“This stays between us, Spike. Understand?”

The small, green-and-purple dragon felt goosebumps crawl beneath his scales, as he resonated within at the unwonted seriousness of Twilight Sparkle’s tone, like a gong struck by a mallet. Honestly, he couldn’t ever recall her being this grimly severe, ever! And all he’d done was innocently ask if, perhaps, maybe they should ask Princess Celestia for help.

The fact that she hadn’t asked him to “Pinkie Promise” spoke volumes, as well. Now, it wasn’t as if Twilight considered Pinkie Promises as merely childish and amusing, because she didn’t, having learned the hard way —alas, how it seemed most of her more intense lessons had been learned— of the utter significance and reality of a Pinkie Promise. However, having said that, yes . . . yes, Twilight did feel that swearing secrecy on a Pinkie Promise was a more juvenile and playful action, compared to, for instance, what would (hypothetically, of course) be expected when forging a peace treaty between Equestria and Queen Chrysalis.

“Understood,” he quietly, yet solemnly, replied, sealing that oath.

Twilight softly exhaled, her expression at Spike’s simple response —and to the vow implied by that— sent a warmth of pride blooming inside him. A warmth that, much to his dismay, was replaced by a flood of ice water as Twilight explained.

“I’ve already spoken to Celestia,” she began, her voice low, so as not to disturb their fitfully-resting guest; low, but also throbbing with barely-suppressed anger. Spike blenched at that tone, and, as well, his eyes rounded as the agitated alicorn bluntly omitted Princess Celestia’s title . . . something she never, ever did. “And she told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to “pry, pester, or meddle with” Trixie. And that that was “not a request” but that it was “a Royal Command”.

By now Twilight’s eyes were fulminating, her posture tight and tense. Spike felt a hollow singing in his belly, as if a void had opened deep inside and he was falling into it. He’d seldom, if ever, seen Twilight this coldly enraged. And that fury was directed at Princess Celestia? Her teacher, her mentor, her very dear friend?

Trixie really does mean a lot to her. Twilight really is deeply attached to her.

Taking a deep breath before huffing it out, Spike matter-of-factly asked, “So . . . where do we go from here?” hoping that, by sounding and acting nonchalant, he might help cool down Twilight before she spiraled even higher.

Gustily exhaling through flared nostrils, Twilight unhappily huffed. “I don’t know,” she dejectedly admitted, tensed shoulders abruptly slumping.

It was mortally painful recalling this morning, as Trixie had finally cracked; when she’d just started talking in that terribly numb, dead tone. Even recalling that induced atavistic shivers racing through her. Worse, though —far worse!— had been what the broken unicorn had said.

It burns. It burns. Trixie tried. She really tried. But it . . . it never went away. No matter how hard she tried. It was always there. Always there. Whispering. Whispering. Oh . . . oh! Trixie should never have performed again. She should never have promised. But . . . but she looked so sad. So sad. How could Trixie not? But now it burns again. Like acid. Like fire.

Trixie . . . Trixie just wants to die!

Spike had told Twilight what he’d heard; very experienced at taking Twilight’s often lightning-fast notes and dictations, the little dragon had somehow developed —most likely for sanity survival’s sake— a specific type of aural eidetic memory. Unlike a parrot, which simply “parroted” snippets of conversation, or sounds, it had heard, Spike could not only exactly remember words spoken, but also remember their cadence and tone, as well as their meaning. So Twilight never even considered that her number one assistant might have misremembered, or misinterpreted, anything that Trixie had said.

Trixie’s cutie mark; it never stops. It never stops whispering, no matter how hard Trixie tries and tries and tries. Trixie hates her cutie mark!

The truly astounding thing was that Twilight hadn’t immediately gone racing to the Library (“L”, remember?) upon hearing that, to conduct in-depth research.

The next, truly astounding thing, was that Twilight still hadn’t sprinted there, after they had cajoled Trixie into “just resting”.

Which didn’t mean her mind was just idling.

