Snow fell all around Princess Celestia as she strolled through her beloved garden.

Around her, but not on her.

Although the city of Canterlot was in the depths of winter, Princess Celestia found herself in the company of the most luscious trees and aromatic flowers one could ever hope to see. Nopony dared to make it snow on top of the Princess’s prized garden, so the space was kept in a perpetual state of spring, a green oasis in a desert of crystalline white. The flowers were always in bloom, the birds always sang in the trees, and the fragrance of nature could always be found on the breeze.

Princess Celestia took a seat at the edge of a pond, a spot she frequently stopped at to enjoy the tranquility of the moment. The border of her garden was marked by a small, well-maintained hedge, and beyond that, she could watch the snowflakes drift in the wind in every direction except towards her. Such was the nature of the magic protecting this place. The seasons never advanced in her garden, and at times, it felt as if time never passed here.

It was the place that foals were told about in their fairy tales—a land that was beautiful and flawless and could only exist in the dreams of the innocent.

Princess Celestia tapped the surface of the pond with her hoof. Ripples slowly spread through the water, a minor disturbance that quickly faded as the water returned to its previous state of perfection. Everything in her garden was perfect.

Princess Celestia got up and continued along the path. She passed by several rosebushes, each one with flowers of a different color: white, pink, green, and even magically-cultivated blue ones. Every rose was positioned to face her as she walked by to maximize the beauty she was exposed to on her leisurely little strolls through the garden.

Princess Celestia stopped at one of the green roses. One of its outer petals had started wilting. She smiled to it as her horn began to glow with its golden light. A simple age-spell and the petal returned to the vibrancy of its youth. Once more, it was perfect.

It was common knowledge among the ponies how much care Princess Celestia put into her garden. Those fortunate enough to have seen it all claim that its beauty is rivaled only by the Princess herself. They all said they expected nothing less.

Princess Celestia walked over to the edge of the garden and reached a hoof out over the hedge. A snowflake gracefully fell into her hoof, and she pulled it in close with the utmost care. She only got to look at for a second before the warmth of spring melted it away.

Gone far too quickly.

Princess Celestia continued through her garden, meticulously searching for and righting minor flaws as she came across them. A small stone out of place, a blade of grass that had grown too tall, a tree limb growing at an obtrusive angle—every detail was tended to. Everything in her garden was perfect.

Princess Celestia arrived at the end of the path, where the hedge was trimmed to form an arch and served as an entryway to the castle grounds. Even this part of her garden was mindfully crafted. This arch faced the west, much like how its twin faced the east. This allowed her to perform her duties from the comfort of her garden, if she saw fit. The sun was beginning its descent, and it was time for her to help it set.

Princess Celestia sat down, her back straight and wings tucked in. She angled her head such that her horn was pointed up into the air. A golden light appeared on the tip and deliberately travelled down its length until her entire horn was radiating with magical energy. She watched as the sun slowly set and disappeared from view, never blinking until the last sliver of light was gone.

A perfectly executed sunset.

Princess Celestia sighed softly and closed her eyes. The ponies of the past held such high expectations for her. They wanted a Princess who embodied grace, poise, charm, and beauty. Even if the ponies of today are more open-minded, the Princess needed to be steady and infallible. The Princess must be perfect, in all that she is and all that she does.

It was a cold winter’s evening in Canterlot, but it was warm in her garden.