The cheers of the crowd echoed in Trixie’s mind as she focused herself for the show about to come.

It was the same one she always did. That was what she said to everypony who asked her, at least. But every show was different. Every show needed something more. It needed something to be better than the last time she had performed.

She explained it off, in the dark hours of the night when she was alone with herself, as the show naturally evolving, but she did not even believe it herself. Trixie simply needed to do better. In truth, she did not believe the cheers and the clapping she heard. It was all sympathy. That did not stop her trying to improve. Even if they did not mean it now, she would show them.

She lifted up the hat on her head, covering her horn. It was her little ritual. Her mother had been the one to teach her that. “Just cover your horn, dear,” she had said, “and nopony will expect you to do more than you can.” She was always right, mother was. Trixie had learned to leave town after her first performance. Ponies always expected her to do more and more. If they had never heard of her, they would never expect her to do anything, and then they would clap and cheer more.

If they had seen her, though, they would always want something more. It was better to just burn out her whole repertoire at once than to go slowly. It kept them away, and if they never got close, they could never hurt her. That was what her father had taught her. If they never got close, they could never let her down. It was the only way to be safe. Be an island, and let no-one land upon it. That was part of why she wore the cape that she clasped on.

“Trixie?”

Trixie froze. Nopony was allowed backstage. She had made that clear, she thought. Who could possibly have come in? She turned to the entrance, and saw another unicorn standing there. Perhaps the pony she least expected. “Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “What are you doing here?” She forced a polite tone. The last time Twilight Sparkle and she had met, Twilight had shown just how much better her magic was than Trixie’s illusions. Please, she begged silently. Don’t run me out of town again.

“I was a little worried about you, honestly,” said Twilight, a look of at least some concern on her face. “And I think I was right to do so.”

“No,” Trixie said, “I’m doing as well as you could hope. I am just about to perform, actually.”

Twilight frowned a little. “To who?”

“To them!” said Trixie, a little frustrated now, pointing to where the sound of the cheering would be coming from. It was just out the door that Twilight had entered in. Surely she must have seen them.

Twilight looked at Trixie carefully. “Trixie, there’s nopony out there. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, Twilight, of course I am. Now, if you still want to talk, then we can talk after the performance,” she said.

Turning her back on the other unicorn, she walked out the door. She walked up on the stage, the curtain still together. She almost did not want to open it. It was the first time she had performed in her hometown. Taking a deep breath, however, she pulled the curtain open.

She saw the adoring crowd, leaping into the air and cheering. They were here for her. But they were not here. None of them was real. It had not been real since she had fled Ponyville. Her mother was right. Better not to let anypony know what you could do.

She sank to the floor, her hat rolling off to the side. What was the point of it all?

“Trixie,” Twilight said, as she walked onto the stage. “You don’t have to stay here like this.”

“As if there’s any place for me,” Trixie said, her voice bitter and defeated. “Just leave me here.”

“No, Trixie,” said Twilight, as she lifted the mare from the ground. “I may not know where your place is, but I know that you have something within you unique to you, that nopony else can do. But you have to choose. Will you stay here, or will you find real happiness?”

As Twilight left, Trixie followed.