Twilight Sparkle sat there, utterly stunned and astonished. Over the last few months she'd been inside Trixie's wagon several times, and at no point had she been aware of the amount of the spells, or the magnitude of their power, that, obvious to her now, had been woven into the very fabric there. And she'd looked for spells, too!

Well, of course she'd looked! When somepony was about to, for all intents and purposes, burgle somepony's residence, of course they'd check for magical spells!

But all Twilight had ever detected were simple spells that anypony might have in their homes; well, except for that cunningly-secured locker. Then again, since she'd seen —courtesy of her surveillance crystals— the very personal items that Trixie kept stored inside that, the amount of illusionary and abjuration spells cast upon it had certainly been understandable.

Granted, she'd also assumed the repairs, painting, and furnishings had been things that Trixie had performed or accumulated during the months since she'd originally moved here, for Twilight certainly remembered how the wagon had looked that first day. Given all that, she hadn't had any reason to suspect illusionary magics at work. But the fact was that, regardless of that understanding, she'd still probed for any sign or touch of spellcraft and hadn't detected anything at all, let alone anything suspicious.

Twilight certainly didn't think of herself as anypony special or remarkable, but neither did she suffer —any longer, anyway— from excessive self-deprecation where it came to her magical prowess. She knew what skills she possessed, and where her talents lay, and, all modesty notwithstanding, she knew she should have, at the very least, sensed something. But . . .

But, she hadn't.

That both mystified her as well as fired up her curiosity. In fact, so much so that it took almost half a minute for her forebrain to catch up with what her ears had heard.

Trixie is nothing but a fake. A fraud and a phoney.

Her head snapped around; her eyes locked unto Trixie like they were iron filings and she a lodestone. And, as she took in Trixie's expression, her insides knotted.

Twice now Twilight had faced Trixie after what virtually everypony were calling “duels”. Twilight didn't see them as that, even though, yes, their second encounter had started with, and ended with, a magical challenge between them. Regardless of what anypony had called them, Trixie had come out the loser in both yet, both times, although she might have been bested, she hadn't been defeated. She'd radiated an unquenchable spirit, a fire that, although dimmed, refused to be extinguished.

Defeated didn't come close to what Twilight was seeing. Trixie looked, and sounded, broken.

And that was just wrong.

She felt her twisted insides suddenly freeze as a horrible thought occurred to her. She knew the Alicorn Amulet had been a truly dangerous artifact. Truthfully, because of its corrupting nature when used it was also very much a cursed item. Twilight had been so relieved after having successfully tricking Trixie into removing it, and then being able to safely secure it, that, for one of the extremely rare times in her life, she hadn't conducted any further research. Instead, she'd been content with the knowledge gleaned from a book in her library, the same one which had depicted the artifact and had been the source of the information her friends, and then Twilight herself, had used to overcome Trixie.

The book had said that the Amulet both blessed its user with untold powers but also corrupted them as well, perverting their nature the more it was used. It had also warned that the Amulet could not be removed by anypony other than the user, which had, of course, necessitated the scheme to trick Trixie into removing it herself.

But that was all that book had said, and Twilight had never thought to do any additional research into the Alicorn Amulet.

Looking at Trixie, she felt sick to her stomach, wondering if that lapse of intellectual curiosity might not be having tragic results. Could having used that thing left some sort of lasting damage to Trixie?

Could it still be continuing to have dreadful effects on her?

Trixie just sat there, looking beaten and crushed, silvery tears wending trails down the bright blue of her cheeks, eyes still closed, head hanging.

Twilight felt the familiar tide of panic begin rising. What should she say? She'd already been sitting there in silence for quite some time now after Trixie had brokenly confessed, and the longer she waited to say something the worse things were going to become. But she hadn't any idea what to say!

Her throat tightened. Her mouth dried up. She felt sick to her stomach. She took a deep breath, holding her hoof to the center of her chest, about to do the calming exercise Cadence had taught her, when, instead . . .

Closing her eyes she imagined a calm, still center deep within herself, a core that had always existed there but had only truly prospered and flowered these last few years, until finally fully blossoming with the assumption of her Royal Duties. Opening her innermost self wide open she silently cried out: Help me.

