Merry and Bright Advent Challenge | Prompts 17-25

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Elle Joyner

Moop.
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
Online Availability
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
  1. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
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Welcome to the third and final Prompt thread !

To get started, all you need to do is click the date to make the prompt appear! Remember, only post prompts up to the CURRENT date. Be sure to post it within a spoiler tag, marked with the prompt-date and your username! If you need to catch up with previous prompts, you may post more than one at a time, but again... no jumping ahead! There is a prompt for the 25th, but given how busy this day obviously is gonna be, it's totally optional! You'll have until the 31st before the contest ends :) Good luck and enjoy!! Get those banners! :-D

December 17
December 18
December 19
December 20
December 21
December 22
December 23
December 24
December 25

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Sleeping at gran’s house in the middle of nowhere was strange. Living in the heart of the city, I had grown used to having the warming, orange glow of the streetlamps outside my window, their light filtering in through the gaps in my room curtains.

The room held a blackness I couldn’t recall seeing before—one that was almost absolute. When I tilted my head back into the musty pillow smelling of mothballs, I could see millions of bright stars dotted on the night, yet none of that light seemed to filter far enough to make any difference when I turned my eyes away.

It was nearly midnight. My brothers had long since gone to bed. Gran slept, as did my parents. I scratched my arms where the itchy blanket that tickled my skin, but was necessary for my warmth against the drafty windows.

I sat up in bed, pulling the blanket over my shoulders and waddling across the bed to the window. The latch popped open and I pushed the panes out, a cold gust of wintery air swirling across my face. The distant mountains were pristine and white, even the dark green of the pines, black in night, were coated with crystalline snow.

I could sit there drinking it all in all night, listening to the silence that hung so thickly in the frigid air. I couldn’t sleep. I was bored. I shut the window when the cold grew too much to bear, but kept looking out.

A rasp at my door. I looked over.

“Can’t sleep,” said a shadowy head peering around the door. “Can’t wait for Santa.”

“Me either,” I replied. Though I was too old to believe in Santa, my little brother still did. Alan and I kept getting Santa presents every year, too, until Tim learned the truth. Maybe next year, I thought. He was already eight.

His last magical Christmas. What a shame.

“You can sit with me if you want,” I said, crossing my legs and pulling the blanket over my shoulders tighter.

“Think we’ll see Santa from here?” he asked, crawling up onto the bed next to me.

“Santa’s not real, bud,” I remarked. Eight was too old for Santa.

He answered with shocked silence.

The grey pony was a smart little animal with a big, round belly and a coat as shiny as a conker seed. It wasn’t a particularly quick moving creature, and trotted slowly up the snowy hill with the jangle of its harness in-time with each short stride.

Mr Beth, my family’s neighbor, kept clucking it on with encouraging words and wiggles of his whip, but the grey pony seemed unfazed and never moved any quicker than he had before. The drifts of snow were no match for the little beast, pulling the sleigh up the hill and across the old fields on Mr Beth’s estate, which were used for soybeans come summer.

Mr Beth was a nice man. Come summer, he’d lift me and my little brother to the lake with his tractor and, in winter, he’d never fail to get out his sleigh and give rides to all the neighborhood kids. I think I only ever walked to the fishing lake twice my entire life. All the other times, Mr Beth never let me go without a ride of some sort—sleigh, tractor, old Jeep.

The branches of the Evergreens hung low with the weight of the snow, like my mother’s arms when she returns from the green grocers, laden with carrots and breads. The green was still under the brilliant white, contrasting perfectly in that winter wonderland sort of way.

I knew it was a good idea to pack my snow shoes that day. The layer looked as solid as any forest floor, but the grey pony was sunk right up to her chest and beyond.

The sky was clear, a perfect, uninterrupted blue. It’s odd to think that the grass is still down there, surviving as best as it could until the spring melt, entombed in the compacted and icy layers lower down.

“Whoa, Cochlin, whoa,” Mr Beth calls to the grey pony, reigning her and the sleigh to a stop. “There’s the lake, Orion. You sure you’re OK to go out there alone?”

“Oh yea,” I said, kicking my legs over the wooden sleigh and grabbing my satchel as I slid down into the snow, finding myself waist deep in white powder. “I’ll be fine for a bit. Thanks for the lift.”

“Well, it’s not a problem,” Mr Beth replied. “Can I pick you up, too? I am not sure you’ll be able to walk your way home in all this snow.”

“Oh, yea, that’d be great, thanks! I’m only going to fish for an hour or two. It’s damn cold,” I sniffed, dragging my mitten below my nose. The lake was patched with ice, but there were still patched of unfrozen water left open for my line.

“Say noon? Hope you catch something."

“Yea, noon. I better not stay out long, ma would have me in a noose!” I laughed, clipping my snowshoes on to my feet and waddling towards the lake. “Thanks again, Mr Beth!”
 
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Through Autumn, the only problem at night was blackness. Some night, even the stars hid behind a wall of foreboding cloud. As they moved on toward winter, those nights drew longer, eager to arrive, reluctant to pass. No longer could they sleep in the open with only their thin clothes for cover and each other for warmth. The nights were as ferocious as a dip in the frozen lakes would be, taking their body heat until their lips blued and teeth chattered.

There were times Ira began to tremble uncontrollably and she knew finding shelter was a matter of life and death. Those frosty Skellige mornings she’d found so bewitching as a child sapped her spirit and every day passed, she watched the trees for signs of spring.

“I’m beginning to freeze,” Ira muttered, waving her gloved hand until a spark of fire ignited in her palm. She huddled the small flame close to her chest and while it burned hot, the heat prickled only a small bit of her body, leaving the rest in the chill.

“Kaer Trolde is only a few more miles ahead. Keep walking.”

“We left Rogne hours ago,” Ira spat back. “Everything is white. You can’t possibly know where you’re going.”

The man ahead growled his response, continuing to press ahead with the clank of his light armor ringing through the crisp night air.

The canyons all around them, towering mountains, did nothing but channel the cold air and hide the moon. The wind tugged at her cape and whipped loose hair about her face, bringing with it the first of the frozen rain that was promised since supper. The newly wet skin offered her heat to the frigid air, only to find its appetite was insatiable.