Cutie marks appear when a pony discover a unique characteristic about themselves that sets them apart from others. That doesn’t mean that any characteristic, once discovered and obtained, irrevocably invalidates any other pony from, ever again, discovering the same. If that were the case, we’d only ever have had one baker, one florist, one seamstress! There are a multitude of ‘flavors’, of discrete shadings, amongst any singular talent or characteristic.

Now, if we assume that Trixie’s cutie mark represents a hybrid fusion between raw magic ability and talent, she reasoned, along with that of being an entertainer —principally a stage magician; a prestidigitator, an illusionist— then when Trixie said her cutie mark never stops whispering, obviously that meant her unique characteristic is subconsciously urging her to perform, as she so obviously is meant to do. She clearly never gave up using magic —that much I’m absolutely positive about!—so that couldn’t be the wellspring of that ‘whispering’.

And if she, somehow, managed to suppress that urge —that driving need to perform— for months and months —the last two years!— I’m not at all surprised that all that suppressed need feels like fire, as all that pent-up desire suddenly exploded free!

Spike gently bopped her muzzle as she started chewing on her mane, a nervous habit she just couldn’t seem to break. Softly blushing and sheepishly grinning, she started conjecturing again; without additional, hard evidence, conjecturing was all she could do at the moment!

So . . . which came first? Hatred of her cutie mark, or hatred of performing? Trixie had said that she’d foresworn “any and all performing”. That she’d done so shortly after her using the Alicorn Amulet. Damn! she mentally swore; proof positive of her own whipsawed emotions, for, even mentally, Twilight never cursed. I have got to research that blasted thing! I’m sure that’s at the root of all this! Jerking herself back from that tangent, That amulet might have been the final straw, but it seems that a long string of failures and disappointments set the stage for that. She mentally and physically cringed at the unintended, and unwanted, double entendre.

But that doesn’t make any sense! Especially after last night! She’s good! She’s really, really good! Nopony just gets that good just in time to put on a show. And that was just fireworks! Although I’m doing those an enormous injustice by calling that “just” fireworks. What in Equestria can she do, a-la-prestidigitation-and-illusionary-wise, when she focuses her mind on that? I mean, I’ve seen the power of her illusions! Moon and stars! How is it even possible to just always fail?

“Twilight? Hey Twilight?”

Rapidly blinking, the deeply-introspective alicorn shook her head, sharply enough that her ears flapped. “Huh? Wha——?”

Before Spike could answer, there came a light double-tap at the door. Scowling, Twilight got up, glaring at the door as she did. “Darnnit! I left explicit instructions!” Indeed, she had, informing the door sentry (and, yes, this one was on-duty) that she didn’t wish to be disturbed! Ears slanted back, clear indication of her ire, she partially opened the door and glared out. “This better be important!” she gritted out.

Then her jaw dropped, ears pivoted forwards, eyes rounded, as the guard explained the reasons —plural— behind her interruption.

“Trixie? Trixie?” Twilight gently touched her friend’s shoulder, barely rocking. “I really hate to bother you, but . . .,” she took a deep breath, “are you up to receiving company?”

Her unicorn friend just lay there, only the single twitch of an ear betraying that she’d heard.

“If . . . if you aren’t,” Twilight’s voice grew softer, “I can send them all home.”

Burying her head beneath a pillow, the despondent unicorn’s reply was quite muffled. “Why would anypony want to see Trixie?”

“Ah . . . ummm . . .” Twilight ahh-ed and ummm-ed. “Ah . . . I didn’t say ‘anypony’, Trixie. As in singular. “However, I need to decide what to do, since the waiting room is starting to get crowded.”

“Say what?” the flabbergasted alicorn had said to the importunate guardpony, positive she had misunderstood her.

Swiveling her ears halfway back, the pegasus Day Guard had repeated, “Starting about an hour ago, Your Highness, quite a few ponies have started arriving, and asking if Miss Trixie Lulamoon was up to seeing anypony yet.”

“How in the world did anypony know she was here?” Twilight had asked, mystified.

“Well, ahh . . . that is . . . you see . . .”