Several agonizing seconds passed, and then, slowly at first, Twilight felt an incredible sense of peace and tranquility fill her, starting at that core and expanding outwards like a slow-motion explosion.

“Some ponies misunderstand the reason behind Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns,” she began, her voice calm and serene. “There's always those who feel that smacks of tribalism; that Her Highness only cares about unicorn ponies, that she thinks they're more special than earth ponies or pegasus ponies.

“That's not true, you know. Yes, it's true that it's the only school she officially sponsors, per se. But the Crown also sponsors many other schools, too, ranging from ones for disadvantaged families to ones for other gifted ponies. But there's a reason Princess Celestia created her School for Gifted Unicorns, and that has everything to do about what makes us different from the other two tribes.”

She took a moment to take a sip of tea. Her nose wrinkled at the taste; it wasn't that she disliked Earl Neigh, but . . .

Three cubes —her standard tea addition— plopped into the cup; lifting up the stirring spoon Twilight blended the dissolving sweetener into the beverage, then settled the spoon down as she contentedly took another sip.

Trixie was just looking at Twilight, her lashes stuck together with unshed, upwelling tears, her expression still crushed and beaten, but now with a touch of puzzled curiosity, unable to figure out what Twilight was talking about . . . or what the point was supposed to be.

“Unicorns differ from earth and pegasus ponies in one very important area: their magics are passive; ours are active. Her School for Gifted Unicorns isn't for unicorns who are brilliant, talented, or have potential in standard areas, like science, mathematicians, arts, or the like . . . although most of us who attend there are also that as well. It's for unicorns that display potential in magical power and skills.

“There's really not much training that will help earth or pegasus ponies with their particular magics. With a specific talent, yes. For instance, if an earth pony has a special talent for baking, going to culinary school would certainly help. But, as for their innate magic?”

Twilight shook her head. “Let me use two of my friends as examples. Let's start with Applejack. She's an earth pony. Her power derives from the earth, as do all earth ponies. She's strong; very strong, in fact, and with a stamina that matches. Over the years she's strengthened both of those by actively working out, but that's not something a specialized school could have helped her do. Now, learning enhanced farming methods? That's something an advanced education will help with.

“Next let's look at Rainbow Dash. She's a pegasus pony. Her powers are those of flight, air, and weather, the same as all pegasi. And, like Applejack, her ability at flying and at weather control, as well as her agility and stamina, have also increased over time because she trains so hard. And, again like Applejack, those aren't something a specialized school could have helped her with very much.

“Unicorns, now . . .,” Twilight paused, gazing at Trixie over the rim of her teacup as she took another sip. “We're not exactly like that. All of us, to a greater or lesser degree, can levitate and teleport,” and she mentally winced at that mention, and all the more so seeing the expression of humiliation and fear that flickered across Trixie's face. “And, to some degree, all of us can actively access magics. But the keywords there are “to some degree”. And that's the real reason behind her School for Gifted Unicorns.

“Every unicorn, just like every pony, has his or her special talent. Take Lyra, for instance. She is an exceptional musician. You should hear her play sometimes. But she attended the School for Gifted Unicorns, too. Only for a couple of years, true, but that was because her other talent —Enchantment— came late to her, and really is part of her special talent of playing music.

“But it's because of her talent for Enchantment that she attended. And that's what does separate unicorn ponies from earth and pegasus ponies: we're not just limited to our special talent. Almost all of us can access other powers, and that's not something we really can learn on our own. It's not like growing stronger because we keep pulling heavier wagons, or getting more acrobatic because we keep practicing flying. Our ability do to it might be there, but the knowledge to use it isn't.

“For the vast majority of unicorns that's not a difficulty. Either their parents, or most schools, can help teach young fillies and colts how to use those additional skills which, for the most part, aren't very powerful. For instance, a colt might have the special talent of carpentry, but also can “heal” a freshly-cracked board back whole again. Or a filly might have a special talent of pottery, but also can discharge stun bolts.

“But there are those unicorns with the aptitude and potential to do much, much more. Ones that aren't limited to just one or two talents, or even one Discipline. Unicorns like me . . .

“ . . . and you.”

For the first time Twilight received a response from Trixie, even if it was a somewhat slow blink.

