It was very quiet, both mares' gazes flitting everywhere except at each other. An awkward sort of quiet, actually, and as it continued unbroken both grew increasingly fidgety and diffident.

Twilight took a sip of that marvelous tea, that slurp sounding shockingly loud; Trixie took a dainty nibble of a sugar biscuit, the crunch echoing like a calving glacier. Their ears kept flicking back and forth, unable to settle on any one position.

“Ah—” “Umm—”

Shy little grins spread across their faces as they simultaneously opened their mouths to speak. Twilight magnanimously gestured for Trixie to proceed, a wider smile indicating that that sacrifice was as much to keep from going first as well as for manners.

Her ears flicking back and forth, Trixie took a moment before speaking. “Promise . . . promise you won't laugh?”

Immediately Twilight became totally serious. “I can't promise that, Trixie. Not without having any idea what it is you might say. But,” she held up a hoof, her eyes soberly gleaming, “I will promise you that, if I do laugh, it won't be at you, but with you. Cross my heart, And hope to fly,” she gravely vowed, suiting words to actions as she drew a hoof in front of her chest, making a cross before fluttering her wings, “Stick a cupcake in my eye,” she finished, pantomiming just that very action.

Trixie blinked, darting her eyes to the side. She swore she'd just seen a flash of pink.

“Ah,” she finally started. “Trixie would like to point out that Twilight no longer has to hope to fly,” she weakly smiled, wanting her to know that was meant —mostly— as a joke. “Very well then. What Trixie was about to say,” she levitated up her teacup, as did Twilight, and took a sip. “Was that she was wondering if this was what “first date jitters” were supposed to feel like.”

Well . . . Twilight didn't laugh.

Trixie's eyes flew open as Twilight did a literal spit-take, caught right in the midst of sipping her tea. Frothy bubbles burbled up her muzzle and into her nose; she rocked back, snorting and sneezing . . .

And then she laughed, a bright, merry sound even as she levitated up the serviette and began blotting muzzle and chest.

Trixie never even had a chance to cringe at that laughter, for it was so sudden, so silly and joyous that she found herself, instead, smothering a grin behind her hooves.

“Hooo!” Twilight finally gusted, giggles still erupting now and then. Glancing down she blushed before hastily blotting the spotted tablecloth. “I made a mess,” she apologetically said. “I'm sorry.”

Trixie just waved that off, dismissing it with an idle hoof gesture. Her head tipped to one side as she said, “At the risk of setting you off again,” which had, of course, resulted in inducing another spate of giggles, “Trixie would like to know why that was so funny.”

Twilight's eyes were dancing as she finally looked at Trixie again. “Because what I was going to say was the very same thing!”

They took a couple of minutes to repair the unintentional “damage”, then topped off teacups before Trixie fetched a fresh, albeit unfolded, napkin for her guest.

Although knowing they were both feeling “jittery” while in one way was a relief, that understanding didn't exactly dispel those feelings. Especially for Twilight, who was still in the grip of the same impulsive urgency —if not obsession— driving her. Taking a testing sip of the newly-refilled cup she braced herself before gazing at Trixie once more.

She looked completely calm and at ease. Inside, however, she was feeling jerky, tense and trembly.

She felt like that quite often, actually, although not even her closest friends were truly aware of the dichotomy between what she outwardly presented to the world and how she inwardly felt. In fact, out of everypony, truly only Spike knew of that awful duality.

Well, Spike . . . and now Princess Luna, for ever since her return and redemption there was no way The Princess of The Night could remain unaware of the frequent night terrors Twilight experienced.

“I meant what I'd said,” she began. “I wouldn't mind at all. You wanting to see that, I mean.” She paused a moment before continuing, literally forcing words out that she badly wanted to just freely flow from her. “Or wanting to see me . . . like I saw you. Or, well . . .,” she trailed off, not out of reticence or insecurity, but simply because —typical of her— she hadn't really thought out ahead of time what to say.