Taking a deep breath, she’d squared herself before bracing to attention. And, as she’d begun explaining, Twilight had been torn between facehoofing and not-so-mild (and not so semi-, either) hysterical giggles. It seemed that, starting a bit after dawn, some of the earlier risers —bakers and dairyponies, for example— had paid special visits to Trixie’s clearing, carrying small tokens of appreciation (and, churlish as it might be to speculate, quite likely of apology, as well). However . . .

It quickly became obvious to anypony that had “just dropped by” that, not only was Trixie currently not at home, but it appeared she hadn’t been home since yesterday afternoon. And the obvious place —and pony— to take their concerns was Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle . . . and Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Since the Night Guard had been given no specific instructions regarding how, or why, Miss Trixie Lulamoon was staying as a guest, and therefore had no specific instructions to pass along to the Day Guard . . . when concerned citizens began asking about the whereabouts of said Miss Trixie Lulamoon, they honestly answered that she had spent the night, and, at the moment, was still at the Castle.

Within half-an-hour, the first visitors had started showing up . . . a steady procession that was still continuing.

“Hold still,” Spike rumbled, gently but firmly whisking the brush along Trixie’s mane.

“Is this really necessary?” the bone-body-and-spirit weary unicorn sighed.

The brush paused for a moment. “Yeah. Actually it is,” the small dragon stated, as he began brushing again. “I know you’re exhausted, and glad-hoofing admirers is probably one of the very last things you want to do. But you’ve decided to do it anyway, both for them, and to help Twilight out. Well, by ink and quill (one of Twilight’s favorite sayings when she’d been a filly) if you’re going to do that, I’m going to make sure you shine.”

Something . . . chipped, deep inside her. A very tiny chip, but a chip nonetheless. Trixie was no stranger to being primped and preened . . . “being” the quintessential key word. It had always been done to her.

How many untold, uncountable hours had been spent grooming her to within inches of her life? Hooficures; facials; beauty treatments and massages; mane, tail and coat conditioners; mane and tail styling. Lashes had been plucked, the fine inner hairs of her ears had been, too. She’d had a wardrobe twice the size of Rarity’s Carousel Boutique, and an armoire holding jewelry whose value would have bought Ponyville itself. . . although it was more accurate to say they were supplies made available to her maids, stylists, and groomers, rather than personal possessions that belonged to Trixie.

Trixie had never been more than a living model, to be decorated and arranged for display . . . or assessment and appraisal.

But . . . for all that Spike was doing this to her . . . a little shiver rippled her coat at the minor epiphany. . . his actual focus, and intent, was doing it for her.

The rhythmic whisking sound of the brush was actually soothing, for once. Closing her eyes, the tensed cerulean unicorn started mentally bracing, preparing herself to face Twilight’s visitors.

They flew wide open when Spike rumbled, “If you start feeling overwhelmed, or drained, just ask me for a glass of water.” Wha—? Trixie blinked. Oh! she blinked again as the little dragon continued. “That’ll let us know you’re bushed and need to stop, and that way Twilight can call it a day without drawing attention to you.”

Then her brows pensively furrowed, wondering why the concern —touching as it was— seemed necessary. “Spike?” she ventured. “Just how many visitors are there?”

“Ummm . . .” the steady brushing faltered a moment, as Trixie’s composure did a moment later. “It sounds like half of Ponyville.”

“Ready?” Twilight softly murmured to her friend, as they stood side-by-side in the suite’s receiving room. Taking a very long, very slow, and very deep breath —one in a series, to be honest— Trixie slowly exhaled. With the ease of long practice, she first slipped into the twin states of ground and center, then, once those were firmly established . . .

Twice now, Twilight Sparkle had seen Trixie’s demeanor and countenance undergo the transformation she was, once again, witnessing. A sudden image flashed into her mind, that of an experienced thespian completely immersing herself into her character moments before the curtains were drawn . . .

Twilight concealed a disquieting shiver as another image popped up, one both standing separate from, as well as superimposed upon, the former . . .

. . . that of a battle-hardened warrior suiting up in well-worn armor.

Slowly, deeply, exhaling, a (seemingly) composed Trixie replied, “Ready.”

