The campfire was a problem, probably because it didn't exist as a certain filly wished. Celestia, a young filly with an appearance that was that of a ten year old's and a mane dyed with the light of an aurora so many years ago, looked upon the pile of twigs that huddled a log that was obtained by her younger sister just as the evening sun began to set.
Celestia pursed her lips and stared up at the sickly orange sky; the sun was much farther in its course. The filly cupped her angelic white wings around the unlit fuel, as if she were trying to shelter it.
Her sister was still out searching for the bags she had lost in the snow. Celestia tsked softly, for she knew that 'dropping' the bags that were supposedly lost was just an excuse for Luna to play in the snow that had hit the two wanderers now that they had strayed from the coast.
All the world was still, hundreds of years into their travels and the two little fillies had still not found another equine soul. This greatly bothered Celestia, who missed being surrounded by ponies, but had held her tongue in regards to the subject. Unlike Luna, she didn't like this life of solitude and adventure, but couldn't quite describe her feelings on the subject, which she didn't like to acknowledge. There was no resent for true hatred nor was there enough aching to allow sadness take hold of the filly who always smiled for Luna.
Always.
She shivered as a few flakes of snow fell onto her back, even though they were hardly noticeable, each flake served as a reminder that she wasn't likely to know the comforts of a castle for a long time.
She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling a little harder then she intended, fog forming as she did so. Behind her eyelids she saw the halls as they had left them, the candles they had put out, and the bed she had insisted Luna make. That was their life then, in that castle that belonged to them, the two great shadows of gods that had loomed over them both until one day they had just vanished.
Celestia bit her lip, this was something she rarely thought about, tried not to acknowledge, and never spoke of. This was their life now. No beds, no food that they couldn't cook, no order or routine.
And oh, how cold it could be. If this ever ended, this aimless wandering that Luna loved and the lies Celestia had uttered as she tried to recall every tear in a map that had crumbled away long ago, Celestia knew that she would remember the hated cold she felt. The aching loneliness that only ever effected her.
She'd remember how Luna disregarded their royal heritage, her head having gone without a crown for too long. Celestia wished she had brought hers with her. She wished Luna wouldn't be the scout, the adventurer, the anything but royal filly that she had become and how she insisted that Celestia no longer had to brush her short, coltish mane any more.
How Luna had begun to fly, the happy little bluebird giving no thought to how the nest felt.
Celestia looked back down to the non-existent fire she was sheltering. Somepony would have to cook, and there was no way it would be Luna since she had to go retrieve the bag that held all the food and she couldn't do much more than boil water properly. Celestia shuddered slightly upon recalling Luna's last attempt at cooking something.
She tilted her head up to the sky, her long mane obscuring one magenta colored eye. The thick, multi-colored mass was slightly tangled from when she rose this morning. It was getting colder as well.
Celestia remembered sitting around the large hearth of a castle with Luna ages ago, when the world wasn't so empty. Luna would need a fire to come home to, and she would have to be the one to make that fire.
But she didn't want to, something within herself halted, blocking out the yearning for heat with something else. It was something that left a dry, sour taste in her mouth.
Almost like fear.
Celestia smiles brightly, portrait perfect and gentle, no smile of hers can ever look forced. It can't look truthful. Such was manners. Princesses always had manners and she was a princess.
They were at the age when the should be using their magic as easily as they blink. But they weren't, at least not quite. Luna couldn't control her magic, there was no order or spells to the way she cast magic. Celestia saw no method that she could discern, only that Luna was a natural while she barely even bothered to light her own horn.
It was Luna who had begun to ask more of her almost absurd questions that came with the imaginative nature of her sister. She had no apprehension, nothing within her mind that whispered no, Luna only had wonder that came from looking at the world in her own way.
Celestia swallowed the lump in her throat. There would be nothing else to create fire with, it had to be her magic.
A golden aura, that barely glitters at all in the white world, makes its way onto her horn. It's calm and much clearer than she remembered. When was the last time she used magic?
Celestia feels something stir within her, embers of a fire that she would rather smother. Her magic burned within herself, searching for something that was more than just a little filly trying to coax color into the glittering gold light that threatened to die with another blow of the wind.
Her wings rose to shield herself from the cold she detested and she began to feel a creeping headache somewhere below the base of her horn. She set her teeth firmly in line to prevent her smile from faltering too much and because princesses don't grit their teeth no matter how alone they feel in a white-washed world with a coat as bleached as her surroundings and only a mane to remind her of how everything used to be and all the little lies that piled up around her...
Piles of fuel.
Celestia nearly yelped and fainted as a burning sensation tore through her, igniting every emotion she never even wanted herself to see.
Resentment. Misery. Something dark beneath that fire that felt like it was burning every feeling away made it feel like the opposite was happening, that each was becoming worse. Something so dark she could not see through it.
Hollow.
Young Celestia had discovered power, a brief burning glory, a fool's gold like the aura on her horn, which had lashed out to the log in a tendril of flame, so now were the logs were lit.
She had tasted that glory, eyes wide and hungry. Celestia licked her lips slightly, they felt dry but she didn't care. She didn't feel anything but a yawning hollowness for an eternal moment.
There was a second swallow, heavy, scared, and guilty so she could smile once again at the sloppy fire before her.
She plucked a few burned clumps away from her mane with ease as she composed herself. Little white hooves worked quickly to toss any pastel hair singed gray into the fire, before combing through to make her long, partially wavy mane look as if nothing had happened. Those hooves were quite careful with the lower half of her mane which sparkled and flowed of its own accord.
When that was over with, Celestia sat around the fire, it's golden glow reflecting on the white fur of her chest.
She resumed her wait, nodding off her sentry's pose only to awake to a familiar voice calling her name. Magenta eyes flutter open to look at a blue filly standing in the white. Her eyes are curious little things with a color somewhere between earth and sky and the fuzzy blue fur of her legs are caked with mud and slush that has begun to freeze. A set of dirty saddle bags are slung across her back quite hastily so her wings are hidden from view. Her bobbed mane has been stirred by the winds so it is no longer neat and spills into her eyes.
Celestia gives her sister one of her constant gentle smiles and her dying coal eyes watch as Luna shoots her a large, fleeting mischievous grin and sits down across from her.
Soon, a turquoise fire is lit and Celestia watches as Luna levitates frozen frogs that she had safely stowed away from the cold toward the elder, who recoils slightly. Luna laughs and begins to speak, the first exchange between the two in weeks. Celestia nods and smiles to the rare voice of her introverted little sister, but her eyes linger upon the dancing flame and the guttural, hollow hunger that she wishes to disappear behind veils of smoke.
Celestia had never felt colder in her life.