“We do learn a lot at the School for Gifted Unicorns that we could learn at another advanced school. Mathematics, Science, Reading and Composition, History . . . I know that bores most everypony else but I lapped that all up like Opal with a bowl of cream.

“Oh, that's right; you haven't met Opalescence. She's Rarity's cat. Well, actually, I think Rarity is Opalescence's pony.

“Anyway, the thing is, although we learn a lot of similar subjects there —although at advanced levels— the real purpose behind the school is to teach talented unicorns . . . talented, not academically, but magically.

“I know you've learned what the Seven Disciplines are: Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, and Transmutation.” She didn't mention the forbidden one, Necromancy, for that was a black Art indeed, proscribed throughout Equestria, declared Anathema by Their Highnesses from the time of the very Founding itself.

“I'm also sure you've had classes, and training, in all of those Disciplines.” Actually she was absolutely positive Trixie had that exposure, having done a little bit of possibly-intrusive prying into her academic records. “Here's something you probably don't know, though.”

After partaking of Zhaneeling, the Earl Neigh was definitely ho-hum. Not bad, mind you, just . . . well, she had undeniably been spoiled within just one cup. Popping another tart —this one blueberry— into her mouth she thoughtfully chewed it, licking her lips after swallowing. The tea had certainly changed taste, but the light fare remained unchanged, every bit as delicious as before.

“All of us that attend school are taught the Seven Disciplines,” she continued. “We're also periodically tested for skills in them, too and, if we show capability then we're also trained in that particular Discipline. That's truly the real purpose behind the School for Gifted Unicorns: those periodic assessments and subsequent training; training we can't get anywhere else in Equestria.

“And here's the something else you probably didn't know: although every unicorn that attends the School for Gifted Unicorns is taught about the Seven Disciplines, and is schooled in the theories of each, only those unicorns that actually have the aptitude and ability for a particular Discipline are actually trained in that.

“Most unicorns are only ever trained in two, perhaps three, Disciplines, and it's a very uncommon and unusual student that is equally powerful in the ones they have. Usually they're quite powerful in one Discipline and weaker in the others.

“It's also very rare for a student to have the aptitude and ability for more than three. And it's extremely exceptional to have a student with the aptitude and ability for all seven. In fact, in our generation there's only been three: Myself. Sunset Shimmer . . .

“And you.”

Trixie blinked again at that. She still was sitting there like one of the undead, and except for those occasional eyeblinks she might very well have been one. But she was listening.

She had no idea why Princess Twilight was going on the way she was doing. Honestly, she was so numb inside that she no longer was caring about anything. Once Trixie had confessed what a charlatan she really was, she'd fully expected her to just excuse herself, claiming something unexpected had come up, and leave.

All Trixie had wanted was to do something nice for somepony else for once in her life, and for no other reason than just, well . . . just because. If this brunch had been something Mother —she mentally flinched and cringed, the same way she always did when thinking of . . . her— had hosted, there would have been one of two reasons for her doing so, and neither would have been anything nice.

Either she desired to stroke somepony's conceit, setting up opportunities to curry future favors, or to draw the subtle distinction that she was superior to her guest. M-mother had never, as far as Trixie had ever been able to discern, simply held any sort of party, gathering or get-together without those ulterior motives. Granted, also as far as Trixie had ever been able to ascertain, neither had anypony else in their elite social circle.

In point of fact, Trixie painfully admitted to herself, had she hosted this last year she, too, would have wanted to flaunt her superiority over Princess Twilight, entertaining as well as upstaging and scorning as only her M-mother could have taught somepony to do. But, she hadn't wanted anything out of today except to try to do something nice.

And she'd even failed at that.

She was drowning in bleak despair, fully surrendering to the darkness that was always at her core now. She'd really, really wanted Princess Twilight to like her. But how could anypony like a liar? A fake? A trickster?

But something that Princess Twilight had just said finally registered, and before that desolation had closed over her head and consumed her whole she found herself blinking, responding to the words. Did . . . did she just hear Princess Twilight really say what she thought she'd heard?

“There's a reason I'm explaining all this Trixie,” Twilight said, her voice low and soft, but no less penetrating for all that. “So, please . . . just bear with me for a little bit longer?”

Somehow Trixie found the energy to give a tiny nod in response.

