“Spike?” came the hesitant question. “May Trixie please have another?”; another being the waffles that the little dragon had cooked and been serving as part of this morning’s breakfast.

Wearing a small, tidy white apron embroidered with “Kiss the Cook”, along with a toque jauntily perched atop his head, Spike beamed. “Sure thing Trixie! One, or two?”

“Just one, please? Trixie probably should stop now,” she blushed, ducking her head a bit before shyly smiling, “but these are really good!”

Considering that Spike had been the one to make the entire breakfast —freshly-squeezed orange juice; half a grapefruit (with the appropriate spoon no less) apiece; carafes of icy cold spring water; mugs of steamy, fresh-brewed coffee, along with sugar cubes and honey jar, and a ceramic creamer full of fresh, cold, cream; a bowl apiece of fresh fruit: sliced bananas, whole blueberries, raspberries and blackberries; a small bowl of freshly-made granola, for adding to the fruit; the pièce de résistance: home-made waffles— his chest swelled with fully-justifiable pride at Trixie’s quiet, yet utterly sincere, compliment.

Spike slid a single waffle —stone-ground buckwheat flour, mixed with fresh timothy and alfalfa, along with crushed walnuts and pecans— onto Trixie’s syrup-less plate; another reason Spike was fit to burst. For it was obvious how much Twilight’s friend had enjoyed the waffles as they were, passing up smothering them in a taste-concealing shroud of sweet, sticky, warmed syrup, in favor of simply buttering them so as to not distract from the delicious flavors of the waffle on its own. “Let’s start with just one for now, OK?”

Trixie grinned —Sun and Moon, had actually grinned!— and nodded, not at all feeling as if being controlled or dictated to. Daintily buttering the waffle, watching as the golden yellow butter melted into little square pools, for the first time in a very, very long time, Trixie felt . . . tranquil; carefree and content.

Mostly.

At the very edge of her being, she sensed the ever-present darkness fluttering, seeking and probing; rather like flickering shadows at the periphery of one’s vision. She knew what she was choosing to do was dangerous —potentially fatally so; that by letting even just the tiniest part of her guard down, she might as well just collapse the entire wall.

But, by Sun and Moon, for once in her life she was choosing to do something, all by herself, all on her own. She wasn’t being wheedled or coaxed, pressured or forced, or even deceived and betrayed.

Trixie still could not figure out what Princess Twilight Sparkle —the Princess of Friendship, the Savoir of Equestria, Princess Celestia's personal student and protégé— saw in her. Nor could she figure out why she wanted to be friends.

Well, she objectively knew those answers; Twilight had, by now, several times explained to Trixie why she considered the unicorn as her friend. But, while those made objective sense . . .

. . . Trixie simply couldn’t understand why anypony would want her as a friend.

However, instead of worrying that like a sore tooth, or sinking deeper into a quagmire of self-loathing and hatred, Trixie just let the currents of the presently-obtained situation carry her along instead of fighting that as a rip tide.

She had consciously made that choice two days ago, when she’d drowsily roused from an incredibly-relaxing nap, feeling completely reposed and refreshed. Dimly she’d sensed that the music —that unbelievably amazing, supernal music— had ceased. Ceased or not, those ethereal notes, chords and harmonies had not just relaxed her, but had somehow also cleansed her, too. Healed? No. Alas, not even Lyra and Octavia’s combined powers and talents had the strength and ability to heal the wounds that Trixie carried. But as regards the myriad tiny hurts and injuries? Those spiritual and emotional, as well as physical and mental?

Trixie felt as if all of those had been dust; dust washed away by a cleansing Spring shower.

She had had no desire to stir, or even fully rouse; instead, simply drowsily yawning, giving a little wriggle to get more comfy . . . simply listening to the slow, steady heartbeat beneath her ear . . . enjoying the warmth of the sheltering wing . . .

Whatever consternation the latter two had tried kindling had been smothered at birth, unable to flare past the lyre-and-cello invoked repose still swaddling her. Snuggling like that with Twilight had just . . . felt . . .

. . . Nice.

