Trixie's character has come a long way from annoying run-ins to an unaccomplished villian who spends her days trying to gather an audience of ponies who hate her. It's miserable that her own, one and only friend, is a close friend of her greatest denier. How does one cope with the constant feeling of never quite feeling she knows enough about her greatest and most powerful assistant? Does the sting of isolation chill her bones a little more after having taste the shared talk of a obstructionist such as herself? A vagabond with hardly a kindness spotted to her. She must spend most of her time creating illusions of conversations she didn't have and words she'd wish she spoke.