“There's just the three of us right now,” and something inside of Trixie prickled a bit at hearing the slight but unmistakable emphasis on 'us', “and, while I can't speak for Sunset Shimmer, I can tell you that I can't do what you do. Did.” She gestured about the wagon interior with a wave of a hoof, clearly implying the spells that Trixie had so recently dispelled or dismissed.

“Wait.” Her voice sounded odd as she suddenly interrupted herself. “That's not what I meant. I mean, it is what I meant, just not meaning how that came out. Or sounds. Because it sounds very pompous don't you think? It's not like what I can and can't do are benchmarks or anything like that. Goodness! Saying it that way sounds very egotistical. I mean, really: 'What I can and can't do'. That makes me sound—”

She slithered to a halt as Trixie reached across the table and gently rested a hoof atop hers. “It's OK,” she said, her voice thick and cracking, the tightness in her throat distorting her speech. “I understood.”

Well, that was all that Trixie had understood so far. The rest? Yes, she was aware of everything that Princess Twilight's discourse had mentioned —well, except for disclosing that she belonged to such a select trio— but she had no idea where she was going with her speech. That there was a purpose to all of this, that there was a definitive destination? Of that she had no doubt. She might not have a clue, but she had no doubts at all.

Twilight took a couple of deep breaths, regaining her composure and her focus, nodding in response to Trixie's statement. “OK then, where was I? Oh! Yes.”

Her voice changed back into that pedantic tone. “I studied basic and intermediate illusions, same as you did. Unlike you, I also took advanced illusions.” Twilight tactfully didn't mention the reason why Trixie hadn't taken those courses. “And let me tell you something Trixie . . . illusions are hard.”

That startled Trixie, actually getting her to more fully focus on what Princess Twilight was saying. Illusions weren't hard! Everypony knew that! After all, hadn't her classmates, peers and others continually mocked her over that very fact? Illusions were nothing but smoke and mirrors, pure trickery and deceit. They weren't even strong enough to effect the real world, not like evocations or transmutations could . . . and did!

Princess Twilight's next words simply confirmed her thoughts.

Waving a forehoof in the air, making idle circles, she stated, “Yes, basic illusions are easy. And usually easy to see through. And when you compare a basic transmutation spell versus a basic illusionary one, well . . .”

Looking around for suitable test objects Twilight settled on the sugar cubes. Lifting two out she placed them in the middle of the table. “Watch,” she said. Her horn softly glowed; within seconds there now sat two lustrous, grayish blocks the same dimensions as the (former) sugar cubes.

“There. I've transmuted this one,” she motioned with a hoof, “into iron. The other,” and she gestured to that one, “I've cast a glamer on, to make it appear as if iron. Now we both know what everypony is going to think is the more impressive feat. It's the transmuted one,” she answered herself, tapping the cube in question. “After all, it's real. A magnet will stick to it. It'll rust if it sits out long enough in the damp. It can even be forged. And, unlike this one . . .”

Reaching out a hoof she sharply tapped the other “iron” cube . . . which promptly crumbled into crystals . . . which also broke the illusion. “It remains iron, unless and until it's transmuted again.”

Gazing into Trixie's eyes she softly murmured, “Pretty easy to see why everypony considers illusions to be weak and lame, huh? Especially compared to real spells.”

Trixie numbly nodded; she'd learned that hurtful lesson years ago.

“Here's the thing though Trixie. Let's look at this one here,” she tapped the remaining iron cube, “If I experiment with it, or you do or, for that matter, anypony does, we're all going to realize it's iron. Why? Because it is. That's what transmutation spells do. If I have the ability to cast a transmutation spell —which I obviously do— all I need to do to change something into iron is to know what iron is, all the way down to its very innermost, basic level, and then superimpose that gestalt on whatever I'm casting the spell on. And, when I do . . . voilà!”

Pointing at the cube Twilight theatrically gestured. “It's iron!”

Trixie nodded; again, none of this was news to her, as this was taught in basic orientation classes.

“If you had no idea what iron was, would this still be iron?”

Again Trixie nodded, sniffling back residual tears as she drew a hooftip across her eyes.

“This would be iron to everypony that encountered it. Right?”

“Twilight . . . Trixie does not understand what this is about.”