The fire in Ira’s palm flickered, and went out.

“Keep up.” The Witcher’s voice was anything but coaxing. Demanding, perhaps, unyielding.

Ira fumbled forward, thigh high in snow and trudging in his path. Oh, how fall she’d fallen from a kingly advisor to a miscreant plunging through snow to stay safe, to hide. Skellige was about as welcoming to her as a hard boot to a bare ass.

She shivered, hugging her hood tighter over her head. Before her, the frozen over fields rutted took on the appearance of a sugared cobbler under the silvery light.

“Look up,” the Witcher. Ira scowled.

“Go to hell,” she answered.

A grunt was her reply, but unable to sate her curiosity, she turned her head back and looked up. Lights danced across the dark sky, each color slowly fading into another. The aurora borealis, like a brilliant lit road, snaked through the air and disappeared behind the trees and cliffs. A darker purple aura clung to one side. The lights shimmered and stretched, growing and receding, striving and shrinking. One moment, the light was a singular thing, a path to heaven, the next it was a collection of many, an army made of light marching ever northward.

“It’s nice,” Ira mentioned. “Still hate Skellige, though.”
 
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Our family was never traditional. For Easter, we didn’t hide eggs but rather dollar bills and Christmas was no exception to our family weirdness. We didn’t have a bird roasted golden at the center of our dining room table. Instead, in true Italian fashion, amid the flour dusted table sat the boys, clustered around the pasta machine. One at a time, they fed the dough that gran flattened with her pin through the rollers, collecting the long, thin strands out the other end.

The eldest boy turned the dial to change the roller thickness, sending more dough through, over and over, until the pasta was long and papery.

We could all almost taste the pasta covered in a tomato basil sauce and sprinkled with cheeses. Mum baked pies, fighting for gran for counter space, while dad and pops smoked cigars over cards and laughed, leaving the women to do the cooking. Not of their own choice, mind you. Had they got their way, we would have been ordering Chinese from down the street and popping back beer tabs, but gran and mum would never have it.

Instead, it was flour and eggs, kneaded and shaped. It was tomatoes and basil, heated and stirred. It was fresh parmesan shaken out of the liquid and sliced thin with balsamic.

The boys send the pasta through the cutters to make the tagliatelle and hung it up on the rack until it was to be prepared. I watched, a spatula in my one hand. The pasta was green, either spinach or basil. Either way, I didn’t care—fresh pasta rocked, and we even got to make it ourselves.

There weren’t any presents under our tree because we didn’t have a tree. We had wooden clogs on the mantel packed with candies and sweets, but no one cared about them. They were already forgotten, too lame compared to the delights of cooking together
 
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Beads rolled of the desk in a cascade of colour and noise, followed a moment later by a pack of kittens with more pounce than sense.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ira muttered, looking away from her dressing mirror to the beaded necklace that popped its strand and sent every bead to the floor. The four kitten chased and batted, their paws revealing every needle-sharp claw as they sent the red spheres bouncing around the cottage.

Wiggling her fingers, the beads stopped rolling and levitated into the air. They strung themselves orderly back onto the strand, the break in the clasp healed with a spark of magic. Every kitten watched, tails flicking, whiskers twitching.

“Problematic whoresons, all of you,” Ira said, showing the kittens with her bare feet as the necklace laid itself around her neck and fastened. “I ought to have left you all out in the snow to freeze and get eaten by a monster.”

The madness of talking to kittens, least of all kittens that didn’t have any interest in her voice, was not lost on her. She frowned, tip-toeing to her stool.

Three of the kittens scattered, hiding in holes and pouncing out at one another. Only one trotted behind Ira, sniffing at her toes when she sat. The kitten’s tail thrashed back and forth, stretching out her neck to smell the sorceress’ feet before leaping with the sudden pounce.

Ira shook the cat’s claws off, clicking at the feline, but the tortoiseshell was undeterred. Digging her nails into the hem of Ira’s skirt, she clawed her way up, finding the lap warm and welcoming. The fierce predator subsided into a ball of fluff and exhaustion. The kitten yawned, kneading Ira’s thigh and settling down.

“There you go, little one,” said Ira, her hand falling over the little cartwheel of fur, while the other three continued to skitter around at her feet. “At least one of you has some sense.”

It was the kind of brilliant white that would even make a ream of paper look grey, the kind of white that seared into my retinas and made me temporarily blind as sun hit snow. The trees stood sparkly in the winter morning, like x-rays of their summer selves, but in reverse: black on white. They looked so forlorn in the frigid early evening.

Leaning on the bus stop, I folded my arms, but the icy metal soaked up the body heat from my shoulder, leaving me as cold as the trees. I shivered, stamping my feet and glancing down into the encroaching gloom of the cobblestone street, watching for the familiar set of bus headlights. To my back, Ben Nevis was a bald mountain top, shining like a jewel and aloft in the heavens were the white streamers of clouds.

I should have moved to Sterling when I had the chance.

The steely clouds made good on their promise, beginning to sleet just in time for the headlights to glow down the path. My heart leapt, thinking only of home, dinner, warm socks, and thick soup. I was going to go sit by the fire with a book and a hot drink, then soak in a lavender bath.
 
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DECEMBER 17th

Fingers and toes numb, nose a bright red bulb at the end of her face, Molly returned home feeling less than she had earlier that day - a feat which had seemed, previously, impossible. Chris's car was gone. The driveway empty. The house... empty. Inside, it was silent - unbearably silent. Her breath was the only sound that filled the space, a soft sigh turned to a bitter sob as she dropped down beside the door and curled into herself.

She had been stupid to fight with him - stupid to be angry with him. Of course he was upset. The woman he was going to marry - supposed to have married within a weeks time, were it not for the pressure to postpone - was running off to graveyards to cry over dead fiances. She wasn't remotely surprised with Chris's anger... nor was she surprised to find herself alone. It was her own feelings that unnerved her. The feeling that maybe... just maybe she'd finally done it. She'd finally pushed away the last person in the world who cared about her. Genuinely cared.