Somehow Trixie had wound up staying for dinner, and then, after that, staying the night; even Lyra and Octavia’s melodies (no pun intended) could only work so much of a miracle, and Trixie was still quite drained from the critical breakdown just the previous night. Even so, the exhausted unicorn would have likely courteously demurred, except for one thing:

Neither Twilight, nor Spike, had been insistent, let alone demanding. Worried and concerned, that much had been clearly obvious, both in tone and expressions. Solicitous as well, without being wheedling or coaxing, and certainly not coercing. And it wasn’t that they believed they knew what was best for Trixie, either. It had been, she’d been astonished to realize, simply two friends worried about Trixie. Nothing less, and nothing more.

And so Trixie had accepted their hospitality, and, in doing so, had felt an unfamiliar warmth deep inside. This wasn’t accepting charity; this wasn’t pity extended to a pathetic failure.

It was just . . . friendship.

She’d slept until almost lunchtime, and, most likely, could have slept even more, except that Spike, cautiously tentative, had gently roused her. As much as she needed sleep —and she did, no doubt about that— she also needed nourishment, he’d diffidently explained. Except, she’d shockingly realized, that hadn’t been diffidence after all . . . it had been quiet respect.

Respect . . . for Trixie.

Spike hadn’t wanted to appear bossy or demanding; he hadn’t wanted to appear as if treating Trixie as somepony incapable of taking care of herself.

Somehow she’d let herself be “talked into” staying that day, and then that night as well. That was easier to do than might have been imagined, yet, on the other hoof, not as easy as it appeared. For Trixie was still feeling as if her insides had been scraped raw; that bleakness inside still flickered and danced at the edges. Nor had Trixie missed the surreptitious appraising glances Twilight kept shooting her. She couldn’t really remember what had happened between the time she’d ended the performance and magician-exited into the castle, and waking up the next morning. Just another of those inexplicable memory losses she’d always dealt with. However, she’d had a sinking feeling that Twilight remembered what had happened; what had been said, or done, or witnessed. And the researcher extraordinaire was not known for patience, let alone restraint, when it came to satisfying her curiosity!

But, again, neither Twilight nor Spike had pressured Trixie into talking about that night. They’d dropped a hint or three about “shoulders to lean on” and “ears to listen”, but that was all.

Gazing into the steam wreathing the mug held between her hooves, Trixie stifled a sigh. Since that night, her cutie mark seemed to vibrantly throb. Even now, she could feel it beating, pulsing with a demand to perform. Ears slanted back as she felt that pounding surge through her. She’d tried —she’d really, really tried!— to suppress that, with a desperation bordering on fatalistic fanaticism.

That amulet had doomed her, she’d understood once she’d removed it. Had Twilight not managed tricking her into removing it, had she kept wearing it . . . well . . . it wouldn’t have been long —perhaps no more than a year or two, if that— the body might have resembled Trixie, but everything that made Trixie Trixie would have been utterly corrupted and consumed. And the only reason that hadn’t happened had been due to Princess Twilight Sparkle.

And the only reason she’d been in that dire strait to begin with, had been her unreasonable, irrational, senseless, jealousy of Twilight.

Jealousy over which one was not only the more powerful mage . . . but also the superior performer.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it she had. From the moment she’d been branded with that hateful, and hated, cutie mark, her life had been nothing but a long, dreary, wearying line of failure after failure.

It had been finally time, she’d admitted and accepted, feeling her heart and soul mockingly torn into shreds, to give up the pipe dream of performing.

And so she had; because of that realization and acceptance, and because she owed Twilight —not her life, but her soul— and Trixie had vowed to repay that in the only coin she had left: her sworn word.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Trixie then held it as she slowly counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten; slow, steady, exhale. She inhaled again, through her nose . . . held it . . . exhaled through her mouth.

That was all it took to ground and center . . . a process that, unbeknownst to her, even extremely experienced mages usually took just under a minute to successfully accomplish.

Another slow, deep inhale . . . imagining, as she did, a tiny piece of that seething bleakness inside her being condensed into a little ball as she held her breath, then . . .exhaling, picturing that dense sphere being locked away inside.

It . . . wasn’t the most ideal approach —the technique was impeccable, however— ideal would have been expelling it, not internalizing it. But, as long as she still had that hateful cutie mark, how could Trixie ever manage to banish that destructive misery?

Eyes still closed, Trixie took a restorative sip, softly sighing in contentment. However, because her eyes had been closed, she completely missed seeing Twilight and Spike’s expressions quickly turning concerned as Trixie had first grown silent, then worried at her obvious controlled breathing, and then finally relieved as she softly smiled at last.