Twilight gave her an encouraging smile before nodding at the inner door servant, having dismissed the guards from the duties of watching over the inside and outside of the receiving room’s door. The beige-colored earth pony, immaculately garbed in the standard Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle servants’ uniform, opened the door then stepped outside, returning within moments and escorting two earth pony mares.

“Miss Roseluck and Miss Lily Valley to see Miss Trixie,” she formally announced. Twilight noticed a tic at the corner of Trixie’s eye, and firmly resolved to keep a close eye on things, assuring that her friend wasn’t overwhelmed.

The two mares entered close behind, looking a bit flustered at the formal announcement. Twilight theatrically sighed, then shared an obvious eye roll towards the two, which instantly broke the ice that had been forming.

Both mares, along with their partner, Daisy —all three flower ponies— ran the Ponyville Flower Shop; their own business, in fact. Roseluck, who was also known as Rose, was a petite, green eyed, light yellow earth pony, with a mane and tail of stunning red-violet and light red-violet, with her cutie mark that of a single, gorgeous red rose. Lily Valley, who also went by Lily, was a slightly sturdier, grayish-gold-eyed, earth pony, whose coat was a pretty, grayish raspberry, a mane and tail mostly light amber but with pale amber highlights, and a cutie mark of three lilies. As usual, tucked into her mane and just behind her ear was an actual lily.

“Daisy wanted to come, too,” Rose said, as Lily nodded in agreement. “But, one of us needed to watch the store, and, well, she drew the short straw. But,” she added, “she did help with this.”

“This”, as Trixie quickly discovered, was a rather large floral arrangement. A fist seemed to grip her heart, though, as she fully took that in.

There had to be a basket, or some sort of container, beneath all that, something that held everything secure, her faltering mind stuttered. Arrayed in a tall, conical shape were verbena and lavender, wild indigo and lilac, purple flowers all, while artfully peeking out were blooms of white cypress, violet spring starflower, and golden dwarf yellow mussaenda . . . all star-shaped flowers.

They had recreated her signature hat with living flowers.

That had been the first token of appreciation she’d received that day, but it was by no means the last. All things considered, it was probably a very good thing that she was at Twilight’s castle, because Trixie’s wagon could never had held all of their gifts!

Mr. and Mrs. Cake had brought a sprinkle-covered, sugar-frosted, chocolate-glazed, vanilla custard eclair bomb (“Pinkie Pie told us how much you love them!") as Twilight, Spike and Trixie all looked on in horrified, fascinated, dread, as if a cockatrice had just been brought in.

Derpy had brought a tray of muffins (“Made them myself!” she’d proudly announced), while Apple Brioche, who had been elected by the Apple family —in recognition of her having being the first to have stepped up to help Trixie— brought along several jugs of their finest cider . . . along with a small bottle of Granny Smith’s finest triple-distilled apple brandy.

Aloe Vera and Lotus Blossom, the spa ponies who owned Ponyville Day Spa, expressed their appreciation for such a delightful fireworks display, and for the clever way she’d honored the Element Bearers, and Princess Luna. “Vor you,” Lotus had said, her accent unusually thick. “A coupon,” Aloe explained, her light, ocean blue eyes twinkling as she extended a small, pasteboard rectangle, “vor you, uhnd a guest.”

Lyra Heartstrings and Sweetie Drops entered next. Lyra was a gold eyed, mint green, unicorn mare, whose cyan mane and tail carried a white streak, and whose cutie mark was a golden lyre. Sweetie Drops —often called Bon Bon, especially by her, erm . . . very close friend, Lyra (who was also fond of her pet name of ‘Bonnie’)— was a trim, fit, light yellow earth pony mare, with aqua eyes, and a blue-and-pink curled mane and tail, whose cutie mark were three, blue and yellow striped, wrapped candies. Bon Bon was the proprietor of her own small, yet well-frequented, candy shop . . . although candy boutique was actually more fitting. “Thank you for the amazing fireworks,” Bon Bon had said, then, softer yet no less sincere, “And thank you for the endorsement, as well. That meant a lot to me.” The discomfited unicorn started to wave that off, but she stopped before she’d even started, not about to appear dismissive. “Trixie appreciated your help,” she said instead. And, indeed she had, for Bon Bon had gone the extra furlong when Trixie had explained what she wanted. The candies and sweets that had ended the fireworks exhibition had been purchased from her store, and Bon Bon, instead of simply filling Trixie’s order, had inveigled the unicorn into explaining what she wanted the candies for. Because of that, Bon Bon had made several suggestions, including the types of sweets, and the best combination of them. And, again, because of that, the encore favors had been a huge success. Trixie had already discerned, based upon Bon Bon’s obvious expertise, coupled with her patient yet detailed explanations, that those balloon-delivered, wicker-basket-held, sweets would be a big hit . . . which is why Trixie had taken the time to glitter-stencil Bon Bon’s candy boutique’s name on the side of every basket.