It was roughly an hour or two later that she managed to pick herself up off the floor. She was hungry, but food had no appeal, tired, but sleep seemed impossible. Instead, she curled up on the couch, wrapped snug in a woolen flannel blanket and then and there - too many days too early, found herself making a resolution. She was done. Done allowing the past the effect her. Done allowing it to define her. If forgiveness could be found in Chris, she wouldn't take that for granted, but regardless her father had been right. It was time to move on. Time to heal.
DECEMBER 18th


Morning dawned bright and cold, and Molly found herself woken by the oddest sound of jingling bells, that for all intents and purposes, she could have sworn left and right came from her front yard - sleigh bells. Untangling herself from the covers, she rose from the couch and cracked a kink from her spine, rolling her head from side to side with a soft groan. Coffee would not be enough that morning... but it was a start.

As she crossed the floor to the kitchen, however, she heard them again and this time, there was no way to suggest that it had been a figment in a dream. Freezing, trapped between curiosity and confusion, she listened... listened and waited and sure enough within only a few seconds, the sound repeated.

"What on earth...?" She asked, making her way instead to the front door. Wrapping her sweater tightly around her waist, she pulled open the door and all at once, was met with a sight both magnificent and baffling. A sleigh sat parked by the curb, a beautiful wood sleigh with ornate gold carving. Two horses pulled from the front, their driving sporting a black cabe and tophat, his gloved hands grasping reins veined by silver jingling bells and there in the cab, looking much too much the gentleman from an Audrey Hepburn movie, Chris sat with a bright smirk on his face.

"Get your coat." He called, simply enough, and Molly didn't wait more than two seconds before grabbing it. Throwing it on, pajamas and all, and slippered feet already half frozen, she tore across the lawn. He met her halfway and scooping her up, planted a firm kiss against her lips, swinging her around in a spin that stole breath from her lungs. Clinging to him, she sobbed, and his fingers wound their way through her hair and sofly, so softly, he shushed her.

"...No more tears for you, baby. Come on..." Taking her hand, he led her to the sleigh and as she dried her eyes on the hem of her sleeve she looked up at him, shaking her head.

"I love you..."

"I love you, too, Mol. Always will."
 
DECEMBER 19th

There were moments in life that Molly would remember forever. Small moments, some of which wouldn't have much bearing on anyone else... Large moments that shattered reality and changed her entire life... And then there were those moments inbetween.

And the sleigh ride with Chris was one of those moments, without a shadow of doubt.

When they returned to her house, the night sky dappled overhead with stars, Molly curled close to Chris's chest, reluctant to let him go. Reluctant to end the moment. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her forehead and she sighed softly, "I'm sorry for earlier..."

"Don't..." Chris murmured, pulling her tighter, "I was stupid, Mol. And insensitive. And I don't care what we do or where we go. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'm sorry... So sorry for what I said."

"I love you, Chris. I love you, and I don't ever want anything to get in the way of that. Least of all the past... This is the last time I look back."

"I love you so much..." His fingers wound through hers and Molly tipped up to receive a warm kiss, smiling faintly in the wake.

"You coming inside?" She asked.

"If you want the company?"

"I do. So much. I... I want you to stay, Chris. To stay over."

He chuckled, nodded, "But if we're gonna make this a habit, you're gonna need a bigger couch."

"Or you could come upstairs... With me." Molly said, quietly.

Chris's brow rose and he shifted back, "You... you sure?"

"I am, Chris. So sure. We're gonna be married soon, and I still wanna wait... but there's no reason I shouldn't trust you to stay with me... Not one reason."

Chris leaned in for another kiss and Molly laughed softly at his exuberance, "Now come on. It's freezing out here."
 
Silent Night
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character. This story is dedicated to my two grandmothers who died on Oct 28 and Dec 21 several years back, close to two major holidays that I love.

Valerie, bundled up in her winter jacket, was just walking away from her car in the hotel parking lot. It'd been a long night, and she really wanted to get some rest, especially with Monday Night Raw the next day. She headed inside, smiling a bit as she entered the decorated lobby before heading to the elevators. All of the hotel lobbies they'd visited this month looked lovely, with massive trees covered in lights and all sorts of cute little decorations all over the place. Some of them had even decorated the elevators, though this one hadn't.

She was in the elevator when her phone rang. A glance at the screen told her that it was her father, and a grin lit up her face. Quickly, she answered. "Hey, dad!"

"Hey, honey. Where are you right now?" her father asked. His voice was low and serious, and Valerie's grin faded quickly.

"In the elevator on my way to my hotel room, why?" she asked.

"I just wanted to tell you that your Grandma Richardson's passed away," he said. Valerie's blue eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.

"She - wait...what?" she asked. "Was there something wrong?"

"No - well, yes, I mean... Advanced heart disease. She had a heart attack. Died peacefully in her sleep - they said it would have been quick and painless. I'm so sorry, honey."

Valerie could feel tears welling up in her eyes as the elevator dinged to signal that they'd reached her floor. She stepped out of the elevator, feeling numb as she walked towards her room. "So close to Christmas..." she said in a soft voice.

"I know," he said. "Are you gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, I think so," Valerie replied, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. She wasn't entirely sure whether it was true or not, but it was worth a try.

"Okay," he said. She could sense doubt in his voice, probably since she was doubting herself too. "You have a good night, honey. Call us if you need anything."

"I will, daddy," Valerie replied softly, fumbling around in her pocket for her keycard as she reached her room. "I love you." Her voice was starting to get choked up.

"I love you too, honey," he replied. She hung up the phone and shoved it into her pocket, beginning to softly cry as she entered her room.

"Val!" came a voice from within. "Babe, hey, I hope you don't mind but I asked Alexa and then we talked to the front desk and-" Brock's voice trailed off as he came into view and saw Valerie crying. She quickly turned away, but it was too late. "Valerie, what's wrong?"

"M-my dad just called, and my grandma died," she mumbled in her choked voice as Brock approached her, putting a gentle hand on her back.

"Oh, Val, I'm so sorry," he said. He pulled her into his arms, and she suddenly felt comfortable. She felt safe. As she nestled against him, she began to cry a little harder, burying her face in his strong chest and letting him hold her. There were a few minutes of silence before he, gently, scooped her up in his arms. He carried her to the bed, still holding her close against him, and then sat down with her.

"I'm s-sorry," Valerie mumbled.