Propping her chin on a forehoof, Trixie slowly relaxed, muscle by muscle, starting at her neck and working downwards. She wished she could remember Lyra and Octavia’s music. She tried, but the notes seemed elusive, dancing just at the edge of memory.

Several sips of coffee later, feeling replete and sated, Trixie shrug-stretched her shoulders, rolling them twice before sitting upright and opening her eyes. “Twilight?”

“Yes Trixie?”

“May Trixie use your Library today?”

“Of course you may!” Twilight exclaimed, sounding excited, and then struggled to hide disappointment when her unicorn friend politely declined her help.

“Thank you Twilight, but no. Perhaps later? Should Trixie find herself in need of assistance?”

Seeing her disillusionment, Trixie almost relented. However, in no way, shape, or form did Trixie want anypony knowing just what she would be researching.

Because knowing the what, would unquestionably lead to the why.

Even as deeply into the massive reference tomes as Trixie was, her attention was drawn from that intense, studious examination by the audible tocs of hooves. Craning her head over a shoulder, Trixie saw Twilight obviously headed her direction. Just as obvious —and even more deeply appreciated— was the fact that Twilight was making no effort to move quietly. Granted, she wasn’t exaggerating the audible impact of her hooves, but neither was she masking that sound; instead, giving her unicorn friend time to conceal —assuming that was something she wished to do, that is— the object of her studies.

Considering she was researching cutie marks, that was, indeed, something Trixie wished to conceal. So, by the time Twilight had stopped behind her, Trixie had, yes, tucked her notes away, closed the books she’d been reading, and then mixed them with several other —and unrelated— volumes.

Braced for interrogation, no matter how innocuous, Trixie was quite startled when Twilight, instead, just started lightly massaging the back of Trixie’s neck. “Enjoying yourself?” she simply asked.

“Trixie misses research and study,” she noncommittedly replied, the answer both deflective and truthful. It hadn’t been until she had dropped out of Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, and had taken to the road, that Trixie had —far too late, and far too irrevocable— discovered just how much she’d enjoyed academia.

Closing her eyes, then leaning forwards and resting her chin atop crossed forelegs, Trixie let herself relax, and just enjoy, the soothing, and tension-relieving, massage.

“Yeah,” Twilight softly exhaled, sounding wistful. “So do I.” Gazing around, purple eyes brimming with nostalgic longing, “So do I,” she repeated. “Sometimes I feel like I’m desperately hungry, and in a pasture brimming with infinite delicacies . . . and can only ever get a bite or two now and then. Ah . . . speaking of which . . .”

Twilight’s hooves faltered a bit before continuing, this time with a barely-perceived hesitancy. As the seconds passed in silence Trixie started feeling that familiar churning in her belly, tensing as she expected, once again, for that other shoe to drop. Desperately hungry . . . brimming with infinite delicacies . . . and can only ever get a bite or two now and then . . .

Was Twilight unhappy at Trixie having been greedy at breakfast, when she asked for an extra waffle? Had Trixie failed again??

Stifling tears that threatened to spill from brimming eyes, Trixie forced herself to look over her shoulder back at Twilight . . . a quite red-faced, shy and coy Twilight.

Trixie’s own cheeks heated up when Twilight gamely quavered, “I . . . was wondering if . . . perhaps, ah . . . that is . . . wecouldplaysomemoretoday?” she finished in a rushing blurt.

“So . . .,” Twilight gusted, once they’d entered the concealed room within the also-concealed Laboratory, her voice sounding an intriguing mix of shyness and anticipation. “I’ve . . . ah . . . had some time to think about, well . . . things,” she nervously started, scuffing the tip of a forehoof in small circles. “And, well . . .” she peeked at Trixie through lowered lashes, “there are things I want to try with you. If . . . if that’s OK?” she anxiously added.

Her heart was thudding in a rather interesting fashion, Trixie realized. Nor did she remember this room being quite this warm. “W-what sort of . . . things?” she asked. Her pulse started pounding even more when Twilight looked more fully at her.

“I want part of it to be a surprise,” she admitted, her voice sounding a bit . . . raspier? At that Twilight paced over to the center of the room . . . stopping at a very familiar-looking sawpony there. At that Trixie’s tummy started gently flip-flopping, even as her mouth started drying. She . . . she doesn’t mean what Trixie thinks she means . . . does she?

