey,” Trixie whispered. Fluttershy was biting her lip, still curled up in an attitude of contrition. “You don’t need to be ashamed.”

“Trixie, I…” Fluttershy broke off, unable to force out the words, the pink flush creeping up her neck. She reached out with a hoof to touch Trixie’s neck, but the motion felt fearful and tentative. “I’m sorry, I’m such a coward. Everything I said, all those things I did… you know me; of course I’m going to be ashamed of that.”

“Shh,” soothed the unicorn, nuzzling the mare’s scarlet cheek. “You’re not a coward. I’m sorry for not being able to stop myself sooner.” She wanted Fluttershy to relax; she needed to be sure, to know once and for all that Fluttershy’s feelings were not simply a product of drink, or some purely physical urge. Deep down, of course, she knew perfectly well that the pegasus’s feelings were genuine, but her paranoid side demanded that final confirmation.

“D-don’t you apologise,” Fluttershy replied, shakily. “You know the w-worst thing?” She turned, and nestled her head under Trixie’s chin, drawing in a deep breath. “I hate myself for what I did; for losing control like that, but… I c-can’t regret it. I want to regret it, but… ohh…” She shivered, but this time Trixie knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature. Her breathing had grown faster, and she buried her blushing face into Trixie’s neck, as if hoping to suffocate the desire that she considered such a mark of shame.

“I don’t know what to do,” the pegasus whispered. “Everything I did, it should have let you down so badly…” She pressed her lips against Trixie’s neck, kissing impulsively at the warm fur, again and again. Trixie stifled a tiny gasp at the unexpected, pleasurable sensation. “Everything in my head is telling me that this is wrong, that I’m weak for feeling these urges, and worse for g-giving in to them.” She nuzzled with a strange compulsion against the unicorn’s shoulder, seeking reassurance, or perhaps some kind of vindication. “I’m… I’m an idiot; I know you feel the same way, but I still feel so dirty, even though we both…” Her voice trailed away.

“Fluttershy, I’ve told you,” Trixie said, her voice quiet but firm. “Feeling that way about somepony… it doesn’t make you weak, or dirty, or any of it. If it does, then I am the weakest pony I know. I did enough damage by letting you go so far last night. I should have headed you off sooner, but I… I couldn’t resist you. I’ve never been able to resist you, right from the start.”

Trixie could tell that the pegasus was burning to make her own admission, but some combination of shame and inhibition was holding her back. She was clearly too skittish and nervous to trust herself with anything so complex as words.

An idea suddenly came to the unicorn, and for a second time, she reached magically into the saddlebags on her back, withdrawing Fluttershy’s round, wooden mane-brush. It was a simple pleasure that they could share; a reminder of less complicated days.

Fluttershy pulled back a little and caught sight of the brush. Trixie could have sworn a small smile flickered across her lips, although a deep-set embarrassment still burned in her eyes. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and rose a little from her curled position, leaning back against the supine Trixie’s chest. The unicorn let out a low sigh, breathing in the unidentifiable floral scent of Fluttershy’s mane as she magically removed her saddlebags, leaning them back against the trunk of the tree.

On an impulse, she wrapped her hooves around the pegasus’s belly, relishing the remarkable heat that the mare seemed to give off. Fluttershy squeaked, but made no attempt to pull away, instead resting her forehooves on Trixie’s, her eyelids flickering momentarily closed.

Gradually, diligently, Trixie began to run the magically-clasped brush through Fluttershy’s tangled bed-mane. She ensured that each stroke of the brush was slow and luxurious, and rested her chin on Fluttershy’s shoulder as she worked, so that she could see the expression on the pegasus’s face.

With extreme care, she worked out each knot and twist, feeling Fluttershy’s tense muscles begin to relax. Slowly, gradually, the pegasus’s breathing began returning to normal, and she leaned in closer to Trixie’s ministrations. She no longer seemed at risk of hyperventilating, which the unicorn took to be a good sign. Deftly, Trixie tucked a lock behind Fluttershy’s ear, stroking the brush back through the strands to keep them in place. Unable to resist, the azure mare nuzzled at Fluttershy’s neck as she worked, drawing a low hum of contentment from the pegasus.

“There’s no point in waiting any longer, is there?” the unicorn whispered. She had not planned to speak, but the words slipped out almost of their own accord as she lost herself in Fluttershy’s presence.

Trixie felt a slight pressure against her ribs, and looked down with a small smile to see Fluttershy’s primary feathers spreading, her wings rising a little of their own accord. The pegasus flushed violently, trying to tug the appendages back to her sides, but Trixie nosed reassuringly at her cheek. “Let them go,” she murmured. “You don’t need to hide anything from me, and you have beautiful wings…” She caressed the brush with a quick twist through the longest strands of Fluttershy’s carnation mane, curling them into their signature flick.

Letting out a little sigh of surrender, Fluttershy relaxed, leaning back a little further and letting her wings unfurl with the slow grace of a flower blooming. The feathers brushed Trixie’s chin, and the unicorn forced back the urge to lean down and kiss the downy expanse, knowing full well how intimate such a gesture was amongst pegasi.

Fluttershy seemed unable to stay fraught and tense when Trixie was holding her in this way. Somehow, without her frantic, skittish fear of her own actions, the pegasus seemed able to understand that Trixie did not blame her, or indeed think any the less of her for her actions the previous evening.

“I never want you to be ashamed for what happened last night,” Trixie said, still brushing the mare’s mane in long, soothing strokes. “Today’s what matters, and who knows how long we’d have spent torturing ourselves, if you hadn’t spoken up yesterday.”

She had moved the brush up to the top of Fluttershy’s head, and was shaping her mane carefully around her ears. The pegasus seemed to be chewing her tongue, as if playing out some painful internal struggle. Her wings were shivering, communicating her state of mind far more effectively than the timid mare was able to articulate in words.

At length, Fluttershy mumbled something, her cheeks turning scarlet again, but her voice was too quiet for Trixie to make out the words.

“I… I didn’t catch that,” Trixie said, smiling as she nuzzled at the pegasus’s velvety ear.

The pegasus bit her lip, and when she spoke again, her voice was an urgent little whine, still barely audible due to her own timid nature. “Kiss me.” She rolled over quite suddenly, resting herself on top of the unicorn, her wings spread wide. Fluttershy’s face was a perfect mask of nerves, her cheeks burning as if she could not believe her own audacity. “Y-You're right… there's no point pretending." Her eyelids flickered. "Kiss me, Trixie…”

Trixie was barely breathing. The pegasus’s eyes were closed, her lips pouted a little awkwardly, and Trixie had to fight back a sudden, insane urge to laugh. She wanted nothing more than to giggle with relief, with joy, with delight at the sheer absurdity of their situation.

Instead, she contented herself with obeying Fluttershy’s timid command.

At first, their lips barely brushed together as Trixie leaned up, testing, ensuring that the pegasus was indeed happy to continue along these lines. When she met with no resistance, she leaned closer into the kiss, letting the brush fall to the grass as her horn’s light flickered and died. The contact was slow, lingering, and exquisitely gentle. Fluttershy moulded her lips searchingly against the unicorn’s, catching a tiny, timid moan in the back of her throat.

Trixie did not know for how long they lay there, joined at the mouths. The unicorn could feel Fluttershy’s lips tugging at her own, applying experimental pressure here and there, inexpert but impossibly sweet. Slowly, Trixie picked up the brush again, and as they kissed, she began to sweep it gradually through Fluttershy’s mane once more, dragging a fresh murmur of pleasure from the pegasus.

Eventually, after what must have been several minutes, Trixie pulled slowly away. Fluttershy let out a little whine of protest, her eyes still closed, and her lips still moving against the empty air for a brief moment. Then, her eyelids fluttered open, her expression reminiscent of a pony waking from a trance.

“I…” Fluttershy blinked several times, her lips slowly curling into a small, shy smile. “That was…”

“Let’s call that our first kiss, shall we?” Trixie asked in a low voice, as Fluttershy began caressing her neck with one forehoof, the other touched to her own mouth, a half-disbelieving little smile tugging at her lips.

“Mmm… let’s,” Fluttershy purred, turning her head a little to examine her extravagantly flared wings. Her cheeks flushed again at the sight, but she fluffed up her feathers with a playful giggle, and raised them a little, the better to let Trixie see the effect she had on the pegasus. Made brave by this uncharacteristically suggestive display, she grinned embarrassedly, and leaned down to lavish another warm kiss on her lover’s lips.

Lost in the moment of surprising assertion, Trixie made to lower the brush that still rested in her magical grasp, but Fluttershy caught it with a hoof, steering it away from her mane, and directing it towards the primrose fur of her neck. “Keep going,” she murmured, breaking the kiss for an instant before darting back in, suckling gently on Trixie’s lips, one after the other.

The unicorn tried to focus, but it was a losing battle; being kissed by Fluttershy was an exceptionally distracting experience. The pegasus was growing a little more adventurous, letting one forehoof fall to caress Trixie’s side. The unicorn responded in kind as best she could, sweeping the brush along the curves of Fluttershy’s neck, and moving her hooves in small circles on the pegasus’s back, just beneath her wings. As the now-familiar prickling heat grew between her haunches, it was becoming ever more difficult to concentrate.

Suddenly, Trixie pulled away again, flipping Fluttershy over so that the pegasus was resting back against her once more. Fluttershy gave a little squeak at the sudden motion, but it dissolved into a sigh of contentment as Trixie began sensually brushing the fur of her chest and shoulders. Biting her lip, the yellow mare squirmed instinctually backwards, so that the bases of her splayed wings ground up against the unicorn’s shoulder. 

The dock of her tail was resting tantalisingly against Trixie’s thigh, and the mares let out simultaneous, low moans as Fluttershy pressed herself backwards again, rubbing her quivering wings up against the unicorn’s coat.

“This isn’t wrong,” gasped the pegasus, her eyes flickering blissfully shut. “It… it can’t be.”

“It isn’t,” Trixie replied, simply.

“Can… can we…” Fluttershy blushed, clearly not used to making suggestions in such intimate situations.

Trixie rested her chin on the mare’s shoulder again, so their cheeks pressed together. She feathered a reassuring kiss against the edge of Fluttershy’s lips, and smiled. “Mhm?”

The pegasus giggled, resting a hoof on the unicorn’s free cheek. “Can you kiss me, like we… um… the way we did yesterday?”

Trixie also laughed quietly, more in reaction to the awkwardly-phrased question than anything else. She could not honestly tell if she preferred this mare as a seductive, self-assured goddess, or as this timid, stumbling filly. Each side of her was so deliciously endearing in its own way. “I think I can manage that,” murmured the unicorn.

Eyes locked with Fluttershy’s, she swung her hind leg playfully across the pegasus’s hips, rolling the pair of them over in the grass until they were both lying on their sides. Fluttershy’s mouth was open a little in anticipation, but Trixie decided to let her anticipate for a few moments longer. Teasingly, she ducked under Fluttershy’s chin, and dragged her tongue in a luxurious curve up the length of the timid mare’s neck.

The action had its desired effect; Fluttershy let out an impatient huff, tangling her hind legs with Trixie’s and pulling the teasing unicorn closer. Trixie stiffened as she felt Fluttershy’s retaliatory tongue tracing along her cheek, and she let out a sound halfway between a groan and a giggle. The pegasus blushed at her own audacity; it was remarkable how timid she could be, even when they were locked together closely enough for Trixie to catch the sharp scent of the mare’s excitement on the air. Some things, it seemed, could never change.

Wasting no further time, Trixie pressed her still-parted lips to Fluttershy’s, dipping her tongue slowly and cautiously into the other mare’s mouth, offering her every opportunity to refuse her entry, should she feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable. Far from refusing her, however, the pegasus gave an urgent moan as if electrocuted by the contact, closing her forehooves around Trixie’s back and rolling the pair of them over yet again, so that the unicorn found herself resting a little dizzily atop her partner.