"Sorry?" he asked. "Why are you sorry?"

"I don't know," she said tearfully, pulling away to look up at him. "You w-were saying something and y-you obviously wanted to s-surprise me and now I'm c-crying-"

"Val, stop that," he said, squeezing her gently. "You're more important than anything I had planned. Is there anything you need?"

Valerie thought about it for a minute. Her crying had slowed somewhat, but she was still upset. She could feel fresh tears working their way to the surface. "Just...just hold me?" she asked in a small voice, wriggling out of his arms and lying down on the bed. "I don't want to be alone."

"Okay," Brock replied. He laid down beside her and gathered her up into his arms, holding her close against him. Despite all the emotions bubbling beneath her surface, she felt safe and secure in his arms. She felt warm, and comforted, and she felt loved. He didn't say anything, and once her crying came to a stop, neither did she. The pair of them just laid there in silence, taking comfort in one another and eventually falling asleep in one anothers' arms.

Sleigh Ride
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character. You're damn right I googled moon phases when I wrote this.

Valerie was just stepping out of the shower when Alexa stuck her head into the room. "Val, Brock's here!" she chimed. Valerie looked up, glaring at her friend and grabbing a towel.

"Well, Brock can wait," she said. "I'm not even dressed yet."

"I don't think he cares," Alexa replied.

"Get out of here," Valerie replied, grabbing another towel and throwing it at the blonde. Alexa laughed, ducking back out and closing the door behind her.

There was a week left until Christmas. Valerie was still pretty shaken up after the news of her grandmother's passing yesterday, but as she'd told Brock that morning when they'd woken up together, she didn't want to let it dampen her Christmas spirit. If anything, she was more determined to enjoy the holidays because she knew that's what her grandmother would have wanted. She scrambled to get dressed, and when she stepped out into the main dressing room, she saw Brock standing with Alexa and Nia.

"Are you even allowed in here? This is a ladies room," Valerie said.

"We don't mind," Nia said quickly, grinning her way.

"It's a good thing I didn't come in here to change, geez," Valerie said, shaking her head as she walked over to them. Brock greeted her with a quick kiss on the cheek and she could see her two friends getting all giddy at the sight.

"You don't have any plans for tonight, do you?" Brock asked.

"Aside from sleeping? No," Valerie replied. "It was kind of a rough match, and then I had to take the pin, so my pride's a little bruised."

"Yeah, I saw," he said. "Your shoulder's alright, though?"

"Yeah, the doctor said it was just bumped and it'd be sore, but that's all," she replied. "With how things have been going over the last two years, I'm honestly relieved."

"Yeah," he agreed with a nod. "Well, before you go back to the hotel to sleep, would you be willing to go somewhere with me?"

"That depends," Valerie replied with a quirked eyebrow, "on where that somewhere is."

Less than half an hour later, Brock was pulling his car over to the side of the road. He'd driven her to the arena, so her car was already at the hotel, but this was nowhere near either the hotel or the arena. In fact, she wasn't quite sure what it was near - there was a park, but that was all she could see.

"Where are we?" she asked as he got out of the car. He came around to open her door for her, and she curiously stepped out, looking around.

"It'll just be another minute or so, I hope," Brock said. As he said it, as if on queue, there came a sight from around the corner: two horses trotting along, pulling behind them a sleigh covered in Christmas lights. Valerie's eyes went wide.

"Is that what we're here for?" she asked, turning to Brock excitedly. He grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him slightly.

"Yeah, it is," he replied. "I know you're tired, so it doesn't have to be a long ride, but I just-"

"Brock, it's perfect," Valerie said, grabbing his hands and gazing up at him. "I love horse-drawn carriages. Thank you."

"I thought you hated horses, though," he said, smirking.

"First off, you can enjoy carriages without having to enjoy the horses themselves, and second, I don't remember ever even telling you that," she said, raising an eyebrow. Before he could divulge to her his sources, though, the sleigh had slowed to a stop in front of them and the driver was greeting them.

Brock took Valerie by the hand and helped her to climb up into the carriage. He got in beside her, sitting down and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, smiling up at him as the driver got started. The horses flicked their tails before they started to lightly trot along.

"It's so beautiful," Valerie said softly. The streetlights and Christmas lights were glittering against the thick blanket of snow that covered the city, and though the sky was cloudless, the new moon was barely visible in the dark.

"Just like you," Brock replied, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze. One of the horses let out a whinny as they trotted along, and she quietly nestled herself comfortably against him. This was one of those moments that you sit back and enjoy, one of those moments that you remember forever.

Baby, It's Cold Outside
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character.

Valerie didn't have a show tonight, but she also didn't have enough free time to head home and see her family. They'd said that they were going to hold off on the funeral for her grandmother until some time after Christmas and New Year's, and Valerie was planning on talking to someone at work about getting permission to take a day off - probably a Saturday - to go to the funeral.

Not today, though. She wasn't going anywhere today.

She'd been planning on going shopping, wanting to buy something nice for Brock, but one glance at her weather app had told her all she needed to know: It was negative 29 degrees outside, but it felt like negative 33 and she was not leaving this hotel room.

A knock sounded at her door. Valerie, still in her pyjamas, raised an eyebrow as she went to answer it. Peering out the peephole, she saw Brock, fully dressed and wearing his coat. Why was he wearing his coat?

"Morning, Val," he said as she opened the door. "I wasn't sure if you'd be awake - I was wondering if you wanted to go and get some breakfast? I know a great place-"

"Brock," Valerie said, staring up at him.

"Yes?"

"I'm not going anywhere today."

"Don't be silly, Val, this place is great."

"Baby, it's cold outside," Valerie replied, not even realizing what she'd said until after the words had left her mouth.

"But they make these croissants with chocolate in them, you'd-" Brock started, apparently also not realizing what she'd said.

"Baby, it's cold outside," Valerie said again, intentionally this time, stifling a giggle as she said it.

"It's really not that cold, and it's-" Brock suddenly stopped, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't there a song that goes like this?"

"Yeah," Valerie said, bursting out in laughter. "I didn't mean it though, I swear. I'm just really, really not interested in going anywhere today. Did you even look at the weather app?"