A light lavender glow danced along the alicorn’s horn, and, moments later, a form-fitting sleep mask hovered in front of Trixie’s muzzle. She just stared at it in a semi-transfixed fashion as it floated, wide purple eyes darting back and forth between that and Twilight . . . who had an expression that sent a shudder rippling through her. This . . . this was The Point Of No Return, she understood; agreeing to that meant agreeing, period.

And she still didn’t know what Twilight had in mind! Although . . .

Another tremor lightly shivered through Trixie, fully aware of when —and how, and why— she used her sawpony.

Which is why she was totally shocked when she found her body, as if under a mind of its own, close its eyes and —albeit with a touch of apprehension— nod in acquiescence.

Moments later and she felt the sleep mask settle in place, the small straps then snugged down. Then, without saying a word —and without being able to see at all— Trixie felt Twilight gently nudge her. Nudge by step, one at a time, Twilight wordlessly guided Trixie . . . who softly gasped as she felt herself being guided over the sawpony. For a moment her legs actually trembled; she unsuccessfully licked dry lips as her mouth was feeling parched. As she felt her barrel slide over and atop the leather-covered, padded rail of the sawpony . . . and then her legs extended outwards into a moderate “V” . . .

She couldn’t help the gasp that tremulously escaped as, one after another, each strap was secured about her legs; three per leg, one each at pastern and forelimb, with the third just above the knee. Swallowing a bit hard, for somehow this confinement felt so much more restrictive than all the times she’d done it to herself.

Something touched her lips. Twilight murmured —such an odd, husky murmur it was, too!— “Open,” and, without thinking about it . . . Trixie had opened wide. Before she knew what was happening . . .

She couldn’t help it; she tensed, feeling the unfamiliar sphere as it was slipped between and past her teeth, and entered her mouth . . . well, filled her mouth, to be precise! A little whimper escaped; immediately all motion ceased. “Stop?” she was asked.

Little whuffles gusted past lightly flaring nostrils. Yes! she wanted to cry out. For all that she’d often daydreamed about being gagged, and wondered what that would be like, she wasn’t in control of that. She couldn’t choose how far, how long, how restrictive.

Seconds passed. The gag neither went deeper, nor was it withdrawn any. Slowly at first, then with a bit more confidence (if that didn’t sound incongruous), Trixie worked her jaws around the mostly-inserted ball. She remembered how squishy that had felt (assuming, of course, that this was the same gag) when she’d cleaned it, and how that now felt when inside of her mouth!

Twilight softly inhaled when Trixie shook her head in the response to her question, indicating not to stop. That sound had sent a shiver rippling Trixie's skin. When Twilight had finished completely placing the gag over the helpless unicorn's muzzle —and thus, the internal ball fully inside her mouth— Twilight had literally purred . . . and if Trixie hadn’t been supported by the sawpony . . . she would have collapsed as her wobbly legs gave out.

Trixie’s jury was still out on the gag —not that she had any choice in that matter!; she almost giggled at that thought— when she froze, feeling the enchanted steel dispersion ring slide down her horn.

Somehow, that snapped everything into a deeper, more intense, perspective. Especially when Twilight just slowly, silently paced around and around Trixie, the only way that the captive unicorn could follow her was by the soft tocs of her hoofsteps.

“I want you to listen to what I say,” Twilight murmured in Trixie’s ear, startling her by that unexpectedness, as well as the heat of her breath. “I want you to picture the images that I word paint for you. Understand?”

Well, that was, well, unexpected, Trixie thought. Still, it seemed simple enough, so she nodded . . . then shivered as Twilight lightly nibbled behind her ear.

Several seconds passed in silence, then an odd voice, not Twilight’s, sounding more like an off-stage narrator, began speaking.

It had been a long, exhausting day, and the tired unicorn was looking forward to a nice, relaxing evening at home. Her lips softly curved as she considered exactly how she was going to relax. Oh, if only her friends, or neighbors, knew of her naughty little secret! she smiled, enjoying that thought, as well as the heat that ignited. A heat that flared even higher as she delicately shivered, imagining if ever she was caught! Ooooo!