I. Will. Not. Mess. This. Up!

Words started tumbling from Twilight and, this time, she simply allowed them to surge free without mentally censoring them . . . or cataloging, listing, optimizing, or anything else.

“I did have an ulterior motive for bringing you The History of The Illusionati,” Twilight confessed. “And that was it gave me an excuse to come visit you. Which is something I very badly have been wanting to do.”

Trixie just watched, her eyes calm. Unbeknownst to her, however, she was feeling exactly as Twilight was: displaying an outward calm while yet tense and anxious inside.

“I've been wanting a chance to sit down with you and just talk,” she said. “Ever since that first day.” A flicker of irritation danced across her features. “But you ran off before I could even say anything. And, well, the second time . . . Hey!” she blurted, seeing Trixie suddenly cringe, her head visibly drawing down to her shoulders as she wilted in humiliation and shame. “Stop that!”

Trixie reared back a little, startled at Twilight's outburst, and then feeling even more so at her glare.

“So you made a big mistake with the Alicorn Amulet. Big deal,” she said, which shocked Trixie even more.

“B-b-but Trixie exiled you! She . . . she made servants out of everypony! Because . . .,” she hung her head in shame and whispered, “Because Trixie was jealous of you . . . and she had no reason to be.”

“So?”

Twilight's simple response so shocked Trixie that her head jerked up as her jaw dropped.

“I was never upset at you the first time you were in Ponyville,” she said. “The blunt fact is, Trixie, that everything that happened your first visit here was somepony else's fault.”

Twilight's eyes pinned Trixie to her seat. “Let's go backwards, shall we? First off, you had nothing at all to do with an Ursa Minor running riot through town. That was completely Snips' and Snails' fault. So right there I would never have held you responsible. But here's something you've never known: I felt a great deal of respect and admiration for you because of what you did.”

“Because of . . . what Trixie did?” she repeated, her voice cracking.

“You knew you couldn't banish an Ursa Major, didn't you.”

Trixie jerkily nodded, the mere memory of that night making her feel nauseous.

“So . . . why did you even try?”

The question caught Trixie by surprise, her eyes darting towards Twilight's and, finding them, found herself transfixed by the intense gaze.

“I mean, why would anypony stand there and try banishing such a huge, dangerous beast if they knew they couldn't? I would think they ought to just run off, wouldn't you? And if they didn't run off right away, then at least run away after their first attempt failed. That sounds like the smart thing to do, don't you agree?”

Twilight wasn't looking for an answer and, to be honest, wasn't expecting one either.

“But . . . you didn't. Run away, that is. You didn't run off and leave Snips and Snails there all alone facing the Ursa. You didn't run off and leave the town defenseless right at that moment. You couldn't have known anypony had gone and fetched me; all you knew was that if you had run off there was nopony else between the town and that Ursa.”

Trixie just sat there, eyes wide, feeling an odd icy chill inside her, utterly stunned and speechless. How had Twilight known that? And why was she making it sound as if Trixie had been brave? She had most certainly not been brave! She could still remember how her legs had felt like rubber, how her bowels had turned to water, seeing the huge form of the Ursa looming over her. But what else could she have done? Just ran off and left those two little colts there? Just left the Ursa to run wild?

Not having other choices didn't make anypony brave, though.

“You know,” Twilight continued, her eyes mild but a strange throbbing anger had grown in her voice, “it's always truly angered me that nopony else has ever wondered about any of that; wondered why you stood there and braved the Ursa. Why you tried to banish it, even when knowing you couldn't. All they seem to want to fixate on is the Alicorn Amulet incident, and gossip about that first visit here of yours. And if my friends hadn't been acting like PHSing nags that first visit . . . what?”

Twilight paused, seeing Trixie's abrupt reaction, a mingled expression of shock and surprised scandalization.