"I don't have a weather app," he replied. "If you're not going to come outside, then at least let me come inside."

"That's fair," Valerie said, stepping aside so he could enter. He began to take his coat off as she shut the door behind him, and then he turned towards her.

"Hey, that song you accidentally referenced?" he asked, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Remind me again how it ends?" he asked, a smirk on his lips.

"She stays for the night and they - oh." She paused, frowning, and then smacked his arm. "You're terrible."

"I'm just saying, if we can't go outside because it's too cold then we might as well stay inside and keep warm," he said with a shrug. "I mean, unless you don't want to, of course. We haven't been dating long, I know, so if you're not ready for that yet then-"

"Brock," Valerie said softly, stepping closer to him and gently placing her hands on his chest.

"Yes?"

"I'd love to."

Family Dinner
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character.

"What do you mean, tonight's show was canceled?"

Cancelling shows was almost unheard of within the WWE. Even when ticket sales were abnormally low, they generally still went on with the show for the sake of the few who had bought tickets. Valerie frowned as she heard Brock's words while he spoke on the phone.

"I see," Brock said. "That's fair, I guess. Weren't we supposed to have Friday's show there too, though?"

Again, silence. Valerie desperately wanted to know what was going on, but he wasn't saying anything yet.

"So we've got tonight, tomorrow, and Friday off?" asked Brock. "No, no, I'm not complaining! Just surprised is all. Thanks for letting us know. Oh, and don't worry about calling Valerie, she's here with me, I'll let her know myself. Okay, awesome. Thanks for calling. See you Saturday."

"Why's the show canceled?" Valerie asked the instant he'd hung up the phone.

"Snowstorm last night did some damage to the arena," Brock replied. "They're not fully operational and can't have us."

"That's awesome!" Valerie said, grinning. "What should we do instead?"

"Let me make some phone calls and then I'll have a plan," he said, grinning.

Brock left for about an hour. In the meantime, Valerie opened up her laptop to Skype with her brother. He was still with their parents, and apparently that night was going to be their big family dinner. "It won't be the same without grandma," her brother said to her, "but our uncle's coming, and our cousins, and we haven't seen them in ages."

"Aren't they normally in Cuba this time of year?" Valerie asked.

"Normally, but they canceled their trip since grandma passed away," her brother replied.

"I really wish I could come," Valerie said. "We've got a few days off, but Brock seems to have an idea what to do."

"That's fine," her brother said with a shrug. "You guys are in a new relationship. You should go do something fun together anyways."

She'd already hung up with her brother by the time Brock returned, and he was grinning. "Pack up, we've got to be at the airport in two hours," he told her. So, she did as he asked, and every time she asked him where they were going, he refused to say. "Oh, and don't look at your boarding pass, or at the screen by our gate," he added.

Once on the airplane, he put headphones on her so that she wouldn't be able to hear the pilot say where they were going and he recommended that she take a short nap. "You're putting a lot of effort into keeping this a secret," she said, but did as he asked. Upon landing, he even asked her to look at the ground as they went through the airport. She'd recognize the airport, he told her, and he didn't want that. So, without even so much as looking up, they went through baggage claim, got their suitcases, and he loaded her and their luggage into a cab.

"I think I'm going to go crazy keeping my eyes shut," she told Brock, so he got a scarf out of her suitcase and wrapped it around her head as a blindfold.

"I'm keeping this a surprise no matter what," he told her as he climbed into the back seat with her. He handed the driver the address on a piece of paper, apparently not wanting to say aloud where they were going, and then off they went.

It wasn't until they reached their destination that Valerie was finally allowed to look. Gently, Brock untied the scarf blindfold from around her head and a surprised gasp left her lips when she saw where they were.

"We're at my parents' house!" she exclaimed, turning towards him excitedly.

"I talked to your dad and he invited us to dinner," he said. "I hope you don't mind that I'm meeting your family without you really having a say, but they really seemed to want us here."

"I don't mind at all," Valerie said, leaning up and planting a quick kiss on his lips. "But wait, now you're going to see my childhood room!"

"Nah, your parents said they had a fold-out couch bed in the basement that we could use," Brock replied with a grin. "Why are you looking at me like that, babe? I remember thing!"

They got out of the cab and got their suitcases, and while Brock paid the driver, Valerie started up towards the front door. She hadn't even reached it yet by the time her parents opened it, eagerly grinning as they saw Valerie with Brock a few feet behind her. "You made it!" Valerie's mother exclaimed.

"We did!" Valerie replied, setting her suitcase down on the shoveled walkway to hug her parents.

"You must be Brock," Valerie's father said as the tall blond man came up behind her.

"I sure am," Brock replied as he shook her father's hand. "It's good to meet you."

"Good to meet you too," her father replied. "We've heard a lot about you."

"All good, I'm sure," Brock said with a grin.

"Come inside, come inside!" Valerie's mother exclaimed. "You two must be exhausted, you made it here in record time I'd say!"

They headed inside, and once they'd deposited their suitcases in the basement, Brock was treated to a tour of the house - minus Valerie's bedroom, of course, since she insisted on keeping her stuffed animal collection a secret for the time being - and then they all sat in the living room. Valerie's dad was very curious to hear about Brock, and asked him a lot of questions.

Valerie was excited when her uncle and his three children arrived. He was a widower, as her aunt had died a few years ago, but he was coping well and doing a great job at being a single father. They didn't see him often, since he was quite well-off compared to the rest of the family and he spent a lot of time traveling both for work and for leisure, so it was nice to see them for once.

When dinner was finally served, the table was packed. At the head of the table sat Valerie's father, and her mother sat across from him at the other end of the table. To her father's left sat Valerie's brother, and then Valerie, and then Brock, and on the other side of the table, to her father's right, sat her uncle and then his three children.

"It's a shame grandma can't be with us tonight," said Valerie's uncle when her mother stood up to go and get the turkey from the oven. "I'm sure she's with us in spirit, though, and she knows how loved she was."

"I'm certain you're right," Valerie's father agreed, smiling at his brother. Valerie also missed her grandma, but as Brock squeezed her hand, she knew that everything was okay. For the first time in years, the whole family was together for a nice holiday dinner, and to top it all off, Valerie finally had a worthwhile guest to bring with her. If that wasn't magic, then she didn't know what was.