So eager, so excited, so impatient was she to “relax”, that she didn’t notice her front door had not fully latched. And, once she was fully restrained, gagged and blindfolded, she was more than a bit “distracted” . . .

Behind her blindfold, Trixie’s eyes widened, as she, exactly as instructed, pictured that scenario.

Of course, the “narrator” continued, she couldn’t use an enchanted steel dispersion ring, for, after all, how could she then ever get free? Ah, but a lead one, now . . .

Trixie swallowed . . . or tried to, at any rate, at that. She had, at one time, toyed with the idea of using a lead dispersion ring, for, unlike the enchanted steel version (which both disrupted a unicorn’s magic, and was impossible to remove by the wearer), a lead one simply disrupted a unicorn’s magic (which meant the wearer could remove it). Still, she had felt that to be a bit too risky, so had never used one. However, for the purpose of this daydream . . .

She wasn’t exactly sure of the purpose of Twilight’s presentation, but it was interesting to follow along . . . which abruptly became much more focused and intense when . . .

*knock* *knock* Trixie twitched at the sound of a wooden door being knocked. “Hello?” came a hesitant voice: Twilight’s voice! “Trixie? Are you home? Your front door was open, and, well . . .”

hoofsteps coming closer . . . and closer . . . and closer . . .

Suddenly Twilight’s simple “images that I word paint” became instantly sharp and clear. Trixie had no trouble, no trouble at all! picturing that scene. She started tensing, tugging at the straps that held her helplessly secure. She even tossed her head, trying to dislodge the “lead” dispersion ring, for the moment completely forgetting she was wearing the enchanted steel variety.

“Trixie? Are you—— Oh! Oh my!”

Trixie whined, her face flaming, ears slanted back, feeling herself shrinking.

“Stuck, huh? And I guess you want to be freed?”

Whining again, she vigorously nodded, and then sharply gasped as she felt a strip of fabric wound about her horn . . . covering, and securing, the lead ring there.

“I need to put my groceries away,” came a breathy whisper against her ear. “But when I come back —maybe in an hour or two— if you’re still here,” a throaty chuckle that sent fire coursing through her, “I’ll let you show me how badly you want me to let you go. So if I were you,” another throaty chuckle, “you might want to start planning how to do that!”

At that a hooftip was delicately trailed down her back, from nape to dock; a playful little spank to her flank . . . then hoofsteps walking away . . . then silence.

Trixie could hear her panted breath echoing in the room. How? What? How!? How did Twilight —the studious, bookish, science-focused scholar . . .

About a minute went by, long enough for Trixie to (hypothetically) regain her composure, but nowhere near enough to make her anxious, when . . .

You’re feeling very groggy and disoriented. The last thing you clearly remember is signing some sort of affidavit, agreeing to participate in a science experiment in exchange for an honorarium. As consciousness slowly comes to you, you gradually realize that you’re very firmly restrained, gagged and blindfolded. A few more minutes, and you start fidgeting, fully wide awake now. And then comes the sound of limelights being ignited.

“Esteemed colleagues one and all. Welcome to today’s symposium: ‘Equestrian unicorn mares, and their reactions to erotic stimulus’.”

Trixie couldn’t help it; a little giggle snorted from her. She felt better about that when she heard a matching, albeit slightly sheepish, giggle, from Twilight. Her ears did perk up a bit when, a few seconds later, she caught what sounded very much like Twilight taking a deep breath, licking her lips and swallowing. Hearing that, in turn, made Trixie swallow . . . or try to, at any rate.

About a minute passed, and Trixie was wavering between curiosity and apprehensive concern. Lifting her head up, she began to sightlessly “look” about, stretching her senses to figure out what was what. She gradually became aware of a low background murmur, barely audible, and sounding like many low voices. That continued for about a minute, before, cutting through that susurration, came the sound of a lead crystal glass being struck. That delicate chime brought those voices to a gradual halt.

“Fillies and Gentlecolts,” came a strong yet cultured, feminine voice, “Thank you, one and all, for your patience. As promised, the pièce de résistance of this evening’s festivities, and the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

Trixie stilled, hearing the sound of approaching hoofsteps, then sensed warmth, as if multiple lights were shining on her.