A knowing smile spread across Twilight muzzle. “Please Trixie; just a little longer, OK?”

Once Trixie had nodded she continued. “This,” she motioned to the remains of the second sugar cube, “was never iron, even though it looked like it. And the moment something happened that wasn't what iron should do —like crumble into pieces— the illusion of iron was broken.

“That's the biggest drawback of illusions, you know: disbelief breaks them. They're recognized as illusions if they're carefully studied, or interacted with it in some fashion.

“Yours don't.”

Twilight's voice had suddenly throbbed, an intensity that send a sharp jolt racing through Trixie. Her eyes rounded as her alicorn guest continued.

Again Twilight motioned to the interior of the wagon. “I looked for spells Trixie! Back when I, ah, erm, well . . .” she trailed off, a sudden blush sweeping her cheeks. “Back when I was setting my crystals,” she gamely admitted before forging on. “But I couldn't sense anything inside here except your, erm, lockeroverthere,” she finished, pointing towards the concealed trunk.

“So, number one,” licking her lips with a swipe of her tongue she continued. “You're casting illusion spells which I can't detect. Ummm . . . not that I'm the best at that, or anything like that.” Groaning she covered her face with her hooves. “It sounds like I'm bragging again,” came her muffled words.

“No, it doesn't.” Trixie assured. “Now, when you start calling yourself 'The Great and Powerful Twi—'”

Trixie squealed as Twilight's hooves came crashing down onto the table, sending the cups and cutlery bouncing in a cacophony of clinks and tinkles. “Don't!” she snapped, literally snarling, her usually calm eyes now fiery and blazing. Stabbing a hoof right at Trixie she growled, “Don't even finish saying that, Trixie! I mean it!”

Swallowing hard, completely shocked at that unexpected outburst, Trixie stared at that jabbing hoof as if it were a serpent about to bite her. Her heart was pounding as if she'd just been struck with a lightning spell. Wide, astonished —and a touch frightened, to be honest— eyes lifted, staring at Twilight, who sat furiously fuming just across from her.

“I don't want to hear you putting yourself down anymore,” she stated, her voice more controlled . . . tightly controlled, actually. And, as a matter of fact, sounding far more like an order than any mere statement had the right to sound. “Am I clear?”

Trixie's head jerkily nodded, so shocked she was unable to speak. And then she got a second, even more profound shock.

“I don't like hearing my friends put themselves down,” she softly murmured, her voice abruptly dropping in volume, her ears flagging back. “It hurts me inside hearing them when do that.”

“Your . . . friends?” Trixie asked, sounding mouse-like as she almost squeaked. Trixie wasn't sure she'd heard that right; actually, she was positive she'd heard it right, but was somehow misunderstanding. Because the way Twilight was phrasing that . . . that would mean . . .

“My friends,” Twilight nodded. “Like you.”

“Like me?” This time it really was an astonished squeak. “Your friend?”

Twilight gravely gazed into Trixie's wide, astounded eyes. “My friend, yes. If,” she suddenly sounded shy and unsure, “If you wouldn't mind, that is.”

“But . . . why?”

The room was blinded by a dazzling, mischievous smile. “Hell-lo?” she grinned, suddenly extended her wings and gently fanning them. “Princess of Friendship, remember? Kinda what I do now?” Her expression grew serious again as, with a practiced, fluttering flap, she folded them back against her sides. “But mostly because I want to get to know you better than I do. You're somepony I'd like to spend time with. And because, as I was saying earlier, you really impress me. ”

Twilight's horn began softly glowing. Trixie couldn't figure out what was going on at first. It wasn't until her hat, now also surrounded in that selfsame glow, started floating her way that she figured out what Twilight was focusing her attention upon. She just silently watched, slowly rounding eyes following its path as it drifted her way, closer . . . closer . . . closer . . .

It lowered atop her head, settling in place as lightly as the down of an infant gryphon. Trixie blinked, feeling a shiver ripple across her skin, her coat twitching as if shaking off a hundred flies.

Twilight took a sip of tea before selecting a scone. “Start wearing that again Trixie. It becomes you. And,” she added, her eyes softly gleaming, “it's also who you are.”

Author's Notes:

Honestly, at some point I'll get through this brunch . . . I hope.