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Trixie certainly could be a lot with her ego, but when her friends were down in the dump, she'd always be there to cheer them up with aplomb. Tapping hooves would give a rhythm for the heart to follow, the kind that'd soothe the aches and bring a smile where none was to be found.
The burning taste of regrets is heavy in her mouth, like every morning. There's no enjoyment to be found, and none is sought. It's all mechanical, a routine carefully built to ignore guilt as long as possible - a little lighthouse burning dutifully in the midst of a raging ocean.