Chapter Three

The Invitation

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

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

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

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

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

It’s why I’m here, yes.

You know what I mean, Trixie.

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

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

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

Of course I am, that’s why I’m here.

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little sneak, she thought, angrily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe that’s why I’m here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fluttershy felt her eyebrows rise. “Dead?”

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

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

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

“Brunswick?” Twilight blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of compromise?”

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

Twilight nodded. “And? What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did not see the first inklings of the strengthening storm, as it frothed and grew, low on the horizon, far away.