As before, Trixie felt as if the contact between their tongues had reduced her insides to a molten mess. She suckled greedily on the pegasus’s mouth, relishing being able to take such pleasure in their early morning rendezvous, free from the guilt that had so soured their kisses the previous night. Fluttershy’s breaths were rising in warm, throaty moans as she responded to Trixie’s enthusiasm, and the unicorn could feel her partner smiling broadly into the kiss.

Fluttershy’s technique was less aggressive and insistent than the previous night, and her tongue was no longer flavoured by berries and drink. Trixie could not identify the subtle, natural taste that had replaced it, and in truth she was far too addled to attempt any such cohesive thought, although she fancied she caught a hint of apricots. Fluttershy’s tension had quite abandoned her, and as the kiss stretched onwards, she rested back against the grass in a gesture of indolent contentment.

The mares fell to clutching and pawing at each other in the grass, neither seeking dominance so much as exploration. Trixie could feel the radiant heat from Fluttershy’s marehood washing over her nearby thigh, and she was sorely tempted to flip the timid mare over and help relieve her obvious frustration, but at that moment she could not quite summon the nerve.

Then, after their playful struggle had lasted for a few delicious, infinite minutes, they broke apart. The fur of Fluttershy’s muzzle was wet and glistening, and Trixie realized with a slight pang of embarrassment that, this morning, she was the one who had proven messy and over-enthusiastic in her technique. Both mares were panting. Fluttershy licked her lips slowly and deliberately, maintaining eye contact with her lover, her gaze half-entranced and half-seductive.

The unicorn’s blood was running hot; she needed this beautiful, unfathomable, awkward little pegasus. At that moment, she felt that if she was forced to choose between Fluttershy and oxygen, her life expectancy would not reflect well upon her choice.

“We’ve got so much to talk about,” Fluttershy whispered, wonderingly.

“Let’s talk later,” begged Trixie.

“I like that idea.” Fluttershy grinned. “I guess we’ve got all the time in the world now.” The pegasus seemed momentarily overcome by the reality of the situation, and as she leaned over to kiss her lover again, her expression looked almost disbelieving. She reached out a hoof, stroking Trixie’s cheek with the attitude of bottomless affection that the unicorn found so unutterably beautiful.  

Something triumphant was expanding in Trixie’s chest. In spite of her every mistake, in spite of her unsavoury past, in spite of her own fear and second-guessing nature, she had somehow attained the unattainable. Somewhere inside her head was the knowledge that, to this mare, she was worth more than the sum of her many failings. The thought made her eyes well up with tears again, and she buried her face in Fluttershy’s neck, biting back a sob. She had wanted more than anything to be cool, collected and romantic with this confession, but the words refused to be contained for an instant longer.

“I… I l-love you, Fluttershy,” she choked out, her voice muffled and shaking.

Fluttershy was nuzzling at Trixie’s mane and chin, kissing urgently at every inch of fur she could reach. For an instant, however, the unicorn’s words made her freeze. Then, Trixie felt the mare’s lips close around the tip of her ear, Fluttershy’s hot breaths rising with a nervous rapidity. “I love you too…” The pegasus moaned the words in that warm, honeyed voice that Trixie had come to find so enticing, and the azure mare felt as if a small explosion had taken place in the pit of her stomach. “I just… I love you so much, Trixie.”

“Fluttershy, I—ohh…” Trixie’s voice melted away into a gasp as the pegasus flicked the very tip of her horn, once, with a soft stroke of her tongue. The action sent a lightning-bolt of pleasure shuddering along her spine, and she met Fluttershy’s gaze with a surprised delight.

“See? You make me feel so brave,” Fluttershy whispered, almost apologetically, resting her forehead against Trixie’s. For a few long moments, both mares relaxed, letting their urgency slip away as they lay, folded together on the hilltop. Arousal still fogged the unicorn’s mind, and if Fluttershy’s unabashedly displayed wings were anything to go by, the pegasus too had every intention of exploring further into these newfound delights. However, suddenly, the urge was more manageable. As Fluttershy had said, they had all the time in the world to love one another. There was no need to rush.

Equally, there was no need to wait.

“Fluttershy, does… does anypony ever come up here?” Trixie asked, flushing. “I mean, if somepony found us like this, it’s probably not the best way to announce…” Her voice tailed away, and she blushed a little.

The pegasus grinned, and shook her head. “There’s only one path up here, and nopony uses it anymore.” She reached up with a flared wing, stroking it along Trixie’s cheek before dragging the feathers teasingly down her lover’s neck. “We’re a little off the beaten track, which means I’ve got you all to myself.” She wriggled a little beneath the unicorn as she repositioned herself, extricating a hind leg and entwining it tightly around Trixie’s flank.

Trixie smiled at the uncharacteristically assertive gesture. “Somepony’s feeling a little frisky.”

Fluttershy bit her lip. “I’m… I’m not normally like this, but you just make me feel so…” She sighed, questing up with her muzzle and tracing a line around Trixie’s lips with the tip of her tongue. “I know I made a foal of myself last night, but… oh, I'm being stupid, aren't I?" She grinned." "Besides, right now, I love that you do this to me.”

“About that...” Trixie’s heart was pumping rather rapidly, and she felt suddenly extremely nervous. “I kind of stole last night from you, didn’t I?”

Fluttershy’s expression was reassuring. “It’s okay, Trixie, I understand why you—” Her eyes widened a little, her voice breaking off, and she smirked as she caught up with Trixie’s train of thought. “Actually, I suppose you did, didn’t you?”

The unicorn leaned down, this time kissing at the very top of Fluttershy’s jawbone, leaving her lips millimeters from the mare’s ear. “If you’d like, I can make it up to you now…”

Fluttershy’s cheeks were bright pink now, but she kept up her act of coyness and pouted a little, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, if you feel you owe me, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Trixie chuckled, touching her lips to Fluttershy’s forehead. The pegasus squirmed out from underneath her, rolling over in the grass to lie on her front, near the edge of the bubble of warmth. She turned her head; one eye obscured by her mane, and flashed the unicorn a smouldering glance. Her eyes were half-lidded in a natural, languid attitude of seduction, which could easily have seemed forced or overly well-practiced in other ponies. “You never did finish brushing me, you know,” she remarked, lazily.

The sapphire mare knew that Fluttershy was trying to appear nonchalant, and to mask her own inexperience and timidity. Certainly some of her fears and inhibitions would have been buried by her excitement, and her trust in her partner. However, Trixie was quite aware that, beneath the pegasus’s newfound air of courage and flirtation, she would be as much of a bundle of nerves as ever, and the unicorn resolved to go about this as gently as she was able.

“Before I do,” she murmured, resting a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder, “I just want you to know that I’d never want you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” whispered the pegasus. “If I didn’t, do you really think I’d have trusted you enough to go as far as we’ve already gone?” She leaned over her shoulder, touching her nose to Trixie’s, her eyes suddenly serious. “I want this,” she affirmed, gently. “I want it to be special…”

“You’re… you’re sure it isn’t too soon?” Trixie asked, softly. She felt as if she were stalling, but she needed to know beyond any doubt that they were not rushing into a liaison they would later come to regret.

“Trixie.” Fluttershy turned again to meet the unicorn’s eyes, her gaze reassuring and more than a little sultry. “You know as well as I do what you do to me.” She ran her tongue over her lips again. “But it’s not because I just want your body; I want you. I trust you, because I know you; I’ve all but been you. But it’s more than that… I know you, but you’re still such a puzzle; you’ve got so many little parts and pieces that you’re still hiding away. I’ve never known a pony who makes me dream up so many little fantasies…”

She puckered her lips, blowing a languid kiss towards the wide-eyed unicorn. Any doubts Trixie had harboured were long since overpowered and evaporated. “Do you need me to make myself any clearer?” Fluttershy pulled in a shaky little breath, eyelids flickering a little. “Besides, I think I’ve waited long enough. Last night, I… last night was the first time I’ve ever kissed anypony.”

Trixie’s eyebrows darted upwards in surprise. Fluttershy was clearly less than well-practiced in the art of romantic activities, but the unicorn had never expected that she had not so much as shared a kiss before. 

So this really is her first time doing anything like this. 

Admittedly, she had expected Fluttershy’s intimate experience to be limited, but on hearing it confirmed, she suddenly felt an altogether greater weight of responsibility to make this morning a memorable one.

Don’t be silly; she loves you.

“I’d never have believed that,” Trixie replied after a moment, teasingly. “You’re kind, you’re gentle… you’re beautiful. Surely ponies have been queuing up for a chance with you?”

Fluttershy smiled shyly. “I think you might be a little biased,” she mumbled. “But really… well, I say it was my first kiss. There was that one time with Thunderlane back at Flight School, but that was more a… collision. We were both foals; I don’t think either of us were very good at it, and I could never look him in the eye afterwards.”

The unicorn giggled, leaning in over the pegasus’s shoulder to press a warm kiss against Fluttershy’s smiling lips. “I think you’ve got some catching up to do, then.”

“Definitely.” Fluttershy returned the kiss, dragging out the contact for considerably longer than Trixie had done.

Trixie nosed playfully at her retreating mane, breathing in sharply as a few stray locks whipped at her cheek. “I could just lie here and kiss you all day.” She trailed a hoof lazily along Fluttershy’s spine, her gaze wandering a little lower. “But I’ve not given your coat nearly the attention it deserves.”

“You’re so rational sometimes.” Fluttershy smirked. “You’re as bad as—” She broke off, her expression flickering with an emotion that could have been nothing other than guilt. For a split-second, an uncomfortable silence fell, then she hastily smiled again. “You’re right; my coat could definitely do with a bit of attention.”

Trixie paused for a moment, but put the unintelligible little instant from her mind, and applied herself to her task. With a lilac tendril of magic, she scooped up the brush from where it had fallen in the grass, and positioned herself beside the prone form of Fluttershy, unable to resist letting her gaze linger over the mare’s curvaceous form. 

Fluttershy glanced back over her shoulder, and spotted the unicorn’s gaze hovering over her flank. She smirked, blushing a little at the attention, and flicked the unicorn’s chin with the tip of her tail. “If you’re that into watching butterflies, you should’ve brought a net,” she quipped with a sudden confidence.

Trixie’s cheeks flushed equally pink at being caught, but she grinned, rolling her eyes. “That was terrible,” she returned. “But… maybe next time,” she added teasingly, resting the brush between Fluttershy’s shoulder-blades. The pegasus let out a contented sigh, resting her head on her forehooves and stretching out her back. Trixie began to run the brush gradually through her primrose fur, circling coyly around the bases of her wings, before attending lovingly to the timid mare’s lower back, and the sides of her belly.

Fluttershy let out another, longer sigh. Her wings, which had drooped a little during the hiatus in their kisses, rose slowly back to attention once more. Trixie deftly moved upwards again, working tantalisingly towards her lover’s wings, before darting away after just encroaching against the base. The action had the desired effect; Fluttershy was shifting restlessly, reaching back with her wings as best she could.

The unicorn giggled, magically edging the brush lower, smoothing the fur of Fluttershy’s flanks. Still committed to her teasing progress, she traced a circle around each of the pegasus’s cutie marks. At this, Fluttershy whined a little pleadingly, shuffling back towards the unicorn, whose smile widened. Quite suddenly, she swept the brush directly over the butterflies adorning the silken yellow fur, and Fluttershy let out a moan, closing her teeth reflexively around her forehoof to muffle the sound. Trixie could not suppress a smirk at this familiar action.