“We have, for your perusal, a most spectacular, and unique, offering.” Trixie flinched as the tip of the unseen pointer touched her flank. “A stunningly beautiful unicorn, the like of such as seldom, if ever, seen. Look at this gorgeous blue coat. Yes, it is as soft as it looks! And the stunning coloration of mane and tail: a cascade of light blue with a streak of lighter blue. Like pure silk; a pleasure to run your hooves through . . . although I’m sure other uses for her will come to mind!”

Low, soft chuckles at that. Trixie swallowed, and hard, her tummy tingling as little jolts of what felt as if electricity flashed along her nerves, especially wherever that pointer tip was tracing. There hadn’t been any “intro” this time, unlike the last two. Not that she needed any such thing, because she’d instantly realized just what “word picture” Twilight was striving for. She softly whined, shaking her head in denial; leather straps creaked as she strained against their unyielding embrace. This was a mistake! An awful, horrible mistake!

But it wasn’t this Trixie thinking, or feeling, that; it was that Trixie.

“She has the most dazzling purple eyes,” that smooth, cultured and utterly detached voice announced. “Alas, you’ll just have to take my word for that!” More low chuckles. “And, as you can see, our pretty little pet is finally figuring out her fate. Mmmm . . . isn’t that lovely?” More chuckles.

Trixie’s breath started coming in snorty little whuffles. Leather creaked as she fidgeted, unable to remain still. At least, not until . . .

“100 bits.”

“200”

“350”

“400”

Every few seconds came another bid, each one sounding as if a bell tolling her inescapable fate.

“1,200”

“1,400”

“1,700”

Some were masculine, some feminine, a few almost impossible to tell. Some sounded bored, some a bit fiery, a few thick with ennui.

“2,200”

“3,000”

Silence.

“Three thousand going once . . .” even with that ball inside, Trixie felt her mouth drying.

“Three thousand going twice . . .” Trixie whined, sounding a lot like a pathetically begging puppy. Leather again creaked as she surged again the straps.

“Twenty thousand.”

Despite themselves, despite the thin veneer of their urbanity, there came a series of swift, shocked inhales followed by low murmurs.

“Did . . . did I hear you say——”

“Yes, you did. Twenty thousand bits,” replied a firm, determined, and very irritated voice . . . and a familiar one at that, although Trixie could be excused for not realizing that at the moment. “Now, get on with it.”

“Twenty thousand once . . . twenty thousand twice . . . sold!” And just like that, with the crisp, sharp strike of a gavel . . . Trixie was sold.

All the background sounds slowly faded, although she’d had a hard time hearing that over the sound of her thudding heart. Hooo! That had been intense!

More than just “intense” . . . she furiously blushed, feeling a slickness below her dock, just beneath her tail. Thank goodness, Twilight hadn’t noticed! Speaking of which . . .

“PHmmnmnghph?” Trixie almost giggled at hearing how ridiculous —and how muffled!— she sounded.

Then yelped, as her flank was sharply swatted.

“Keep quiet,” came the firm command . . . and unmistakably Twilight’s voice!

A voice, Trixie found herself shivering, that sounded . . . odd. Husky, not raspy. Low and deep, throaty.

Vibrant.

The low tocs of hoofsteps slowly circled, around and around, much as they had earlier. This time, however . . .

Warm —nay, hot!— breath tickled her ear, making it twitch. “Aren’t you just the pretty little pet?” Twilight murmured. “Awwww,” she cooed. “Does my little pet not like being tied up? Is that it? Does she want to be freed?”

The captive unicorn was utterly stunned; that sounded like Twilight, but, then again . . . her voice, her tone, the words . . . the heat of her breath against her sensitive inner ear . . . Trixie strained against the bonds, whining.

And when Twilight kept nuzzling behind her ear, and then started nibbling the base of her neck . . .

Twilight had nibbled there once before, the night of The Discovery, but that had been a soothing, comforting gesture.

This time, it was anything but.

About a minute later, and Trixie sensed Twilight moving to in front of her. Seconds later, and, with a gentle tug, the sleep mask blindfold was removed. Blinking a few times, more in reflex than a need to adjust to light, since the room was dimly illuminated, Trixie then turned her eyes to Twilight, and . . .

Oh.

Trixie tried to swallow, as her heart thudded hard, as her tummy really started quivering deep inside. Twilight was just standing there, motionless as a statue, gazing at Trixie with eyes no longer gentle pools of purple, but incredibly fiery and smoky, instead.

Hungry eyes.