“Again!?”
Luna was crying, now. So was Celestia, through the mask of rage.
“His mom’s sick!”
“I don’t care!” Three times. Three times Luna had fed the brat. He had worse than dead parents – living ones, crippled by the war. She pitied him, and worse, called him “friend.”
The first time, Celestia had talked to her sister. Explained that they were not rich. They were very, very poor, and had nothing to spare for those poorer than they. The second time, she reinforced it with some swats on Luna’s backside.
Now? Now she had no plan. She tremored wildly, teeth chattering with unspent fury.
Celestia forced her words to a low hiss, hoping, praying that Luna would understand. “You can’t keep doing this. Stop.”
“He’s our friend, Tia.” Luna’s squeaky voice came back in meek protest, and the dam burst once more.
“No, he is not!”
Her twelve-year-old strength gave out. Celestia set Luna down, fast enough that the other wobbled on her hooves.
“Yes, he is!” Shrill and teary, Luna shot back. “And he needed help! He–”
Disaster was averted at the last moment, so hot was her blood running that she hadn’t even though as she raised her hoof.
Hadn’t even known she was moving.
By a mere inch did she avoid her sister’s -her precious, stupid, crying sister’s- snout, stomping down on the floor and kicking up a bloom of dust.
Celestia blinked, sight clearing and tears suddenly dry as her throat.
“I- “
She saw as realization struck.
Luna’s body tensed, jaw clenched, head braced for a hit that never came.
Eyes wide, striking at Celestia like a hot knife.
Full of fear.
“Just- just forget it” is all she can get out before having to look away. “I’m… I’m going upstairs. I’ll figure things out for us.”
She gets no response; she doesn’t deserve one.
Fear.
It chilled her more than the winter ever had.
Yet it also made her warm, it made her curse at herself for what she had nearly done.
No, not just that.
Because it wasn’t enough that she hadn’t done anything, the mere fact that she had gotten to the point of striking her own sister made her burn with anger.
It made her burn with enough furry to stay warm in the exposed attic, as the winds and snow buffeted her pelt.
Furry at herself.
Furry at the cold.
Furry at the hunger, and furry at King platinum and his court.
But most of all, furry at that damn brat.
A deep, bitter hatred of Star Swirl for using her sister’s kindness against her.
She knew that it was the fault of the King for ordering this, the fault of his court for following it, the fault of the earth ponies for not giving in after months of this!
Yet none of them would answer for her furry, only Star Swirl.
She knew he didn’t deserve it.
She knew it was wrong, he was just trying to feed his family. But so was she, so the hatred remained.
She sat down, uncaring of the snowdrifts and their sapping cold as she growled through clenched teeth. She cursed his name and his parents and vowed that -while she couldn’t raise her hoof against Luna- he was fair game if he dared to show himself here again.
She pushed away her fears, she pushed away thoughts of cold and slow starvation.
They’d last until her next pay, maybe -maybe- she would be able to stretch that for fuel and a few portions if she went early and took whatever extra hours were on offer.
Yet that would still leave the week after that, with a budget only for fuel.
If they stretched everything from now, if she could manage to build a smaller room out of the damp and rotten wood not fit for kindling so they’d have less to warm…
Her blood only burned hotter.
Who was she kidding? IF she managed all that, IF she found the time for it -not to mention how it would exhaust her- they’d last three weeks.
Five at most.
And what then?
Trapped, they were trapped.
Celestia felt faint.
She was tired.
She couldn’t handle the panic.
She couldn’t handle the hunger.
She couldn’t handle the stress.
She couldn’t handle the nightmare. One of Luna, frozen and dead. Lined up to be buried, and the foreman shouts as he always does. “Don’t dig deeply, we’ve got plenty more.”
Won’t happen. Can’t happen. Celestia whispered the words with every frantic breath.
But it will. Colder and colder, hungrier and hungrier until illness swoops in to finish the job.
Luna. The reason Celestia woke up each morning. Her sister, her daughter, her little wonder…
She didn’t cry, she couldn’t.
Her tears had dried up, all she felt was the cloying cold seeping in as her chest grew tight.
“It’s not supposed to be like this.”
Of course, it’s not.
“It’s not supposed to be like this!”
Of course not.
She stands up, stance wide and furry written on her face as she roars to the heavens.
“It’s not supposed to be like this!”
“Of course not” the shadows around her answer.
The world lost what little color that remained.
From the shadows -from every little nook and cranny between the planks and the stonework- it came pouring out.
Wisps of smoke filled Celestia’s nostrils and made her eyes sting, the bussing of insects filled her ears like screams of the dying and warmth -not of the sun, but of pumping blood- danced around her hoofs.
All she could see was a swirling mass of black and red, with the light of the moon reflecting in it like pearls just out of reach.
It buffeted her form like a storm, tossing her mane about and nearly making her lose her hoofing.
All she could do was hunker down and watch, watch as it coalesced into a form nearly twice her size, with legs long and robust, horn grander than the eldest unicorn she’d ever seen and wings large enough to engulf her.
Only when it took form did the shadows calm down, yet they still clung to this new figure. They still carried the scent of smoke and a distant tone of sorrow.
She could not move, something about this thing rooted her in her place.
Not their menacing looks, with tuffs of read dancing across their dark pelt, or the dark eyes with pupils like twinkling stars or even their larger stature.
No, it was the way they carried themselves that set her off. Standing tall and proud, undaunted by all. Be they pony or not.
Yet she stood up.
Her knees shook and her eyes dared not stay locked with theirs, but she stood.
For only she was between it and the stairs.
“Oh, what a precious little light you are.” It cooed, mere words bringing with them a pressure that made her feel small, that made her bones heavy and her stomach drop.
“How bright you are-” it leisurely paced around her, and it took all she had to keep it in her view “-burning with righteous furry”.
She could not, yet she stood.
“Tell me, child” It stopped where it started, a strand of shadow caressing her hair and sending a shiver down her spine “Tell me, you who burn so bright. If you could see the world changed, what would you give?”
Celestia had heard tales like this.
Of mighty beings born of shadows, offering more than one could afford.
Yet she didn’t feel as if she could say no.