“Look who’s sensitive,” she purred, interrupting her progress for a moment to press a lingering kiss against the uppermost butterfly, prompting another twitch and gasp from the pink-cheeked pegasus. Fluttershy’s tail instinctively raised in an attitude of invitation, the lips of her marehood just visible, flushed and a little parted with her obvious arousal. Trixie bit her lip, resisting the magnetic urge to simply push her muzzle into those lovely folds and abandon any attempt at subtlety. It would almost have been worth it, but she knew that continuing to tease and coax in this way would make the eventual payoff all the sweeter.

She continued lower, sweeping the brush in long, sensual motions down the length of each hind leg in turn, tracing its progress with trails of pursuing kisses. Fluttershy was pawing at the ground with her forehooves as Trixie paused her progress at the backs of her knees, lingering over the smooth, thinly-furred patch of skin. The unicorn found the reaction elicited by that particular sweet spot to be quite delightful. “I love exploring you,” breathed the unicorn, in-between nuzzles. “You’ve got so many little hidden treasures.”

She nuzzled at the supple skin behind Fluttershy’s knee again, and the pegasus gave a miniscule moan of delight. “Keep exploring,” Fluttershy mumbled, now biting down on the tip of a hoof to muffle the sounds of her sensitivity.

Rosemary used to like being kissed behind the knees too, didn’t she?

Trixie froze, unsure where that particular thought had sprung from.

You learned those sensitive little spots well, didn’t you? She was a good teacher.

Fluttershy gave an impatient little moan at the sudden halt in Trixie’s ministrations. The unicorn shook herself mentally, and put the intrusive thought out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand. Trixie’s exploration had affected her as much as it had Fluttershy; a heated ache was growing between her haunches, demanding relief in ever-more-insistent tones, but now was not the time for yielding to temptation. With gentle hooves, she turned Fluttershy over into a supine position, and met her gaze with a sultry glance that the pegasus returned with interest.

Positioning herself between Fluttershy’s hind legs, she slid with a slow deliberation up the length of the pegasus’s body, drawing a full-throated groan from the mare’s lips. Fluttershy’s coat was peppered with perspiration, her head tipped back a little with a delicious abandon. She shivered at the barrage of sensations, as their bodies pressed together in what felt like a hundred different ways. Their eyes met, and Trixie smiled.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, not caring in the least how trite the words sounded.

“You make me feel beautiful,” returned the pegasus, suddenly timid in her actions as she leaned up to suckle tentatively on Trixie’s lower lip.

Trixie sighed, bathing in the sensation for a few delicious moments. “I want to make you feel like a goddess,” she whispered, leaning down to offer the pink-maned beauty another tender kiss.

“You’re so cheesy,” breathed Fluttershy, giggling as they broke apart.

Trixie flashed her a grin. “Oh, am I really?”

In a swift, supple motion, Trixie curled herself back around Fluttershy’s body, so she was resting on her side behind the mare, propping herself up on one foreleg, the other still closed around Fluttershy’s belly. Her hind legs were entwined smoothly around the right side of the mare’s body, following the curvature of her hip, and she smiled as Fluttershy ran a hoof gently through her fetlocks, tugging her legs in a little closer with a tiny, suggestive giggle.

Trixie felt Fluttershy shiver as her forehoof began a teasing journey, edging down over the velvet curve of the pegasus’s stomach.

The pegasus stiffened a little, her breath catching slightly as she realized Trixie’s intention. The unicorn quickly halted her progress, resting her chin on Fluttershy’s shoulder, tentatively awaiting assent or rejection. The bridge of Fluttershy’s nose was scarlet; she was not smiling, but her lips parted slightly, her expression almost enraptured. Her eyes were closed, but she seemed to sense Trixie’s tentative gaze, for she gave the tiniest of nods. “I taught you to dance…” she murmured, not meeting the unicorn’s gaze. “M-maybe you can do the same for me.”

“And you call me cheesy,” joked Trixie, breaking into a timid smile. Her tone was light and teasing, but she struggled to keep the sudden pang of mingled relief and arousal from distorting her voice.

“Trixie, I… please…” Fluttershy’s voice was half-whine and half-whisper, and she reached her muzzle blindly back over her shoulder to catch the unicorn in a warm, reassuring kiss.

Trixie could feel Fluttershy’s urgent breath in her mouth, and although her hoof was only resting on the timid mare’s lower belly, she could plainly feel the heat radiating up from the pegasus’s pouted lower lips. She had not previously realized the degree of desire that had been ignited in Fluttershy by her playful explorations, but seeing it spelt out so plainly was the final incentive her courage required.

Gently, with exquisite care, Trixie traced her hoof once around the inner edge of each thigh. Then, her heart hammering, she dragged the tip of her hoof leisurely over the stiff little nub of Fluttershy’s sex. The mare gasped sharply into their kiss, her eyes shooting wide open. Her thighs jerked together slightly, pressing against the unicorn’s fetlocks, and for an instant Trixie feared she had gone too far. However, the pegasus’s eyes flickered shut again, and her held breath released into a warm, unrestrained moan as Trixie edged a little lower, deftly parting her outer lips and moving her hoof in soft, sensual circles.

Fluttershy broke the kiss as Trixie settled momentarily into a rhythm. Her enraptured face tipped skywards, and her hips began impulsively to sway in concert with the unicorn’s gentle hoof. Each of her breaths spilled out as a high-pitched, breathy moan. She was chewing once more on her lip, evidently relishing the sensations that could only be achieved by the ministrations of a more practiced hoof than her own.

“Ahh! T-Trixie…”

The unicorn could feel her hoof growing slick with moisture, and the scent of arousal in the air redoubled. Simply watching Fluttershy’s blushing, ecstatic face was a delight in its own right, although as Trixie felt a warm droplet roll and dissolve into the fur of her own hind leg, she knew that she herself would be begging for reciprocation before long. She felt every shiver and moan as it rippled through the angelic mare’s body.

“I—oh! I l-love you,” Fluttershy moaned, her hooves clutching behind her and coming to rest on the unicorn’s hind legs.

“I love you too,” Trixie replied in a heated whisper, nibbling gently at her lover’s neck.

Acting on impulse, Trixie edged her dampened hoof upwards to caress Fluttershy’s most sensitive spot once more, simultaneously leaning her head down and burying her muzzle amongst the pegasus’s downy feathers. She knew that pegasus wings were exquisitely sensitive, the better to enhance the preening rituals that had been a part of pegasine romance since time immemorial. This particular pegasus did not disappoint; she let out a long, honeyed ‘mmm’ of delight, arching her back and pressing her wings roughly against Trixie’s searching tongue.

Trixie was lost in the cool, wild-berry scent of Fluttershy’s feathers as she circled her tongue around the base of each wing in turn, ensuring that she kept her hoof moving in a steady rhythm, careful not to overwhelm the uninitiated pegasus.

“P-please…” Fluttershy panted, resting her forehooves over the azure-furred hoof buried between her thighs, and pressing it more firmly between her soft lips.

Trixie grinned to herself. On reflection, it seemed as if Fluttershy wanted to be overwhelmed. In a single, swift motion, she withdrew her slick hoof, and pulled her snout out from the quivering primrose down. Fluttershy gave an admonitory whine, but before she could speak, Trixie sashayed around in front of her, met her eyes with a smouldering half-lidded gaze, and pushed her back into a supine position with a gentle forehoof.

The time for teasing was over; now was a time for statements made in broad strokes. Before Fluttershy had the chance to let her arousal ebb, Trixie had lovingly spread her unresisting thighs with a barrage of soft nuzzles and kisses, and plunged her tongue insistently between the pegasus’s firm, flushed outer lips.

Trixie could not remember the last time all five of her senses had been so deliciously overwhelmed. The moment her tongue pushed into Fluttershy’s slit, the pegasus let out a harsh, throaty groan of pleasure, her eyes rolling back a little as she shivered. Her hind legs caught Trixie’s head in a vice-grip, forcing her snout still deeper. The unicorn felt her muzzle dampening, as she traced her tongue in sharp flicking motions from side to side. The scent here was intoxicating, and the taste was sharp and tangy. In truth, the flavour could have been a little unpleasant had its context not been so indescribably sweet.

She knew that Fluttershy would likely offer to reciprocate, but she could not stand the near-volcanic need boiling in her own haunches any longer. Holding her hindquarters a little above the ground, she reached underneath her belly with a free forehoof and set about addressing the demands of her own desire. She let out a sharp moan of relief into the pegasus’s soaking folds, hearing it echoed from above as the vibrations of her voice sent a fresh wave of pleasure through the timid mare.

Do you realize how badly you let her down?

A spasm of panic crossed Trixie’s chest; she knew that voice all too well, but could not fathom why she had chosen this moment to reappear. Aside from a momentary paralysis, however, she did not halt. Nothing was going to spoil this experience, and Fluttershy’s education in these matters was so lacking that Trixie considered it her duty to make this morning a truly memorable one.

What do you mean? We both need this; we love each other, and we’ve kept our secrets for too long now.

I’m not talking about this one.

Trixie shifted her tongue upwards, searching out that delicate rosebud she knew elicited such delicious reactions. Her forehoof was still rocking against her own marehood, harder and more insistently now.

Her name is Fluttershy, and I don’t want to talk to you.

Fluttershy let out a sharp squeal as Trixie twisted her tongue tightly around the tiny button; the timid mare’s moans now far higher-pitched, almost transitioning to screams as she rode out the pleasure of each caress.

Rosemary was the one who taught you all these little tricks, remember? You didn’t know a thing back then; she took you by the hoof and taught you all the steps of the dance. Remember how she tasted?

Stop it.

This one’s louder than she was… I guess that’s ironic, huh? Remember the way she used to squeak when you—

Leave me alone; do you think I’m proud of the way you manipulated me into letting her down?

The insistent strokes of Trixie’s tongue had grown almost aggressive now, and she felt moisture running down her chin as Fluttershy reacted delightfully, clinching Trixie’s head tighter between her thighs.

Do you think you’ll ever forget her? She always saw the best in everypony, and you broke her belief in you. You let her down again and again, until she couldn’t take it any more; do you think she was ever able to trust again?

When she left, you mocked her; you called her a whore.

Did I? Or was that just what you wanted to hear, because you didn’t dare face up to the pain? You were too much of a coward to open your eyes and see what you’d done, so I just helped you out. Can you tell me you didn’t like hearing my voice?

Trixie could feel a tightness building in her chest, as if a dam somewhere inside her were in danger of breaking. She continued to ride against her hoof, now slick with her own excitement as well as her lover’s. The mounting sensation was heated and roiling, nine parts pleasure and one part anger.

You exploited me, you took advantage of me when I was weak, and you stole half of my life from me. We’ve had this conversation before.

Because you’ve always been so exploitable. Cowards always are.

Why do you keep coming back? Do you really need me that much?

You only ever faced up to that guilt in the Everfree, after you pushed me out; you saw what you did to her. Do you really think you’ll ever stop feeling that? Do you really think you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself?

It was as if a switch had been thrown inside Trixie’s brain; for a moment, she felt stunned. Fluttershy’s urgent moans had become peripheral, as she continued her intimate explorations. Even her own irrepressible pleasure felt marginal for the briefest of instants.

I have to. Oh Celestia; I need to learn how to forgive myself.

You really think that’s all it takes?

Yes. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it. You search for any little thing that makes me weak; any loose thread, so you can pick at it, unravel it, and slip into the gap it left behind. You need me to have failings, because you can sell yourself as the solution. Every little weakness, you dart in and start whispering that you’re the only one who can make me strong again.

Trixie pressed enthusiastically into the mare she loved, swirling her tongue in ever-widening circles and clutching her spare foreleg around Fluttershy’s waist. The mare squealed, rocking her hips impulsively against Trixie’s muzzle.

For my entire life, I’ve been a big enough fool to believe you, but I’ve beaten you once, and now I know how you work. What I did… what we did to Rosemary was terrible, but after all this time, I can forgive myself for it. I have to forgive myself, because otherwise all I’m doing is poisoning myself. Hating myself for what we did isn’t healing; it’s stasis and it’s self-pity. It doesn’t help me, and I can’t help her. It makes me weak, and that’s what lets you dig your claws in deeper.