“Ah,” she nodded, catching on. “What? You think I'm too much a goody-two-horseshoes to use language like that?”

“It . . . it was a bit, well, unexpected,” she diplomatically replied.

Twilight took another sip of tea, savoring the rich, complex flavors as she sought to control her temper, feeling the same, familiar rush of anger she always felt remembering those events.

“Yeah, well, they weren't expecting to hear that from me, either.”

Astonishment flowed through Trixie at that. “You . . . said that to them?” she breathlessly asked.

“Yup,” she bluntly replied. “I called them PHSing nags. I also told them that the next time they acted like hormonal harpy harridans around me they could go spend time with somepony else, because I wasn't having anything to do with them.”

Trixie's mouth was working but no sound was issuing, and now there was no mistaking the fuming anger that smoked from Twilight.

“For Faust's sake Trixie!” the agitated alicorn almost exploded. “You're a performer! You're supposed to act larger than life! It's part of the act! I've seen magical acts before, and I was really looking forward to seeing yours. I hadn't attended a performance like yours for several years, and I could sense you really were powerful and talented, so I was eager to see what sort of tricks and illusions you could do.

“I've always been impressed by performers. I can't imagine the courage it takes to stand in front of a crowd and put on a show! Well, actually I can,” she admitted, her coat twitching as she delicately shivered. “Princess Celestia asked my friends and I to perform The Hearth's Warming Eve Pageant in Canterlot a few years back.” She gazed right at Trixie. “I will tell you this right now: If it hadn't been that I was doing that with friends, and it was a bunch of us doing the play, and that it was a play that everypony was familiar with, I would never have managed to get a word out. I would have frozen on stage . . . assuming they could have gotten me out on stage in the first place! But, you?”

Taking another sip, her eyes never shifted from hers. “You were all by yourself. Performing in front of strangers. Performing your own, original acts. Anypony that can do that is amazing to me, and awfully impressive. But instead of just enjoying your act for what it was, my friends started heckling you.

“I can't say that you handled the heckling in the best possible, tactful way there was,” she honestly said, “but, even so, again you impressed me because you did deal with that. I would have folded up like a house of cards and probably ran off, humiliated and in tears. But you! You stood up to them! You let them challenge you, you accepted their challenge, and you responded in kind, besting them at their own game.

“That might not have been the best way of dealing with them,” she repeated. “And I'm not saying it was right to do what you did, either. But I am saying that how you were treated that day was definitely wrong.”

“You know, the town treated the Flim Flam brothers better than they did you,” she almost spit, “And those two are con artists! They almost scammed the Apple family out of Sweet Apple Acres! So what happened the next time they showed up?” she growled before shaking her head. “Don't even get me started!”

Trixie was pretty sure Twilight was already was past “getting started”. But that was a truly distant part of her thoughts, because everything else was tied up in knots over what else she had been saying.

really looking forward to seeing yours . . . sense you really were powerful and talented . . . eager to see what sort of tricks and illusions you could do

Twilight was still going on, but she had faded into the background, lost in the roaring, surging surf of those words which kept echoing on and on and on.

really looking forward to seeing yours . . . sense you really were powerful and talented . . . eager to see what sort of tricks and illusions you could do

Trixie could not . . .simply could not . . . be hearing what she thought she was hearing. There was a tightness to her chest that was making it hard to breath, and along with that was an odd pain. Twilight . . . Princess Twilight . . . the personal protégé, the private student of Princess Celestia herself . . . the unicorn —now alicorn— acknowledged throughout all Equestria as the premier Mage of her time . . . she had wanted to see Trixie's show? She thought Trixie was powerful and talented?

Suddenly she realized it was silent; her eyes focused to the here and now, and her face flushed seeing Twilight looking at her, head cocked a bit to one side. “You OK?”

Trixie gave a jerky nod. “Just . . . just a lot to think about,” she said, verbally dodging being specific, and not wanting to admit she'd missed hearing whatever Twilight had been recently saying.