Trixie needed to fight back tears when Berryshine stopped by “just for a minute”. ‘This is for you,’ she’d said, proffering a small, and empty, bottle to Trixie. Before the baffled unicorn could think of anything to say, she was stunned to her core when the plum-colored earth pony transfixed Trixie with tranquil, yet somehow also steely, eyes. 'Ten weeks now,' she'd stated, not a quiver in her voice; instead, a serene, secure pride. She never explained the empty bottle to Trixie; then again, she didn’t have to, for Trixie intuitively understood that that bottle had been the last one Berryshine had consumed, before this last —and Trixie somehow knew it would, indeed, be the last, and final— vow of sobriety.

Not everypony brought gifts, or tokens, although most did. All came to thank Trixie for such an amazing exhibition, while no few came to apologize, as well. That was rarely, if ever, vocalized. Now, it wasn’t as if Ponyville ponies were reluctant to actually say ‘I’m sorry’, because they quite often did. Nor was it out of shame, or embarrassment. But, given a choice between words, and actions, well . . .

Towards the end, Twilight noticed tightness about Trixie’s eyes. They had been at it for several hours now, so it wasn’t at all surprising that she was, most likely, reaching the end of already-stressed resources.

“Spike?” Trixie rasped, as the most recent visitors were ushered out, “May Trixie please have a glass of water?”

Instantly Twilight straightened, and, just as instantly, Spike hopped up. “Sure thing Trixie!” he piped up as he dashed back to the bathroom. Nodding to the door servant, who then discretely nodded back in response before exiting, Twilight then turned and faced her friend. “Can I do anything?” she asked, concern obvious in her tone.

Shaking her head, wobbling a bit, Trixie let out a gusted sigh of fatigue. “Trixie . . . Trixie is just tired.” Head drooping a bit, eyes closed, she missed seeing Twilight approach, so she jumped a bit when Twilight firmly hugged her.

“You hung on a lot longer than I expected,” Twilight admitted. “I was starting to get worried. I didn’t want to say anything, though; not make your decisions for you. You’re a grown, responsible mare, after all.”

Trixie’s eyes widened at that. Twilight wasn’t sounding at all unctuous or duplicitous. And, even if she hadn’t been completely confident of that conclusion, Twilight’s actions —both now, and those in the past— spoke volumes, and much louder than words. Granted, those experienced in the cold, calculating Great Game of the nobility were past Masters and Mistresses of duplicity and cunning. But Trixie certainly had experienced —and had quietly observed, with all the desperate survival drive of a guppy swimming amidst a lagoon-full of barracuda— interactions between M-mother, and those of her social peers . . . as well as her interactions with those of both higher, and lower, station and status.

Against every instinct, against every hard-won lesson bought by the coin of bitter experience, by sweat and blood, by fears and despair . . . Trixie allowed herself to just . . . lean into Twilight’s embrace.

Twilight’s breath caught; tears sprang to her eyes as she felt her friend just lean into her. No, she hadn’t dropped her defenses, true. But, even so, this little step, this sign of trust . . . Twilight simply didn’t have words to describe the brilliant joy that flared up in her heart.

Spike just stood in the doorway, glass of water in his paw. Yes, it was true that asking for a “glass of water” had been meant as a signal. However, proper hydration was important, and often overlooked. Goodness knows how often Twilight neglected drinking enough fluids to stay hydrated! And Trixie had been pushing herself these last few hours, as well as talking during them, too, so he’d fully intended to, well, nag if he had to, in order to assure Trixie started replenishing her fluids.