The pleasure rising in the unicorn’s haunches was reaching boiling point, and judging by the ragged, full-throated quality of Fluttershy’s moans, she was equally close to the edge.

Of course I loved her; I suppose somewhere inside I still have feelings for her. She was innocent; she never deserved to be let down in that way, but there’s nothing I can do now except make sure I never let you in again. For her sake. So yes, I’ll still feel guilty sometimes. I’ll remember her, and it’ll make me sad. But that’s natural, and I’m in love now, so I need to be able to move on. And I’m telling you this now; you will never, ever use her against me again. Do you understand me?

I…

Trixie did not wait for a response. Clenching her thighs, she ground her hoof roughly against her own heated slit with a final, emphatic buck of her hips, and felt herself begin to tip past the point of no return. As her orgasm struck, she wrapped her lips closely around the centre of Fluttershy’s pleasure, suckling and licking at the engorged nub in an all-out assault that could be nothing other than a finale.

She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was right to pursue this. She had fallen irrevocably in love, and no jealous, lonely, pitiable creatures in her mind were going to steal this away from her. Not this time.

She felt the muscles in Fluttershy’s legs clench, and the pegasus let out a breathy scream, her spread wings quaking. Waves of pleasure surged through Trixie’s body, wiping out all rational thought apart from the knowledge of the angel clasped in her embrace. Her muzzle was positively soaked as she fell back from the mare’s sex, her work done. 

The unicorn wrapped both forehooves blindly around Fluttershy’s waist, pulling the cooing, shivering pegasus down on top of her, her breath catching in delight as their perspiration-beaded coats pressed together. The mares rode out their climaxes clasped tightly together, and Trixie could feel every moan and twitch that passed through her lover’s form.

“Trixie…” Fluttershy sighed out the unicorn’s name as the ripples of pleasure slowly ebbed. Then, all was silent.

For a few long minutes, the mares lay in a heap, too tired and too euphoric to attend to the arduous duty of determining whose limbs were whose. The only sound was that of slow, contented breathing. Trixie reflected to herself, in the small part of her brain that was not hazed with endorphins, that she could quite happily have lain entwined around this mare for the rest of her days. Once again, her mind was quite her own.

Slowly, lazily, Fluttershy nestled closer to her lover, giggling a little awkwardly as she saw the mess she had made of the fur around Trixie’s mouth. Apparently uncaring of where Trixie had recently been, she leaned down and kissed her marefriend warmly on the lips. “Oh my goodness…” she whispered in apparent awe as she pulled away. “Th-that was… I never thought… thank you.”

Trixie smiled, cradling her in a gentle embrace. “That was beautiful,” she whispered, nestling her muzzle into the fur of Fluttershy’s neck.

“Celestia, it was…” Fluttershy shivered a little at the memory. “I never thought I’d actually be able to go through with something like that,” she admitted in a small voice. “But I know I can trust you… I suppose you just have to find the right pony, in the end.” She let out a long, drawn-out sigh of contentment. “You know, sometimes in the mornings, I’d catch myself thinking… well, you know; imagining… us.” Her cheeks coloured a little at the admission.

“Did you, now?” Trixie teased, biting her lip in a mock-scandalised attitude.

“For what it’s worth, I… I didn’t do you justice,” mumbled the pink-faced pegasus, sounding every bit as punch-drunk as she had the previous night. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she rested a hoof on Trixie’s chest. “Oh! I’m… I’m sorry, I forgot! I… guess it’s your turn now?”

Trixie shook her head gently, wrapping the pegasus in a fresh embrace. “It’s okay…” She grinned, a little awkwardly. “I… I took care of it myself. This morning’s about you.” She bopped her lover ever-so-gently on the nose with a hoof, eliciting a light giggle.

“I’ll make it up to you next time,” promised the pegasus, smiling a little suggestively. “I can’t exactly learn without first-hoof experience, can I?”

“True…” Trixie sighed, relaxing back on the grass, embraced in the hooves of the mare she loved.

“I’ll always remember this, Trixie,” Fluttershy murmured, her eyes drifting closed. Her lips curled into a wide, delighted smile, and Trixie felt that now-familiar explosion of happiness taking place in her stomach. “I just… oh Celestia, we just made love…” She let the words stretch out luxuriously, as if savouring their taste, and taking time to confirm their reality.

“I think we did,” Trixie replied, giggling at her lover’s endearing awkwardness. She sighed, snuggling into the pegasus’s silken fur. “You did mean it, didn’t you?” she mumbled. “Earlier, when you said you loved me… I mean, I know we were fooling around, and—”

“I love you.” Fluttershy cut her off, her voice steady and unabashed. “Sometime, I’ll tell you all the little reasons, but right now, I just… I love you.” She pressed her lips to the top of Trixie’s head in a gesture that was almost motherly.

“Well, that’s good, because I love you too,” murmured Trixie. She grinned into the fur of Fluttershy’s chest, uncaring of how stilted and awkward her words had sounded. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

“It’s so strange,” Fluttershy said, suddenly. “Looking at us now, I never…” She shook her head in wonderment. “That night, I thought you were just another lost little creature I brought in from the cold.”

“I am,” Trixie whispered, simply and truthfully.

For once in her life, she felt euphoria untainted by guilt or regret. Another small piece of acceptance had clicked into place in her head; another part of this gentle panacea had begun its gradual, healing work.

She smiled. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she had won two victories that morning.
	 
	 
	
> XV: The Seedling
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood
Ardensfax



Chapter Fifteen
The Seedling

Neither mare could quite remember how they had supported each other, stumbling and giggling, back down the hillside paths to Ponyville. 

All Trixie knew was that they were home, and the late afternoon sun was peering inquisitively in through the windows. A fire was flickering warmly in the grate, and the new lovers were lying in a close embrace beneath a blanket on the sofa. They had shared a shower, as both were in dire need of freshening up, although neither had been able to focus on the task at hand. The combination of hot water and close proximity had proved too much for the resolve of either mare, although they had both been too worn out by their earlier activities to accomplish anything more than a few admittedly memorable kisses under the steaming jets.

It was strange, Trixie reflected; now that they had finally been open with one another, it seemed suddenly very difficult to be physically separated. They had both lost track of time beneath the woolen blanket, listening to the fire as it blazed up, before fading silently into subdued embers. Neither felt the need to speak or move, beyond occasionally sharing a few whispered words or a warm, lingering kiss.

Angel had observed these exchanges in mute, dawning horror from a nearby armchair. At length, he hopped off into the kitchen, throwing Trixie a look that implied a grudging acceptance of defeat.

Trixie let out a low sigh, turning her head so Fluttershy’s fur filled her vision. She had almost expected this closeness to ignite resurgent feelings of guilt over Rosemary, but to her surprise, her predominant emotion was contentment.

The faults and hurts of her past naturally still existed, and it pained her to imagine that, somewhere in the world, an embittered Rosemary was possibly still roaming her way from town to town. She still blamed herself for what had transpired, but could now appreciate that further self-flagellation would help nobody. Rosemary had left in the hope of shocking her back to reality, and Trixie knew full well that the pragmatic earth mare would want her to feel able to forgive herself.

In truth though, Trixie felt as if her days before she had happened upon this cottage were part of a past that did not belong to her. Her life in the Everfree had been a world apart from her travelling days, but her life with Fluttershy felt a universe away from what she had experienced in the past. For almost the first time in her life, she dared to hope. She no longer felt that strange gravitation of power held just out of reach, and nor did she feel the crippling sting of those inadequacies that had driven her to search for greatness.

Since her foalhood, the idea of a normal, sheltered life had terrified her. It was a fear that still gnawed at the back of her mind, but now it was mitigated by a certain doubt. Now, she could not help but wonder if such a thing as a normal life existed. She could not help but wonder if any life—if properly nurtured—might not become extraordinary, without any need for the shortcuts provided by such vague ideas as destiny.

She let her eyes drift shut for a few moments. One of Fluttershy’s wings was draped softly around her back, the warmth of the silken down almost rivaling the heat that radiated from the fire. Fluttershy’s chest was shifting with deep, regular breaths, and she let out a loving murmur as she enveloped the unicorn tighter in her wing.

“How long?” Trixie asked idly, running a hoof through Fluttershy’s mane. “How long have you… felt like this?”

Fluttershy shifted comfortably, nestling into the unicorn’s coat. “I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “I cared about you from the start, because you needed help. You were scared and lost, but you were fascinating too; I wanted to understand you so badly. I can’t really put my hoof on when that care turned into… well, something else… but it didn’t take long.” She sighed. “How about you?”

“That first night,” Trixie said in a small voice. “I don’t know if I could really tell what it was at the time, but… you hypnotized me.” She kissed the mare’s warm neck in a lazy, contented motion. “You were so caring, and gentle, and… Celestia, I don’t know how I worked all that out from just seeing you for a few seconds.” She shrugged. “Call me a romantic idiot, but maybe I’m a better judge of character than I thought.”

Fluttershy flushed, smiling with her usual timidity. She did not offer a verbal response, but leaned up to press her lips softly to her marefriend’s. “This is… strange, isn’t it?” she asked at length as she pulled back away with a tiny shiver.

Trixie closed her eyes, lazily settling back against Fluttershy’s side. “How do you mean?”

“Well, when ponies usually… you know, get together… it’s normally a process, isn’t it?” The pegasus giggled. “You know, dates and all that sort of thing. We’ve not exactly stuck to the formula.”

Trixie could not hold back a chuckle of her own. “Most ponies don’t meet the way we did,” she replied. “I guess saving my life might’ve moved things on a bit, and I suppose… we already knew each other, in a way, didn’t we?”

“Mhm…” Fluttershy nodded. “I just… I wish I’d said something sooner.”

“I know what you mean.” The unicorn sighed. “I guess I didn’t want to make things awkward between us, or embarrass you.”

The primrose mare nodded again. “Exactly, I thought it’d be wrong to make a move if you didn’t have any choice but to live with me.”

Trixie turned to meet her eyes. “You were taking care of me, and you were just so innocent and lovely, I felt like I was dirtying you by feeling that way.”

Fluttershy bit her lip. “I know, it just felt so…”

“…irresponsible.” They spoke the word together. For a few long moments, they gazed at each other. 

A tiny smile tugged at Trixie’s lips. “Celestia, we’ve been silly, haven’t we?”

Fluttershy laughed her infectious, carefree laugh, and caught the giggling unicorn in a fresh kiss. Trixie relaxed, allowing her lover to do as she pleased. For the moment, she was quite content to simply drink in the scent of her fur, the velvet smoothness of her coat, and the taste of her insistent tongue.

After a few delicious minutes—once Fluttershy had kissed her fill—Trixie regained her breath with no small effort, grinning widely. “Wow,” she panted, unable for the moment to settle upon a more articulate response. She felt hot all over, her skin prickling as she ran a sensual hoof down Fluttershy’s side, savouring the shape of every now-familiar curve.

The pegasus smiled, her cheeks rosy once more, still breathing hard from the kiss. She looked stunned by her ability to make such intimate gestures entirely of her own accord. Knowing Fluttershy’s timid nature, Trixie was quite aware of the level of trust her lover was placing in her. When in the company of most ponies, the pegasus found even eye contact to be a significant hurdle, let alone the far more sensual forms of contact that she had, for the first time, felt fully able to share.

Every kiss they shared was more than an expression of love; it was an expression of the deepest trust. Each time Fluttershy reached out to embrace her, Trixie found herself a little humbled by the faith this timid, delicate mare was willing to place in her.

Suddenly, a question occurred to the unicorn, one that had been tugging at the back of her mind for a few days. “Fluttershy? When you brought me back from the forest… did you find my journal?”