Serenity
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character.

After all the hustle and bustle of the last few weeks, Valerie was at peace.

After the chaos of the previous night's dinner, after the scrambling to get home in time and all the clatter of dishes and knives and food being passed around, after all the random conversations and catching up and side-conversations, everything was silent.

It was early in the morning, and everything in the house was quiet. Outside, through the small basement window, Valerie could see big, puffy white snowflakes falling from the sky. A dim pinkish tone was beginning to cross the dark sky as the sun began its morning ascent. Beside her on the sofa bed, Brock was sound asleep. He wasn't even snoring. She was relieved - she'd expected him to be the type to snore.

Her uncle and his kids had stayed for some board games after dinner, but then they'd left. Her parents had retired to their room next, and then Valerie's brother had retreated into his own room. For a while, though, she'd still been able to hear him - he was playing video games, and though he tried to keep his voice down out of respect for their parents, she could hear him talking to his friends as he played.

He'd stopped, though. He'd stopped, and eventually, Valerie had fallen asleep. She was awake now, though. Wide awake, though she wasn't bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as she usually was. This morning, all she felt was calmness - a peaceful serenity that she hadn't felt in a long time.

She nestled herself comfortably up against the sleeping Brock, her blue eyes focused on the snow falling outside. It looked so beautiful. The sun was rising now, and beams were beginning to peek into the basement, but Valerie didn't mind. If anything, she liked it - Brock looked magnificent, sound asleep and bathed in sunlight. She thought that the sun might wake her up more, but it didn't. If anything, the sun gleaming off the newly-fallen snow added to the peaceful feeling she was experiencing.

For the first time in a long time, she was calm. There was nowhere to be, nothing to do, no one to meet. She didn't have a flight to catch by noon, she didn't have an arena to reach by five, and she didn't have a match to plan by eight. She had no bags to pack or unpack, no hotels to check out of by a certain time, and no obligations.

She was peaceful. She was calm. She was serene. She was free.

White
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character.

It had snowed all day Thursday, and by the time Friday came around, it looked like a winter wonderland outside. A heavy blanket of snow covered the ground. Valerie's parents' car was absolutely buried, and they'd spent a good ten minutes that morning trying to clear it off. It was a relief to Valerie that she didn't have to go anywhere today since their show had been canceled.

"Hey, Val?" came a voice. Valerie glanced up, smiling at her brother as he poked his head into the basement room.

"Yeah?" she asked softly. Brock was still asleep.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come tobogganing?" her brother asked, and Valerie's face lit up.

"I'd love to!" she said, jumping to her feet. She paused, glancing back at Brock. "Should I wake him up?"

"Nah, just leave a note," her brother said with a grin. "I was hoping we could have, you know, some quality sibling time."

"That's fair," Valerie said, grinning. "Let me just get ready and I'll be upstairs soon."

She got ready in record time, and even managed to find a pair of snowpants in a downstairs closet that fit her. They were probably her mother's, but she didn't care. She needed snowpants for tobogganing. Her brother drove, and before long, they were at the hill they'd always used for tobogganing as children.

"Hmm," Valerie mused as they walked towards the hill, pulling their toboggan along behind them. "It looks a lot smaller than it did when we were kids."

"Being adults sucks," her brother agreed. "Will we even both fit on this toboggan?"

"We really didn't think this through," Valerie laughed. The sunlight gleaming off the hill was almost blinding. There were a few kids tobogganing already, but not enough to make it terribly unpleasant. "Maybe we'll have to take turns."

Valerie waited at the bottom of the hill while her brother pulled the toboggan up to the top. She watched as he sat down on it, used his feet to pull himself to the hill, and then put his feet in front of him once he started moving. She could hear him whooping and hollering as he slid down the hill, and he slowed to a stop right in front of her, laughing.

"That was more fun than I remember!" he said.

"Let me try, then!" Valerie said. She took the toboggan from him and trudged up through the snow to the top of the hill. It was exhausting - less so than she remembered, though, since she was in better shape now than she'd ever been as a kid - but she knew that it was going to be a lot of fun. She pulled the toboggan up close to the top of the hill, sat down, and then shuffled herself forwards with her feet.

Once she started to slide, she moved her feet in front of her, but her foot got caught in the snow. Suddenly, the toboggan was sliding downwards on an angle. She let out a surprised cry and she could see her brother keeled over laughing at the bottom of the hill. She slid just over halfway down before the toboggan lost control completely, flipping over and sending her face first into a pile of snow.

"Val!" her brother's voice called as she pulled herself up. "Oh my god, that was awesome. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Can't say the same about my pride, though."

"Maybe you're right, maybe we didn't plan this out very well," her brother said.

"I don't care," Valerie said. She stood up, brushing the dusting of white snow off her coat. "I wanna go again."

Winter Wonderland
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character.

"Bronner's Christmas Wonderland?" Valerie asked curiously, gazing up at the massive building in front of them. With an early flight and time to kill before they had to be at the arena, Brock had seemed quite eager to drive her a few towns over to check this place out.

"It's supposed to be the biggest Christmas store in the world," Brock replied.

He pulled her inside by the hand, and suddenly, both of them were like kids in a candy store - except they were adults in a Christmas store, which might have been worse since they actually had money to spend. Valerie couldn't quite tell where the merchandise ended and the store's decorations began. It was like a giant ocean of Christmas.

"I feel like we're in Santa's workshop," Valerie said, looking up at Brock.

"Same," he agreed with a nod as they walked through. The store had all sorts of items, ranging from decorations to gifts and toys for kids. There was an entire section of the store just dedicated to ornaments, and a line of booths where employees sat and wrote custom names, words, and dates on the ornaments at the behest of the customers.

"They basically have anything you could ever want," Valerie said softly as they walked into what seemed to be an entire indoor forest of Christmas trees. "I don't even know what I want to buy."

"Do you have any last-minute gifts that you need to get?" Brock asked.

"You're the only person I haven't bought a gift for, and I can't buy you something while you're right here," Valerie said, looking up at him. "Besides, I don't even know what to get you."

"You don't have to get me anything," Brock replied, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up to him. "Just saying yes when I asked you out was enough of a Christmas gift for me."