Twilight nodded in return, certainly understanding, and in utter agreement. She took a few moments to finish off her watercress, timothy and pinenut hoof sandwich before selecting a raspberry tart this time.

Popping the tart inside she munched, swallowed then licked her lips with a yummy sigh. A sip of tea and she was ready to continue. “So, as I was saying, part of the reason I'd brought over The History of The Illusionati was, well . . . as an icebreaker. I wanted a reason to just stop by that hopefully wouldn't just have you shut me down. But the plain and simple fact is, is that since the moment I found that book my first thought was of you.”

“Me?” Trixie almost squeaked. Why me?

“Yes. You,” Twilight affirmed, nodding. “This copy of The History of The Illusionati isn't a fictional account.” Her voice started growing more and more excited as she continued. “It's the actual translation of a book written back before the Three Tribes were united. It predates the Founding.”

The Illusionati were (allegedly) a secretive cabal of unicorn illusionists that lurked in the shadows, pulling the strings and levers of power to forward their ambitions. As benefited a secret society there existed no clear proof —one way or the other— of their existence, or lack thereof. The most commonly accepted explanation ascribed to their disappearance in current times —again, assuming they had ever actually existed to begin with— was the unification of the Tribes followed by the ascension of Princesses Celestia and Luna to the throne of Equestria.

(The second most commonly accepted belief was that The Illusionati continued to live amongst ponykind and that, as the Masters of Illusion they were, how would anypony know?)

“There is a lot of references to illusion and illusionary spells,” Twilight continued. “So I immediately thought of you as soon as I started reading it.”

“You did?” she managed to say, her throat tight.

“Of course I did!” Twilight exclaimed, for all the world sounding as if someone had just declared the sky was blue or water was wet. “You're the best illusionist I know,” she stated, still in that same tone. “And quite possibly the strongest of our generation. Why wouldn't I think of you?”

There was a tight, singing tension centered in Trixie, and in the middle of that a hollow, yawning, all-devouring void. Seconds passed, and Twilight began looking puzzled and confused at her. Trixie felt herself standing on the precipice of that void, feeling the ice of that nothingness hungrily drafting around her.

A nothingness that was her.

She closed her eyes, a teardrop shimmering at the corners.

“Trixie?” Twilight started, alarm suddenly surging through her.

Instead of replying, a faint pink aura shimmered about Trixie's horn. There came the sound like that of a tuning fork being struck by a padded hammer. Instead of producing a single tone, however, this sound slowly rose in pitch, within seconds vibrating almost beyond hearing. It held there for a moment . . .

Virtually the entire inside of the wagon took on the same soft hue as Trixie's horn. No sooner had that happened, then that tone went vibrato before suddenly descending in timbre. It crashed through the bass register and, as it did . . .

The inside of the wagon silently flashed.

Twilight blinked out of reflex, for the light itself hadn't been painful, nor had it been all that bright. The accompanying wash of magic, however . . .

Trixie still just sat there, eyes closed, her cheeks showing a trail of silent tears.

It took Twilight only a moment to understand what had just happened. For one thing, she truly was skilled in magic, and recognizing a dismissal spell was foal's play to her. For another . . .

She slowly looked around the wagon, the interior of which was drastically changed from just mere moments ago. The rich, vibrant colors and decorations were gone, replaced instead by chipped and peeling paint, faded hues, and worn curtains. The elegant tea service was now an obvious second-hoof one, with several mismatched pieces, some with chips or scratches. The beautiful lead crystal tea containers and water glasses were simple glass.

In fact, the only things that hadn't changed were the food, the salamander . . . and a pointed hat and cloak that forlornly hung from inside a shadowed nook.

In a voice utterly devoid of all emotion Trixie finally spoke. “Trixie is nothing but a fake. A fraud and a phoney.”

Author's Notes:

Major edit adding additional info (reference comments)