The pegasus thought for a second, but shook her head, her eyes a little downcast. “I… I’m sorry. When I brought you back, there was a knife strapped to your leg, but that was all you were carrying.”

Trixie nodded. “S’okay, I didn’t think you had, I guess I just—” She broke off with a little sigh, nuzzling the timid mare’s forehead. “It doesn’t matter; there wasn’t anything important in there.” She smiled, a little sadly. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “Living in that forest, all your life just becomes about things. Things to keep you warm, things to keep you fed and clean… things to keep you alive. There’s never enough, but that’s what makes you hang on to the things you have.”

“Do you think it helped?” Fluttershy did not need to clarify her question.

The unicorn thought for a few moments. “It… it gave me time. It made me be alone with myself; I couldn’t keep running so I didn’t have any choice but to look back. I couldn’t move on, though. I went into the forest to escape, but I wasn’t trying to get away from the world, I was trying to get away from myself. And there I was, with nothing but myself for company, and I… I couldn’t face up to it.” Unconsciously, she clutched Fluttershy a little closer. “I made all these little excuses about why I was there, who I was, what I needed to do to turn my life around. I wrote them all down, trying to tell myself over and over… I always was good at lying to myself, but by this time I couldn’t face her anymore, I’d pushed her to the back of my head, so I couldn’t even lie to convince myself anymore. Looking back, it’s obvious why I was frozen, why I wasn’t fighting.”

“Why?” Fluttershy whispered.

Trixie closed her eyes for a moment. “All my life, I believed in destiny. I believed I was meant for something, anything better than being slaves to chance like other ponies. I’d make myself futures, I’d give myself things I could dream or believe in, chance after chance… I’m an illusionist, and I tricked myself so well, but by the time I’d dragged myself back to that forest… do you really think I had a single thing left that was worth fighting for?”

Fluttershy nodded. “But…” She bit her lip, cheeks colouring a little. “Now?”

Trixie met her eyes in silence. It was answer enough.

The pegasus sighed, but the sound was a contented one. “I’m glad.” She suddenly shifted a little, gazing almost unblinkingly at her lover. “You make me feel so safe,” she murmured. “I… you know I love my friends, and I couldn’t ask for more understanding ponies in my life, but… oh, I don’t know. Sometimes, I’ll do something silly; I’ll jump at my own shadow, or get scared by heights and forget I can fly. They’ll all look at me, and they’re so caring; none of them would dream of laughing at me, not for a second, but when I look at their faces, I can see the pity there. They know how I am, and they empathize, and they accept, and deep down… they feel sorry for me.” She stroked Trixie’s cheek with a touch that was almost wondering. “You don’t pity me,” she breathed.

“Of course I don’t,” Trixie replied in a small voice, smiling shyly. “You’re one of the strongest ponies I’ve ever known.”

Fluttershy opened her mouth to protest, but Trixie had fallen to kissing at her neck with an exquisite gentleness, and the pegasus’s words seemed to lose themselves before they could form. She gave a little whimper, leaning her head over, the better to allow the unicorn access to the sensitive skin.

As Trixie ceased her nuzzles, Fluttershy’s stomach gave an audible gurgle. The sound made the unicorn realize just how hungry she was, and she giggled at the pegasus’s sudden blush. “Let’s fix some lunch,” she suggested, grinning.

Fluttershy nodded, pressing a final kiss against her marefriend’s cheek. “Good idea,” she murmured, unwillingly extricating herself from the unicorn’s forelegs.

Trixie got to her hooves, disentangling herself from the blanket with a wry smile. “I should probably have brought some breakfast up the hill with me, shouldn’t I?”

The pegasus flushed a little, smirking. “To be honest, I… um… I’d say this morning was just fine as it was.”

“Only fine?” Trixie teased, clutching at her chest with a dramatic hoof, her expression playfully affronted.

“Well…” Fluttershy tilted her head thoughtfully for a second, chewing on her lower lip. “Mhm… better than fine,” she agreed after a moment’s faux-contemplation. Her cheeks were glowing; she was clearly unused to discussing such intimate matters so lightheartedly. Quite unexpectedly, she let out a sudden giggle, nosing at Trixie’s cheek as they walked into the kitchen together.  

After gently evicting a belligerent Angel, who appeared to be attempting to drown his sorrows in carrot juice, they settled upon an old favourite in the form of omelettes. Trixie fell to slicing mushrooms, as Fluttershy took on the less dexterous task of grating cheese.

“Hey…” Fluttershy turned, as if at a sudden thought. “How was the party? I completely forgot with everything that happened… how was everypony?”

Trixie bit her lip, focusing on the mushrooms on the chopping board, pondering her response. “To be honest, everypony was really welcoming for the most part,” she replied at length, weighing her words carefully. “Obviously there were one or two hiccoughs, but all in all I think it went well.”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, looking a little concerned. “Hiccoughs?”

“Well, Rarity was absolutely fine, like you’d expect,” continued Trixie, staying for the moment in safe territory. “You saw Pinkie, and as for Applejack… well, she took a little convincing, and it might be a while before she trusts me completely, but she didn’t seem to bear a grudge.” Trixie shrugged, magically dropping a frying pan onto the stove, and beginning to search for the butter dish.

Fluttershy’s expression was suddenly a little stony. “And Rainbow Dash?” she asked, clearly unconvinced by Trixie’s attempt at nonchalance.

Trixie bit her lip. “I…” She broke off, and shook her head. “I don’t think I really got through to her, to be honest.” She took a breath, feeling that there was little else she could do, and launched into the story. She explained how she had confronted Dash over the spiked drinks, and how the pegasus had turned on her in front of the watching crowd. She described how Applejack and Pinkie had intervened and led Dash away, and how, bizarrely, the altercation had led to the first meaningful conversation between Applejack and Rainbow Dash for weeks. Finally, she told the primrose mare how Cheerilee had taken her away from the scene, and that she had no idea if Applejack had succeeded in bringing Dash around,

Long before she had finished speaking, Trixie knew, at that moment, she did not envy Rainbow Dash in the slightest. Fluttershy showed no overt signs of anger, but she seemed somehow to bristle, her eyes hardening.

“…But it’s okay! I mean, I never expected everypony to forgive me so easily; everypony’s given me more credit than I deserve, to be honest.” The unicorn sighed. “Besides, if it got Rainbow Dash and Applejack talking again, it’s not too bad, is it?” she finished, almost pleadingly.

“She had no right to make a scene like that,” said Fluttershy, quietly. “If she didn’t trust you, she could have talked to you in private. She didn’t need to humiliate you like that.” Her tail was swishing dangerously.

“She was angry,” Trixie conceded. “But she had every right to be, after what I did. I’ve spent half my life dragging ponies up and humiliating them in front of crowds, so…” She shrugged helplessly, her voice tailing away.

Fluttershy pawed at the kitchen tiles, shaking her head. “That’s no excuse,” she snorted. “You’re trying to move on; anypony with half a brain can see you’re a different mare now. She could have the decency to give you a second chance, once you’d apologized.”

“Applejack got between us just after I’d apologised,” Trixie returned. “I don’t know, she might have accepted it! I think she realized I was genuine, she just didn’t want to back down and admit she was wrong in front of a crowd like that.”

“Do you really think she’d have changed her mind like that?” Fluttershy’s voice was almost scathing.

Trixie could not respond, but her silence was obviously answer enough, because Fluttershy shook her head again. “She’s not going to treat you like that,” she whispered. “Next time I see her, we’re going to have a little chat.”

“Fluttershy,” Trixie begged. Crossing the kitchen in two steps, she clutched the pegasus tightly by the shoulders. The mare was actually shivering slightly with anger. “Listen to me,” she murmured, resting a hoof on Fluttershy’s cheek, forcing her to meet her gaze. “I don’t want you to be like this, alright?” She sighed. “I don’t want you to go throwing away your friendships to protect me. I’m not worth that.”

“You’ve been through enough,” Fluttershy hissed.

“Exactly!” Trixie held her closer. “I’ve been through enough, I’ve got enough on my conscience, and I can’t live knowing that I made you drive away your friends for my sake. I know you want to protect me; I know how angry it makes you if you think somepony’s threatening me. You’d feel the same way if someone threatened your animal friends.” She shook her head, her eyes welling up a little. “But… if you start pushing your friends away because you think that’ll protect me, that’d hurt me so, so much more than anything they could ever do. I love you so much, but I’m not selfish enough to sit back and watch you make me your only lifeline.”

Fluttershy was no longer shivering; she seemed somehow diminished, and her breathing was a little shaky. Trixie dropped her voice to a low, soothing tone. “Last night, when you learned how many ponies Pinkie had invited… you were scary. And I don’t know quite what happened the day you took me in, but I think something happened between you and Applejack.” The pegasus winced a little at the farm-pony’s name, and Trixie nodded. “Exactly. You could have had two fights with your best friends already, and all on my account. I’m so grateful that you want to protect me; it means such a lot, but do you think for one second that I want to see you turn into a…” She halted, her voice becoming choked up and inaudible.

“Oh Celestia…” Fluttershy’s statuesque form relaxed a little, and she reciprocated Trixie’s embrace, her shoulders beginning to shake with sobs. “I’m—I’m so sorry… I j-just can’t stand seeing you put through more pain, after e-everything you’ve already… I… Oh, y-you’re right. You’re so much stronger now; you don’t need me biting everypony’s heads off.” She buried her face in Trixie’s shoulder. “I’ve been stupid, haven’t I? I just… I just wanted to see you safe.”

“I am safe,” Trixie promised, quietly. “I’m safe because you cared for me; because you helped me for no good reason, other than because I needed help. But now I’m stronger; I want us to be able to care for each other. But I…I never want you to have to fight for me, and I promise you, you’ll never have to choose between me and your friends.”

Fluttershy let out a drawn-out sigh. “I… thank you,” she whispered, a slight shake still distorting her voice. “If you want to go and talk to Rainbow sometime… if you bring me along for moral support, I promise I won’t yell at her. I’m not happy with her; I think she acted like a bully, but if you can let that pass, then I can too.”

Trixie pressed a kiss against her forehead, pulling away from the embrace. “Thanks, Fluttershy,” she murmured, as she returned to chopping the neglected mushrooms. “And you haven’t been stupid,” she added, a little sternly. “You were just protective; it’s in your nature.” She pushed the neatly-sliced mushrooms aside, and set about heating the frying pan and breaking eggs.

Fluttershy suddenly took in a sharp breath, as if at an unpleasant thought. “Oh no…” she whispered.

The unicorn turned, concerned. “What is it?”

The primrose mare swallowed. “I have been stupid. What about Twilight?”

“How do you mean?”

Fluttershy clapped a hoof to her forehead, the block of cheese forgotten. “Twilight’s been shut up in her library for days now; nopony’s heard a single word from her. She didn’t even come to the party yesterday, and I’ve never known her to miss one of Pinkie’s parties. I… I should have gone to see her sooner.” She sighed, shaking her head dispiritedly. “You’re right; I’ve been forgetting my friends. I’ve been telling myself that she was being stupid, that she was worrying over nothing, and that it wasn’t my job to run around trying to untie whatever tangles she’s managed to get her head into.”

Trixie shrugged. “But… if she just doesn’t want to speak to anypony, why’s that—”

“Because we all made a promise,” Fluttershy cut across her. “The thing is, I was probably right. She probably is just worrying over nothing, but I’ve seen what happens when Twilight worries about nothing.” She bit her lip, guiltily. “One time, things got… well, they got pretty bad. Twilight’s always tended to be a little… obsessive, you could say. This one day, she went around and around in circles over a tiny little worry, and ended up coming up with the most ridiculous, destructive solution. It was never going to do any good; it was never going to do anything but get her in trouble, but that’s exactly it. When she gets in that kind of state, she’s just not sensible.”

“How was that your fault, though?” Trixie pressed, bemused.