"Are you sure?" Valerie asked.

"Positive," Brock replied. He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently, and then took a step back. "Now, we're gonna have a competition to see who can find the weirdest thing in the store."

"Oh my god, you're so on!" Valerie laughed. "I'm the Queen of weird!"

"We'll see about that," Brock said with a grin. "Go find something weird and we'll meet back here. On your mark...get set...go!"

The Night Before Christmas
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house...

"Except that this is a hotel," Valerie said. She pulled the blanket up a little closer around her, snuggling herself further into Brock.

"Fine. All through the hotel," he replied, and then kissed the top of her head. "Happy?"

"Yes."

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

"Do you think the hotel has mice?" Valerie asked, looking curiously up at Brock.

"No, I don't," he replied. "That's why it says they weren't stirring. There were none."

"Ohh," Valerie said, nodding. "That makes sense."

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care...

"I didn't even get us stockings!" Valerie said, her eyes widening. "That's what I should have bought yesterday!"

"It's fine," Brock said, smiling down at her. "We don't need stockings."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Valerie said, nodding.

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

"Except that he's not coming here," Valerie said with a giggle. "Because we're adults."

"We're too old for Santa," Brock agreed with a nod. "Do you even want me to read this?"

"Of course I do!" Valerie said.

"You've interrupted basically every line so far," Brock replied.

Valerie paused, thinking for a moment. "Hmm," she said finally. "You're right."

"Why don't we just unwrap our presents and then head to bed?" Brock asked. Valerie's mother had sent two suspiciously pyjama-shaped boxes home with them after their last visit. The boxes were labeled as Christmas Eve, meaning they were to be opened tonight rather than tomorrow morning.

"We could do that," Valerie said with a nod. "Go get them."

"I can't," he said. "You're halfway in my lap. Move your legs or go get them yourself."

"Fine, fine," Valerie said, giggling as she stood up. The blanket fell off of her and she began to walk towards the closet, opening up the door. "Where did you put them?"

"Top shelf."

"Babe, I can't even reach the top shelf," Valerie said, folding her arms over her chest and turning to face him. Brock laughed as he stood up.

"Fine, I'll come and get them," he said, walking over. He pulled down the plastic shopping bag with the presents in it, and then he took them both out. One had his name on it, and the other had hers. He'd thought it quite generous of her parents to give him a present even though they hardly knew him.

The presents were wrapped in a red wrapping paper that had shimmery golden snowflakes all over it, and they were accented with curled golden ribbon. The tags even matched, as they were red and gold, but the pair took barely a second to admire Valerie's mother's wrapping job before they tore into them.

Beneath the paper they found a pair of boxes. Valerie's mother always boxed clothing so it'd be easier to wrap, and she reused her boxes like crazy. Valerie's gift was in a rather beaten-up green box with an old-fashioned Santa on it, and Brock's was in a much newer blue and white box with a cartoon snowman on the front. They opened the boxes, pulled aside the tissue, and revealed the gifts.

Brock's pyjamas consisted of a pair of black and red plaid bottoms with a red t-shirt style top. The top was designed to look like a Santa costume, complete with a beard beneath where his face was. He chuckled, tugging off his t-shirt and beginning to pull on the Santa shirt instead.

Valerie's pyjamas, meanwhile, were absolutely adorable. The bottoms were baggy and capri-length, and they were red with straight lines of little white Christmas trees. The top was a tank top style, and it was solid white with red trim around the neckline and arms. A gingerbread man with hearts as buttons was on the front of the shirt, and she giggled as she saw it.

The pair took a second to get dressed. Valerie was quite impressed with how well Brock's pyjamas fit him, considering how her mother had met him only once and had retrieved his size from Valerie, who'd had to sneak into his suitcase while he was asleep to find out what size pyjama pants he wore. Her own pyjamas fit well, of course, because she and her mother went shopping together frequently and so her mother knew her size. She was pretty sure she'd commented on this exact set of pyjamas once when they'd been shopping, back when the Christmas season had first begun in November and the first Christmas merchandise was popping up in stores.

"These are great," Brock said, facing Valerie.

"You look like Santa," she said with a laugh. "Oh! We should turn on the tree."

"Sure," Brock said with a nod. She may not have bought stockings, but Valerie had bought a miniature Christmas tree at the store yesterday that she figured would travel well. It was pre-lit and decorated, too, which meant that she could take it out of her suitcase already set to go. She'd set it up on the table by the window, but they had yet to turn it on.

She walked over, finding the plug and guiding it to the nearest outlet. As she plugged it in, Brock turned off the lights in the hotel room so that the tree would be their only light. Valerie all be squealed in delight, clapping her hands togeether as Brock came up behind her.

"I love it!" she said, and Brock wound his arms around his waist, hugging her against him.

"And I love you," he said in a soft voice.

"You - wait....what?" Valerie asked, turning around to face him. It was hard to see his face in the dark, but the soft golden glow of the tree illuminated him just enough that she could see his smile.

"I said, I love you," he murmured, gazing down at her.

There was a moment of silence, and then a smile began to spread across her face. "Brock," she whispered, lifting a hand and laying it down gently on his cheek. "I love you, too."

"Really?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she said, grinning. "Yes, I do."

Brock hugged her tightly for a moment, and then pulled her towards the bed. "Come on, let's get to sleep," he said gently. "The sooner we get to sleep, the sooner Christmas will come."

"The sooner Christmas comes, the sooner we have to go back to work," Valerie replied. "Let's stay up a little while longer - but let's cuddle."

"Sure," Brock replied. He laid down with her, pulling her close in his arms and closing his eyes. He said he would stay awake, but it was only a matter of minutes before he was sound asleep, and she didn't last much longer than he did.

But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight:
Merry Christmas to all! And to all, a good night.

An Unexpected Gift
By PrincessLala95
Disclaimer: This is a WWE fanfiction. Brock Lesnar is not my character.

"Brock!" Valerie exclaimed when she saw the small pile of presents on the table beside their miniature tree. "I thought we agreed that we weren't getting one another presents!"