But, at the moment, he wasn’t even breathing, unwilling to do anything to disturb the tableau he was currently privy to see. Trixie’s guard was totally down, her heart on her sleeve; so poignant that he had to stifle sniffles that threatened to break free.

So, needless to say, both Twilight and Spike were ready to tear a long, painful stripe off whomever it was that chose that moment to tap on the door.

Please don’t kill me please don’t kill me pleasedon’tkillme.

Princess Twilight’s instructions had been completely, utterly, absolutely clear: once her Highness had signaled —as she unmistakably, unambiguously, had done— the impromptu, informal, audience was over; regrets offered, yes; appreciation for thoughtfulness rendered, certainly. But the audience was done. Concluded. Fini.

Bracing to attention, doing her best to appear cool and collected —crystalline droplets beading on her forehead and trickling down her cheeks screaming otherwise— Onyx Star, lieutenant of the Day Guard morning shift, fought down an absolutely ridiculous (it had to be ridiculous, she tried scolding herself) desire to shiver, as she watched the door slowly (whyohwhy did it have to move that slowly??) open.

As the door gradually swung all the way open, it revealed the quite-clearly livid, alicorn Princess behind it.

A coldly-furious alicorn Princess, whose normally warm and lively purple eyes were currently trying to incinerate the recalcitrant guardpony on the spot. “Did I somehow fail to make my instructions clear . . . private?”

Ouch!

“No, Your Highness. Your instructions were completely clear.”

The Princess of Friendship wasn’t looking at all ‘friendly’ at the moment. Alas, she was, however, looking quite ‘Princess-ey’.

“Then somepony had better have died, or a cataclysm is descending upon us. Is that the case?”

“Ah . . . no, Your Highness. However . . . I believe that you would regret not receiving the two groups that I’d asked to remain behind.”

At the moment, it was a bit difficult to hold a quiet, private conversation. Then again, Twilight wasn’t worried about anything she had to say being private.

“I’ve never liked any apology that contains a “but”,” she explained, just loud enough to be heard over the din. And ‘din’ was a quite apropos description. Standing along the far wall were Spike and Miss Cheerilee, indulgently watching as every schoolpony in her class —with the exception of Diamond Tiara, who was still traveling with her family— swarmed around the somewhat stunned Trixie. For arts and crafts that day they had decided to make a huge poster in honor of Trixie, in thanks for both the fireworks show itself, as well as for her allowing them to play a part in it with their “wands”.

It was a rather large poster, indeed, and, based upon some of the washed-up-yet-still-visible smears and splotches of paints and paste on the foals, fillies and colts, this had been quite a ‘hoofs-on’ project. It had also been a bit of a struggle bringing it all the way from the Ponyville Schoolhouse to Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, but they had somehow managed it.

As soon as the door had been opened to admit them inside, and as soon as they’d all spotted Trixie . . .

The astonished unicorn had literally been swarmed by eager, excited, chattering-like-magpies youngsters, letting out a startled “Eeep!” as she disappeared under the flooding tide. Their teacher, Miss Cheerilee —a rather pretty, green-eyed, magenta-colored earth pony with pink and light pink mane and tail, whose cutie mark was three flowers— had a rather infectious smile, and bright, vibrant personality. Once she had —reasonably— calmed her students down, she’d stepped over to chat with Spike, all the while keeping an eye on the more rambunctious of her pupils.

“So I won’t start now,” Twilight continued, meeting Onyx Star eye-to-eye. “I was wrong to take your head off like that, and I apologize.”

“I really am sorry, your Highness, but——”

She slithered to a stop as Twilight held up a hoof. “I expect an officer of your caliber to show, and use, discretion, as well as initiative,” she firmly stated. “And you did. There is absolutely no need to apologize.”

Onyx Star was quite grateful —relieved, as well— at her Highness’ words and tone. For a moment there, when Princess Twilight had first opened the door and glared at her, the crystal pony guard officer had a sinking feeling that her career had just taken an irrevocable nose-dive. Well, she’d thought, I’ve always wondered what being a merchant marine might be like.