“We could have headed her off,” replied Fluttershy, a little glumly. “The five of us, I mean. If we’d just taken it seriously we could have stopped her from running herself ragged, but it was such a trivial little thing…” She winced. “Until Celestia got involved, that is.” She shook her head again, her lips twitching humourlessly at Trixie’s expression of surprise. We all told the princess that, in future, we’d be sure to take our friends’ worries seriously, no matter how unimportant they seemed to us. Of course, that wasn’t really what we were promising; it was all so nice and diplomatic, but really we were promising the princess that we wouldn’t let it happen again, and… well, that we’d keep an eye on Twilight.”

“And now you’re worried, because Twilight’s been shut up in her library for days, and you’ve dismissed whatever’s the matter as her just being ‘Twilight-ish’,” surmised Trixie.

Fluttershy nodded weakly.

“Hey,” said the unicorn bracingly. “It’s probably not that bad. You’ve had a lot on your mind lately, and it’s not as if you’re her only friend.” Privately suspecting that this lunch was doomed never to be finished, she set down the egg-whisk and crossed the kitchen once again. “The others will have visited her, won’t they?”

“Will they?” Fluttershy countered, helplessly. “Rainbow and Pinkie aren’t really aware of anything outside their own little world, and AJ’s been too caught up with getting over Rainbow to do much beyond working the farm. I know Rarity visited a few days ago, but there wasn’t any reply.”

“Well then,” said Trixie. “If she’s not letting anypony in, there’s not much you can do, is there?” Fluttershy did not respond, and the former showmare sighed. “I… I’m sorry. I never wanted to disrupt your life like this; from what you’ve said, it sounds like Twilight’s shutting herself up because of me, and now you’re feeling guilty for not seeing her sooner, and I just—”

She broke off. Apparently both seeking and offering reassurance, Fluttershy had entwined their necks together, burying her face in Trixie’s powder-blue mane. “I love you,” the pegasus whispered forcefully. “I know I’ve been an idiot because of how I felt about you, and maybe Twilight really is trying to avoid you, but whatever’s happened… Oh, it’s not your fault, and don’t you think for a second that I regret any of this.” She closed her eyes, breathing in Trixie’s scent and letting her tense muscles relax. “I’ll go to the library later this evening,” she said quietly, her tone far calmer now. “Somepony needs to talk to her, but all she’s done so far is shut herself away, so there’s a good chance she’s just hiding away from the world because it’s all become too much. Just because she’s being irrational, that doesn’t mean she’ll always be destructive too.”

Trixie nodded. “I think that’s best,” she replied, stroking a soothing forehoof over her marefriend’s withers. “And I love you too,” she added in a still-lower voice, pulling back a little to meet the pegasus’s eyes, shyly seeking a tacit permission. Fluttershy complied gratefully, pressing her muzzle to Trixie’s in a warm kiss which, like her embrace, seemed to both take and offer a strange, symbiotic comfort. The pegasus’s wings twitched, and she giggled bashfully into the deepening kiss.

At that moment, there came a loud knock on the door. With a little moan of annoyance, Fluttershy pulled unwillingly away, playfully flicking Trixie’s nose with her mane as she retreated. “I’d better get that,” she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

The unicorn followed, casting a rueful look back at their unfinished lunch, for which she was gradually giving up hope. She nosed playfully at Fluttershy’s wing as they crossed the room, drawing a fresh giggle from the pegasus, who batted her muzzle gently away with the feathered appendage. Throwing a look back over her shoulder that could only mean ‘later’, Fluttershy pulled the door ajar.

Both mares froze. On the doormat stood Pinkie Pie, accompanied by a somewhat bashful-looking Rainbow Dash.

The cyan mare, seemingly far less self-assured today than she had been the previous night, half-raised a hoof. “Uh, hey,” she said, a little awkwardly.

Fluttershy was gazing at Dash, but Trixie’s eyes were on the primrose pegasus, nervously gauging her reaction. For a split-second, Fluttershy’s expression had darkened, but then she glanced momentarily at Trixie. She seemed to take a breath, nodding imperceptibly, as if to say, “it’s okay, I won’t do anything.”

Even so, it was with a slight stiffness that she said, “Hi, Rainbow.” Nevertheless, to the unicorn’s relief, she relaxed into a smile when greeting Pinkie.

Trixie felt herself relax; she had half-expected Fluttershy to lose control again and begin berating her friend. Now that her more immediate concern had abated, Trixie turned her attention to the ponies on the doorstep. Dash was looking from her to Fluttershy; it was as if she wanted to speak, but could not quite bring herself to do so.

Pinkie was smiling, apparently unaware of the frisson Fluttershy had momentarily generated. She was wearing two pairs of bright blue earmuffs, one over the other, as if in the hope of compounding their warming effect. She broke the sudden silence, stamping her hooves and shivering. “Hey, Flutters! Trixie! Mind if we come in? We’re freezing our hoofsies off out here and I dunno what I’d do without mine!”

Fluttershy nodded, still looking a little confused. “I… sure, come in…” Her voice tailed away, and she stood aside to allow her friends entry. Trixie noticed that Dash was studiously avoiding her eyes, although whether it was a gesture of shame or acrimony, she did not know.

Pinkie wasted no time in making herself at home, hanging up both pairs of earmuffs on the coat-stand, and trotting over to the fire to warm herself up. Dash, on the other hand, seemed a little less comfortable as she trotted across the room, standing by the sofa without sitting down.

Trixie eyed the pegasus a little warily. “Why are you here?” The question was directed at Rainbow Dash, but Trixie had not intended for her tone to be so blunt. Faced once again with this brash mare, however, Trixie could not bring herself to feign friendliness. She did not want to be responsible for destroying Fluttershy’s friendship with Dash, but she herself felt no obligation to play at politeness; not after the treatment she had received the previous night.

Dash opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She turned to Pinkie, who gave her a stern look, gesturing towards Trixie with a jerk of her head. Her expression was exceptionally reminiscent of a mother coaxing her unwilling child into a reconciliation.

The sky-blue mare returned her gaze to Trixie, scratching at the back of her head with an awkward hoof. “Look…” Her tone was not exactly friendly, but there was no overt hostility in her voice, at any rate. “I… I was outta line last night. I shouldn’a chewed you out in front of everypony like that.” She shook her head. “S’funny, really; after what ya said, I really did believe you, but… I dunno, I didn’t wanna back down.” She shrugged, finally meeting Trixie’s eyes. “I’m not sayin’ I trust you, but—” She broke off. For a moment, her voice had sounded a little shaky, but it was steady when she spoke again. “AJ was right. Whatever I think of you, I’m not a bully, an’ I shouldn’t have acted like one.” She paused for a second. “I’m… I’m sorry.” The last two words tumbled out in a great rush, as if she were attempting to rid herself of their burden before she lost her nerve.

Trixie wanted to say that it was alright, but in truth, she did not know if it was alright or not. Dash had made it quite clear that she was only apologizing for making her tirade so public, not for the tirade itself. It could not have been plainer that she would have to work hard to convince this mare that she was worth forgiving.

That said, whilst it was hardly perfect, Trixie could recognize an olive branch when she saw one. She could hardly expect the whole town to forgive and forget as easily as Fluttershy, and maybe that was for the best. She gave a tentative smile, and held out a hoof. “S’okay,” she said quietly, trying not to smirk at how Dash’s cool self-assurance vanished when her pride was, for the moment, swallowed.

Dash touched the pad of her hoof, her own lips twitching, apparently against her will. “You do seem pretty different,” she mumbled, grudgingly. She turned to Pinkie, rolling her eyes. “’Course, Pinks wouldn’t let me rest after I owned up to feelin’ bad about last night,” she remarked dryly. “Kept sayin’ I ought to pony up and set things right.”

Pinkie nodded succinctly. “There’s nothing weak in admitting you made a mistake, Dashie,” she said with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

Dash shrugged, as if suggesting she did not want to stretch the point too far. “That’s not sayin’ I trust you yet,” she shot at Trixie.

“I trust her,” piped up Pinkie, frowning a little.

“So do I,” chipped in Fluttershy, speaking at last. Until this time, the pegasus had seemed content to stand back and listen to the conversation, but now she seemed to have decided to contribute. “Look, Rainbow… what you saw back then… it was an act. If you put up a façade long enough, it becomes your life. You went through flight school, with all its petty little hierarchies; to this day you feel the need to act so tough, even around your closest friends. You know what it’s like to get stuck under a mask. I don’t know who she was before, but you met Trixie for the first time last night.”

Dash opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Pinkie was looking at Fluttershy in surprise, as if taken aback by her insight.

“Yeah, I guess,” mumbled Dash at length, scuffing a hoof against the floorboards.

“Look,” Trixie said a little suddenly, taking a step towards the pegasus. “I realize you’re not the kind who trusts easily, not if somepony’s already shown they’re… well, less than trustworthy. I know I’ve got to work to earn that trust back, but… I’m okay with that.”

Dash nodded, and shrugged once again. “I guess it doesn’t really matter either way,” she conceded. “You’re living with ‘Shy here, it’s her trust that matters, an’ if she trusts you… well, she’s not normally wrong.” She let out a sigh, breaking eye contact again. “An’ what ‘Shy says about your act… if that’s true… I know how bad it gets.” She gave a weak half-smile. “Welcome back, I guess.”

Trixie smiled. She knew perfectly well that the pegasus’s welcome was not referring to her return to Ponyville. “Thanks.”

Fluttershy seemed to suddenly perk up, now that this tentative peace had been established, and she cleared her throat. “Um… anypony want to stay for lunch?”

At her words, Trixie’s stomach gave another audible rumble. Pinkie and Dash both nodded, looking quite relieved. “Sure beats going out in that snow again,” noted Dash, breaking into a true smile at the mention of food. “Cheers, ‘Shy.”

Pinkie also grinned, bouncing several times on the spot with apparent enthusiasm. “Sounds good to me, Flutters!”

At that moment, the kitchen door creaked open. Angel emerged, having apparently delved back into the cupboards, and made his way across the living room, dragging a bottle of carrot juice behind him. It seemed the prospect of no longer being the sole object of Fluttershy’s affections was proving a difficult one to countenance. With one last baleful glance back at the room in general, he hopped through the animal flap in the door, and disappeared. Trixie supposed he was heading for his hutch, in the hopes of finding some measure of peace.

“Poor fella looks like he’s having a rough day,” remarked Pinkie. “What’s up with him?”

Fluttershy glanced at Trixie, and smiled. “Oh, you know…” She shrugged. “Learning to share, I suppose.”

Trixie burst out laughing, more out of relief than anything. With some difficulty, she resisted leaning over to kiss the pegasus, who had also begun giggling. She had not the faintest idea how Fluttershy’s friends would react to their newfound relationship, nor did she know if Ponyville’s suddenly-reclusive librarian would eventually let herself be coaxed out for a face-to-face meeting.

For the moment, however, it hardly seemed to matter. Today was a good day.
> XVI: The Recluse
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


In Her Blood


Ardensfax


Chapter Sixteen
The Recluse


The air was filled with the gentle hubbub of a town winding down for the evening.

Fluttershy made her slow progress through the outskirts, bound for Ponyville library. The streets were sparsely populated in weather such as this, freeing her from the usual worry that tugged at her whenever she tried to navigate a crowd, leaving her mind to wander.

Lunch with her two friends had gone well enough; conversation between Trixie and Dash had been a little too polite and carefully measured to feel entirely at ease, but the mares seemed to have established a tentative understanding. It could not be called a friendship yet, but it would suffice for the moment. It had been with a sense of relieved satisfaction that Fluttershy had waved the pink and cyan couple off down the garden path.

Of course, Trixie had wanted to accompany Fluttershy to the library, but the pegasus had convinced her to remain behind. She had pointed out that, if Twilight truly was hiding away to avoid a confrontation with the former showmare, it would be nigh-impossible to coax her out if the object of her fear was standing on her doorstep. It was undoubtedly best for Fluttershy to act as a go-between for this first contact; Trixie had been able to see the logic in that decision, and agreed to remain behind.

Deep down though, Fluttershy knew that they were wrong. Something did not add up. She could not ignore the fact that there was no conceivable reason for Twilight to be afraid of Trixie. In terms of magic, pitting the mares against one another would be akin to pitting a match against a fire-hose, and Twilight surely knew it. She had nothing to fear from Trixie, unless perhaps she was afraid of becoming embroiled in a public confrontation. That could conceivably be the solution; Twilight had certainly been reluctant to display her power the last time the two mares had met.

And yet, something still seemed not to add up. After a further moment of circular pondering, Fluttershy shook her head, dismissing the thought. After all, Twilight was not always the most rational of ponies, and in any case, the pegasus was finding it a little hard to concentrate on solving problems at that particular moment.

This was the first time that she had been alone with her thoughts since the hilltop rendezvous between her and Trixie that morning. Now her thoughts were not hazed by the unicorn’s proximity, the magnitude of what she had done was sinking in. She did not for one second regret their time together, but it was only now she truly realised the degree to which she had bypassed her natural barriers of timidity and romantic inexperience.

In the past, when she had caught herself thinking of such things, she had instinctually imagined the loss of her virginity as something that would weigh her down, and somehow leave her intrinsically lessened. In truth, however, applying the word ‘loss’ to those timeless hours on that warm, wintry hilltop seemed utterly erroneous. More than the physical pleasure, the knowledge that she had found a pony she trusted so implicitly, a pony with whom she could unabashedly share such intimacies, lent her a sense of deepest contentment. That was not, of course, to say the pleasure was insignificant; she felt a tiny shiver chase along her spine at the delectable choice of memories, and smiled to herself. She could get used to such treatment, and looked forward immensely to learning on a first-hoof basis how she might reciprocate.

She realised her face was a little red, and looked around nervously, her shyness reclaiming her in an instant. Fortunately, nopony was looking her way as she approached the library, and the evening half-light meant that the heat in her cheeks would not be unduly visible.

Twilight’s book on cutie mark theory lay in her saddlebags; peruse it as she might, she knew perfectly well that the solution to Trixie’s difficulties would not be found within its pages. She had tried to plough through the impenetrable chapters full of genetic diagrams and probability theory, but she was quite aware that her marefriend’s problem was far less fundamental. It was more a matter of symbolism than mechanics, but the connection between a mark’s symbols and their meaning still seemed all too elusive.

She looked up as the library’s shadow fell across her face, blotting out the falling sun. She took a deep breath; for some reason, she felt a little nervous. Raising a determined hoof nevertheless, she knocked three times on the front door.

For several long moments, she waited. No reply came.

After almost a minute, Fluttershy could no longer pretend to herself that Twilight was on her way. She had just raised a hoof to knock again, when a thought occurred to her. This was a public library; surely she could just walk in.

She gave the door an experimental push. It remained obstinately shut, quite clearly locked from the inside.

Fluttershy snorted. Unlike Rarity, she was not simply going to walk away. Without Spike to talk her out of whatever was going on in her head, Twilight could all too easily be a danger to herself. She knocked again, louder this time.

She did not want to fly up to the unicorn’s window; no matter how often Rainbow Dash used it as a means of entrance, it still felt like an unforgivable breach of privacy. Unfortunately, it was beginning to look as if she had no other option. She ground her teeth, resolving to make one more attempt. She knocked one final time, and this time, she called out. “Twilight, let me in! It’s Fluttershy, and if you don’t open this door I’m writing to—” She broke off. It was an empty threat; without Spike, she would have to contact Celestia via the regular postal service, and goodness only knew how many ordinary letters and petitions the Princess had to plough through each day. However, it seemed not to matter.

At the sound of her voice, there had been a sudden sound of activity from behind the door, as if somepony had pulled themselves up from a seat. There came the sound of trudging hooves, accompanied by a bolt being magically withdrawn.

The door swung open to reveal a somewhat careworn-looking Twilight. Her eyes widened at the sight of her friend. “Fluttershy! Celestia, I… I thought you were Rarity again.” Her voice sounded almost rusty, as if she had not used it in days.

Fluttershy’s first instinct, strangely enough, was one of relief. She had half expected to be greeted by the staring, frazzle-maned creature who had caused so much damage in the past; compared to that figure, this Twilight was a great improvement.

That was not to say that she looked well; her eyes were a little puffy and red, as if from tears or a lack of sleep. Her mane was not its usual sleek, glossy self, although it seemed that was more down to a lack of brushing than anything particularly sinister. Her expression was a bizarre mixture of contrition, nervousness and calculation.

“What do you mean?” Fluttershy asked, recovering herself a little. “Why don’t you want to see Rarity? Twilight, what’s going on? Why’ve you been…?” Her voice tailed away, and the sudden fusillade of questions petered out. She swallowed. “Uh… sorry. Can… can I come in?”

The unicorn nodded with a small sigh. “Sure,” she mumbled, jerking her head and moving out of the way to allow Fluttershy entry.

The primrose mare trotted inside, looking around at the library. Without Spike, the place was far from its usual self. The coffee table was strewn with books, and the shelves were rather less immaculately organised than usual. Judging by the mixture of scientific equipment and half-read tomes scattered about the room, the place felt like the haunt of somepony who had attempted to distract herself with anything and everything, to no avail. The tawdry collection of newspaper clippings and pictures of Trixie still lay upon a coffee table, but they had been half-obscured beneath a stack of newspapers, apparently thrown down in anger.

Twilight gestured to the sofa. Fluttershy deposited her scarf on the coat-stand and sat down, looking from library to librarian with an expression of concern. This was not time for pleasantries or small talk. She swallowed, repressing her social anxiety as best she could.

“Twilight, what’s… what’s the matter? Why’re you shut up in here?”

The unicorn did not reply immediately. Instead, she trotted across and curled up on the sofa at Fluttershy’s side, apparently thinking of how best to frame her answer. She met Fluttershy’s eyes for a second, but looked away quickly, the bridge of her nose colouring slightly.

“We’ve all been so worried,” pressed Fluttershy. “I… You know you can always talk to us, right?”

Twilight let out a low sigh. When she spoke, her voice sounded a little mechanical, as if her words had been chosen with great care. “It’s just… It’s everything, right now.” She shrugged. “You know, I’m worried about Spike, and without him… I’m trying to keep the place in check, and keep up with my studies. It all gets a bit much.”

Fluttershy nodded in sympathy, but could not suppress a sense that the librarian was not telling her the whole truth. “But… why’ve you been shut up like this? You know we’d help you keep the library in order; you only need to ask, but it’s like you’ve been avoiding us.” She met Twilight’s eyes. “Why didn’t you want to let Rarity in?”

Twilight closed her eyes for a second, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Rarity kept knocking on the door yesterday,” she mumbled. “I didn’t really want to speak to anypony, and when I heard you knocking, I guessed it’d be her again.”

“But… but you let me in?”

The unicorn inclined her head a little, breaking eye contact, but made no reply.

“Twilight.” Fluttershy’s voice was infused with a little of the persuasive sternness that she applied when coaxing some sick animal into taking a drink of water. “You’ve not been yourself for a while now; ever since Trixie came back, you’ve been hiding away from everypony. I don’t know exactly what it is you’re hiding from, but… something’s wrong, and I just wish you’d trust us with it.”

At the sound of the former showmare’s name, Twilight’s ears flattened slightly. “It isn’t about trust,” she mumbled indistinctly.

“Are… are you afraid of her?” Fluttershy asked gently. “You said you didn’t want revenge, but if it’s something else… I don’t want you to be scared. She’s different now; she’s a completely different—”

“Don’t!” Twilight’s voice broke, and it sounded as if the sharp interjection had slipped out quite by mistake. She fell silent again, choking back a sob. “Don’t tell me that! Don’t tell me she’s different now!”

“But it’s tr—”

“I know it’s true!” Twilight’s horn flared involuntarily, her shout shuddering and echoing with an unnatural volume around the library.

Fluttershy felt a squeak escape her, and she retreated impulsively behind her mane, shrinking back on the couch.

For a few long, billowing moments, silence fell between the mares.

“What’s wrong with you?” Fluttershy whispered the words, her voice small and frightened. She knew how accusatory the words sounded, but did not care; perhaps a harsher approach would shake Twilight from this illogical, fractured state of mind. Fluttershy’s thoughts spun in ever-decreasing circles as she grappled with the situation, but still she did not understand. Twilight gazed tearfully down at the rug, clearly repentant of her outburst. “Why shut us out like this?” Fluttershy stood, standing before the unicorn, denying her the reprieve of looking away. “How are we supposed to help you if you won’t tell us what’s wrong, Twilight?” Leaning down, she gripped her friend by the shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Silence fell again. A tear detached itself from Twilight’s eyelash, dropping into her lap. The unicorn sniffed, her snout glistening. With unnecessary magical force, she seized a tissue from a nearby box and blew her nose.

It’s too late. You left her too long.

“I…” Twilight swallowed. Suddenly, she leaned forwards, leaning her head in close to Fluttershy’s ear. The pegasus stiffened, unsure of what to expect. “I don’t want her to be different,” Twilight breathed, her voice shaking a little.

Oh.

The words seemed to hang in the air, their implication seeming to settle like snow upon every surface.

Celestia, I’ve been stupid.

“I want her to be just l-like she was,” Twilight whispered, leaning back a little and gazing, watery-eyed, at the pegasus. “I… I c-can trust you, can’t I, Fluttershy?”

“Of course you can.” Fluttershy’s lips moulded the words automatically but her brain felt miles away, scarcely comprehending what she knew, now, to be the truth. She could never have expected this. Perhaps it was just the natural jealous urge of a challenged romantic partner, but a rumble of anger sparked in the pit of her stomach.

“After she left, I always worried about her.” Twilight rested a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder, guiding her to sit at her side again. The pegasus joined her friend on the sofa a little reluctantly. “I… I thought she was lost, or dead, or goodness-knows-what else. I knew what she’d done, I just kept thinking about the way she acted. All of that arrogance…” Twilight’s eyes seemed to glint, the expression of burned-out tiredness slipping slowly from her features. “That confidence… there was just something.” She bit her lip, leaning a little closer to the pegasus. Their coats brushed lightly together as Twilight shifted her position. Fluttershy felt nothing; in truth, she had no idea what to feel. The atmosphere was surreal and dreamlike; the situation’s reality had not yet sunk in.

“But it was only words,” Fluttershy said quietly, her voice toneless. “It was only ever boasts, you were so much stronger than her.”

“But she could have made me feel so helpless if she’d wanted to,” pressed Twilight. “The words were all that mattered; she knew just how to play with power. I just wanted to submit to her, to let her drag me through the dirt…” She shivered a little, meeting Fluttershy’s gaze more intently. “I tried to forget that voice, but then… then the dreams started.” The unicorn bit her lip, a faint flush rising beneath her fur as she leaned still closer. “It all trickled back; the way she used to sneer, the way she could humiliate so easily… ohh… She could wrap me around her hoof and make me beg.” By the last word, Twilight was practically pressed up against Fluttershy, who felt her cheeks burning with a mixture of shock, anger and sheer embarrassment. She did not want to hear this. She had not the faintest desire to hear her friend’s fantasies exposed in such a lurid manner, least of all when they revolved around a mare she had grown to love and protect.

“Twilight, stop!” With a forceful sweep of both wings, Fluttershy pushed the unicorn away from her. The charged, unpleasant atmosphere splintered, and Twilight fell back against the back of the sofa, blushing to her ears, her expression shamefaced. The manic glint in her eyes had lessened. A deeply uncomfortable silence fell between the two friends. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” Fluttershy mumbled at length. “This is why you’ve been shutting yourself away ever since she showed up again?” She shook her head despairingly, flopping back against the cushions with a sigh. “It was an act, Twilight. It was just an act that went too far.”