But when she’d quickly —and that had been very quickly, oh yes indeedy!— explained just whom the two parties were . . .

The school students had been the one group, while the two ponies of the second group were quietly setting up in one corner of the room.

Lyra Heartstrings had been by earlier, with her special somepony Bon Bon. This time, however, she was accompanied by a very elegant and exotic, light gray colored, earth pony by the name of Octavia Melody. Purple-eyed, with dark gray mane and tail, her cutie mark was a violet treble clef, and, as she usually did, she was wearing a pink bow-tie with a white collar.

Although Octavia —and deservedly so— was an Equestria-wide renown cellist, Lyra was not, by absolutely any definition, an amateur; in fact, she was an exceptional musician, in some aspects actually superior to that of Octavia. Octavia, however, owed her success, and skill, to pure grit and determination: she was actually the first —and, so far, only— earth pony to play any of the four main orchestral string instruments. Lyra, on the other hoof, was a very competent musician even before her talent of Enchantment blossomed. Two years at Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns simply honed an already enviable skill to rarified heights.

Lyra had her lyre with her, while Octavia —no surprise— had brought her cello. At the moment they were tuning their respective instruments, and even that sounded sublime.

“Children. Children!” Miss Cheerilee called out, her green eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched Trixie trying to follow over twenty individual conversations and gymnastics. “Settle down please. We’re civilized ponies after all, not barbarians,” she teasingly chided. Amidst giggles and grins, they did settle down; rather quickly, too, all their youthful exuberance notwithstanding.

Trixie stared at Twilight, purple eyes wide and pleading for rescue, but when Twilight lifted an interrogatory brow . . . Twilight giggled at her expression, resembling a pony that had eaten most of an apple only to discover half a worm . . . yet still be required to eat the remainder, that expression assuring her that Trixie wasn’t really as desperate as she was pretending to be.

“Thank you again, Lieutenant Star,” Twilight repeated. “I think somepony might need a rescue, however,” she finished with a grin, dismissing the guardpony before pacing over to her friend. “I’m not sure,” she said in a puzzled tone, “but I thought I’d seen a unicorn somewhere in there.”

Giggles burst out, some of the youngest covering muzzles with their hooves as they laughed.

They laughed and giggled even harder when Trixie weakly cried out, waving one hoof as if drowning, “Help?”

The children, escorted by Miss Cheerilee, had left some time ago, but not before Trixie had used a wisp of illusion to create a frame for her poster gift, mounting it —after first silently checking with Twilight for permission— on one wall, a gesture that had the students excitedly squeeing all over again.

The receiving room was tranquil at the moment . . . quiet, save for the soft, melodious sounds of lyre and cello. Twilight couldn’t have told you what they were playing. And, honestly, it didn’t matter. All she knew was that it was soothing without drowsiness; comforting without lulling; refreshing without animating.

Her eyes were lightly closed, her mind simply floating along with the music that seemed to cradle and comfort, envelope and revitalize. She’d started off sitting next to Trixie on the comfortable sectional sofa, but as the music softly played on and on . . .

Trixie’s eyes were just as lightly closed, as she lay on the sofa, legs tucked up under her . . . her cheek resting on Twilight’s barrel as the alicorn’s wing draped over her, the two of them curled up with each other.

“Dammit!” came the snarl, as a hoof slammed down atop the table; coming dangerously close to tipping onto the floor the delicate detection crystal that was the focus of that ire. There had been an almost instantaneous flash of detection, nowhere long enough for the triangulators or seekers to activate, let alone lock onto!

After a drought of almost a year, the agents had become increasingly frustrated. Had it been up to them, they would have called off the hunt months ago. But it wasn’t up to them, and their “employer” had made it very clear to them: the hunt would continue until the target was reacquired. And once successfully reacquired, Plan A was to be reinitiated. And Plan A would continue until the target finally yielded; surrendered to the inevitable and returned. Or, if the target somehow eluded defeat, somehow achieved a modicum of success, no matter how small . . .

Then the agents could return the body, instead.