“Of course it was an act, do you think I didn’t know that?” Twilight let out a small groan. “But I could tell a little part of her believed it, and that’s what made her so exciting. When she looked at me, I just knew; I knew she understood what I wanted. Of course, she never came close to me magically, but isn’t that the whole point of sharing fantasies and playing roles? They don’t need to be real; they just need to be…” She tailed away, obviously afraid of sailing back into treacherous waters.

Fluttershy swallowed. It was not so much her friend’s hitherto-concealed proclivities that unsettled her, but the way they had fixated upon Trixie’s former self. In truth, it would not have surprised her if the Great and Powerful Trixie, with her domineering and arrogant nature, had been quite amenable to Twilight’s desires. Fluttershy knew from her more adventurous literary forays the enjoyment some couples found in acting out certain roles, but the Great and Powerful Trixie had gone so far beyond such a superficial, playful act. Knowing the parasitic, cancerous nature of the personality that had grown to define Trixie, the thought of Twilight perceiving it in such a way made Fluttershy’s skin crawl. “Why didn’t you tell us you… you felt like that about her?”

Twilight raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I never thought I’d see her again, so what did it matter?” She bit her lip again, although this time the gesture was one of nervousness rather than desire. “Besides, would you have told anypony if you had these sorts of… urges? Look at how you reacted,” she gestured at Fluttershy with a forehoof, “you’re disgusted, I can tell.”

“No I’m not, Twilight,” Fluttershy replied calmly. Her ears were a burning pink at discussing such matters, but she knew she must set her friend’s mind at rest. Somehow, after what she had shared with Trixie earlier that day, intimacy no longer represented something veiled, indistinct and frightening. Under the warming light of new experience, it seemed easier to openly discuss, in some small way. “It doesn’t matter to me what you like, so long as it doesn’t hurt anypony. You should hear about some of the things Rarity gets up to behind closed doors.” She could have sworn that Twilight’s lips twitched a little. “I don’t think any the less of her, and I don’t think any the less of you. So you can stop worrying about that for a start. Alright?” Her tone was soft and coaxing, the voice she often applied to persuade an uncooperative Angel.

Slowly, Twilight met her eyes, looking for all the world like a filly caught in some petty wrongdoing. “I’m not disgusted, Twilight,” Fluttershy continued. “I’m just… it’s a shock, to hear you’re directing all of this onto Trixie, of all ponies. You need to understand her personality back then… well, it went a little beyond role-playing.”

A nagging concern had begun to grow in the back of Fluttershy’s mind; she decided not to mention her own relationship with Trixie, at least for the moment. She had a feeling to do so would not be at all wise.

The unicorn mumbled something, her voice so soft that the words were lost.

“I’m sorry?” Fluttershy leaned forwards a little.

Twilight sniffed, blinking hard. “I said it’s not fair.”

Almost against her will, Fluttershy’s eyebrows raised with a mixture of surprise and exasperation at the petulant little phrase. “Not fair? What’s not fair?”

“I’d accepted it, Fluttershy.” Twilight got to her hooves and strode across the room, sweeping aside the newspaper covering Trixie’s press cuttings with a ripple of magic. She seized a photograph of the showmare’s smirking face, holding it aloft in a purple aura. “The dreams didn’t stop, but I’d accepted that I wouldn’t see her again. Maybe believing she was dead made it easier, I don’t know.” She turned to face Fluttershy, her magical grip failing, letting the picture fall to the floorboards. “Then she came back. She came back, and she’s different, and now I’ve got to look at that face and know that the Trixie I want is gone, and… and it’s just not fair!”

Fluttershy also got to her hooves, wings flaring in frustration. “The Trixie you want?” She took a step towards Twilight. “What about the Trixie that Trixie wants? Or doesn’t that matter to you?” The pegasus shook her head, the momentary anger draining from her voice as her wings fell limply to her sides. “Twilight, this isn’t you. You’d never be talking like this if you hadn’t gotten yourself in such a state, but right now you need to listen to me.” She touched Twilight’s shoulder, coaxing the mare to meet her eyes again. “You can’t force ponies to change, no matter how much you want them to. I’m sorry, but she’s different now. She’s better now, and you can’t change that.”

For a moment, silence fell between the mares. Twilight’s eyes widened and she seemed to catch her breath. The expression sent a bolt of fear through Fluttershy’s chest, although she could not readily tell what Twilight was thinking. It did not appear to be a look of contrition or some sudden understanding. Indeed, Fluttershy could have sworn that it resembled an instant of inspiration.

Then, the unicorn’s expression suddenly clouded. “You could.”

Fluttershy recoiled a little, her natural timidity shrinking back from the sudden aggression. “I… I could what?”

“Change her. You’ve been keeping her shut up in your house, haven’t you?” Twilight’s tone was level, although her eyes betrayed her anger. “It’s no big surprise she’s all sweetness and light now, is it?” She snorted. “Okay sure, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you took her in and made her better, just like you always do. I’m sure you brought out her good side and taught her all about kindness, and made her so much less interesting…” Her words tailed away in a frustrated sigh.

Fluttershy could barely speak; she felt as if she had been slapped across the face. “Twilight, I… Oh Celestia, that doesn’t even begin to make sense!” she spluttered. Twilight bridled indignantly, but the pegasus ploughed on. “I already told you, she was different when she first showed up at my house! Her stage persona had become so much more than that, it had started to take over her real self, but I didn’t stop it. By the time I took her in, it had all gone wrong already in Ponyville, all that time ago. She hadn’t believed her own act for over a year, I had nothing to do with it!” She groaned, a pulsing headache beginning to gnaw at the back of her skull. “All I did was nurse her back to health,” she explained in a slow, weary voice. “She did the rest herself, okay? Do you understand now?” She had not intended to let slip that last, confrontational sentence, but it escaped on the rising tide of anger, frustration and tiredness in her chest.

A fresh silence fell between them. Twilight seemed to be weighing up her options, her expression growing, once again, impassive.

Then, the unicorn shook her head, a few locks of hair falling over her eyes. “Oh Celestia, you’re right…” She gave a low sigh, composing herself. “You’re right, Fluttershy. It wasn’t your fault. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Fluttershy’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced by the apology. “Not my fault? What do you mean by that?”

Twilight shied away from the sharp question. “I just mean you didn’t change her.” She licked her lips nervously. “I know she changed herself, I was being silly.”

The pegasus took a step forwards, refusing to let the point drop. “So if I had changed her, that would have been my ‘fault’? If I’d been the one to destroy her old self, to give her a chance to live a proper, fulfilled life, that would have been wrong of me, would it?”

“Look, all I’m saying is that I saw her up on that stage, and sure, she was arrogant, but she looked happy enough to me.” Twilight raised a conciliatory hoof, quailing slightly under Fluttershy’s furious expression, but soldiering on regardless. “I get it. We all like to think that, deep down, everypony’s nice and normal. But look at Dash: she’s hardly self-effacing, is she? How can you know for sure that this new Trixie is the genuine Trixie? How can you be certain she isn’t actually repressing her real self?”

Fluttershy turned away, gripped by a sudden urge to march out of the door and leave without a backward glance. To hear one of her best friends speaking in such a selfish, illogical manner was all but unbearable. “Can you even hear yourself, Twilight?” She asked, forcing her voice to remain steady and her hooves to remain in place on the rug.

Twilight shrugged. “You keep telling me this is her real self, but I’ve only got your word to go on. Sometimes ponies make mistakes, and let’s face it; you like nice, kind, altruistic ponies. Of course you’d want to believe that this new Trixie is her real self. I’m just saying… maybe there’s a little bit of confirmation bias happening here?”

The pegasus whipped around, infuriated as much by Twilight calm, explanatory tone as by her words. Her wings flared with a sudden aggression. “Confirmation bias?” Her raised voice echoed off the walls. “Are you telling me you aren’t biased, Twilight? Really?” She darted forwards and prodded the unicorn in the chest with a forehoof. “I want her to be this way because it’s best for her! It’s her only chance for a normal, stable, happy life. You want to drag all that away from her so you can… what, exactly? So you can indulge your little fantasies? So you can get off on her humiliating you?” Her cheeks glowed pink at uttering such a vulgar accusation, but blunt directness seemed the only approach left to her. She leveled her most disappointed stare against the unicorn. “I’d never have thought you could be so selfish, Twilight.”

Another silence fell between the mares, one that was both long and deeply uncomfortable. Both were blushing deeply, Fluttershy at the strength of her own admonition, Twilight with apparent shame.

Then, the unicorn groaned, letting her head slump. “I’m sorry, Fluttershy.” Her voice sounded muffled with tears. “Oh Celestia, you’re right. I’m sorry for making you listen to that. I… I need to think about this.” With a pulse of magical energy, she haphazardly stacked Trixie’s press cuttings into an open box folder, slamming the lid shut.

She looked up, meeting her friend’s eyes almost pleadingly. Some other emotion flickered in her gaze, and Fluttershy felt a fresh pang of concern. “I just need a few days to get this all straight in my head. Ugh…” The beleaguered sound slipped from Twilight’s lips; the mare suddenly looked rather tired. “Thanks for coming over, it’s…” Her ear twitched a little, a compulsive tick running the length of her neck for a brief moment. “It’s made things a lot… clearer. I just need some thinking time.”

Fluttershy did not move for a moment. Some part of her still felt uneasy; she could not fathom whether or not she had actually convinced the unicorn. Certainly her argument had made Twilight stop and listen, but beyond that she could not say. Nevertheless, she recognised the dismissal, and her intuition told her that to linger would only make things worse. Perhaps some downtime and an opportunity to think was exactly what the mare needed. “Oh… okay,” Fluttershy mumbled, her shyness getting the better of her once again, overtaking her brief spell of forthright courage.

She rested a foreleg soothingly on Twilight’s shoulder. “We’re all here for you,” she promised, her voice gentle again. “If you need to think then that’s fine, but please don’t lock yourself away for much longer. We’re all just around the corner if you need to talk, and none of us think any the worse of you for this.”

Is that true?

She quelled the acerbic little thought. Of course I’m disappointed in her, but it doesn’t really matter if it’s true; what matters is that she believes it. A pang of guilt contracted in her chest as she recovered her scarf from the coat-stand. If only I’d come here sooner…  this is my fault as much as anypony’s.

Twilight nodded slowly, smiling a small, slightly unconvincing smile. “Thanks, Fluttershy.” At last, she met her friend’s eyes. “I’ll be okay, I just need a little time.”

Something in the unicorn’s voice was a little too measured, a little too mechanical to be quite convincing. Fluttershy felt a pang of unease at leaving her in such a state, but could see no way to stay. Perhaps Twilight would be able to work this through herself, Fluttershy reflected, now she had been given the chance to share her concealed urges and grievances with a trusted ear.

Ever the optimist, aren’t you?

The mares shared a cursory farewell, Fluttershy murmuring a few last words of reassurance, and then she had stepped out into the snow and bitter chill of Ponyville’s streets.

She’ll be okay, Fluttershy told herself firmly, chancing one last glance back at Twilight’s carefully-composed face. At any rate, she now knew what was wrong with the unicorn, unpleasant though that knowledge may be. Perhaps Twilight really would be able to come to terms with the scenario in which she found herself, even without the help of her friends. Behind her, the door shut with a small click, and the warm glow of the library was snuffed out, leaving the pegasus alone under the icy glow of the streetlamps.

Surely, there was nothing more she could do.

In any case, Fluttershy reassured herself as she trudged off into the snow, at least the situation was now under control.

Had she seen the expression on Twilight’s face as she bolted the door, however, she may have understood how very wrong she was.