"We agreed that you didn't have to get me any presents," Brock said, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her up against his towel-clad form. "You are a gift. But me? I'm an overrated old part-timer who isn't even divorced yet. I have to make sure you stay invested in this relationship."

"Don't even say that!" Valerie said, gently smacking his arm. "Go get dressed so I can open my presents and then cry about not getting you any presents."

"If you cry, it won't be because you didn't get me anything," he said with a chuckle. "It'll be because of my presents."

Once he was dressed, he sat her down on the bed and brought the presents to her one by one. For the most part, he'd gotten her simple things that she didn't need - things that would be easy to get rid of if they ever broke up, she noticed. He bought her a lavender-scented candle (which was her favourite), a cute new hat with a big pink pompom on top, a blank notebook with purple swirls all over the cover, and a snowglobe with two hugging snowmen inside of it.

He brought her a smaller box, and when she opened it, she was surprised to see a pair of beautiful amethyst earrings inside. "Brock!" she exclaimed, scrambling to put them in her ears. "These are beautiful! Thank you!"

"I'm glad you like them," he said, grabbing the last present, which was suspiciously clothing-shaped just like their gifts from last night. "That's not the main present, though."

"They're not?" Valerie asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise as he held out the last gift. "I thought they'd be like, the main event gift."

"This is," Brock replied.

Nervously, Valerie took the last present from him. She turned it over in her hands a few times before beginning to open it. "My main present is clothes?" she asked as she revealed a box much like the ones from last night - red with a Rudolph on it - that he'd almost definitely borrowed from her mother when they'd gone to visit.

"Just open it," Brock said, sitting down on the bed beside her.

Valerie opened the box, pulling back the tissue paper to reveal the gift. It was a t-shirt, black and licensed with the WWE Shop logo to show that it was official merchandise. It had a design on the front done up in a light lavender and soft teal colour scheme, and it featured her ring name. On the back was her catchphrase.

"It's a t-shirt? For me?" Valerie asked, her eyes widening.

"You wear it to the ring tonight and then they're gonna debut it in the shop," Brock said.

"How did you ever convince them to make merch for me?" she asked, turning towards him with wide eyes.

"I didn't," Brock replied. "I mean, I was going to - that was the plan, I was gonna ask them to make a shirt for you, but they already had one in the works. They were planning on running it by you last week, but I asked them not to. They gave me permission to give it to you as a gift this morning."

Valerie immediately felt tears filling her blue eyes. "Brock, that's amazing!" she said softly. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Make sure you thank them when we get to work tonight," Brock said with a smile. "They made a great design for you."

"They really did! It's beautiful!" Valerie replied.

"Oh, and that's not all," Brock added, a sly glint in his eyes. "They also directed me towards creative, who gave me permission to be the first to tell you that they're giving you a push when the New Year starts."

"They're giving me a push?" Valerie asked, her eyes widening.

"Yeah," he replied, nodding. "You're over as hell with the fans, and you're so talented, so they want to give you a title run. They're not sure about the specifics yet, but they want you to come in tonight to talk with them about it."

"Oh, Brock!" Valerie exclaimed, all but throwing herself into his arms. "This is amazing!"

"I hope your gifts were good enough to make up for the fact that you're stuck here instead of being with your family for Christmas," Brock said, holding her close in his arms and resting his face in her hair.

"More than good enough," Valerie replied softly. "I can't believe that I've got my own t-shirt! And I'm going to be the women's champion at some point next year!"

"I can believe it," Brock said with a grin. "You deserve it, Val. You're incredible."

"Hold on to your championship long enough for us to be champions together, okay?" Valerie asked, grinning up at him. "That'd make for the cutest picture."

Brock laughed as he heard her words. "I can do that for you if you agree to kiss me in the photo," he replied.

This time, it was Valerie's turn to laugh. "Okay," she replied, grinning. "It's a deal, then." Their blue eyes locked together, they leaned up to one another and, gently, sealed their deal with a tender Christmas kiss.
 
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Winter Wonderland
Gazing at the winter trees, it is hard for me to imagine them re-clothed in their summer finery. Their roots bury deep into the frozen earth as they sleep, their twigs moving in the breeze, stirring their wintery dreams. I half expect the trees to sneeze under the snow they carry, sending it raining down onto the newly white ground below. With the dampness in the air, the bark is darker than it is in summer time, from mid-brown to a sable tone.

“Come inside soon to warm up or you’ll freeze,” mum calls from the kitchen, her head poking around the entryway out the back door.

I grin and wave a mitten hand back. “Five more minutes!” I yell. Her look is disapproving, but she agrees by shutting the door behind her.

My eyes wander back to my snow-day masterpiece I’d spent the last few hours perfecting. It is nearly complete. Building igloos was, when we first moved up North, a science, but once I mastered the basic building skill, it became my art.

I filled old yogurt tubs that morning with water and food coloring. Now, I have stained glass windows for my snow igloo. My igloo has a gap-toothed grin look. The white blocks sit awkward and there were far more ways for the winter blasts to get in than there should be. The top, instead of a steady curve, is a wondrous only in the fact it hasn’t caved in yet.

I crawl into the entrance and sit. My masterpiece, my igloo, protects me from the wind and the snow. I grin wider when papa’s head peaks in through the entrance.

“What you have here?” he asks. “Mum said you’d be out here.”

“I built an igloo,” I replied, my arms wrapping around myself to pretend like I’m not shivering.

“Well, well, I see that. May I come in?” he inquires. He crawled in on hands and knees as I nod. “Nice structure you have here, Libby.”

“Thanks,” I reply. “I’m practicing architecture so I can be like you when I grow up. Do you like the windows?”

“My, I like them very much,” he says, tapping his nail against the colored ice blocks. “Very clever. You made this all yourself?”

“Yep! Sara helped a little this morning, but she had to go home for lunch. I did most of it.”

Papa hums thoughtfully, acknowledging each nook and cranny of the structure. “You know what I like to do when I finish building something as perfect as this?”

“What’s that?”

“Drink some hot cocoa. What do you say?”

“That does sound good…” I acknowledge. My limbs are stiff and barely responding. My fingers ache and my stomach gurgles for something warming and sweet.

“Why don’t you come inside with me and have some then,” he says, beginning to crawl out the dome door.

“Marshmallows?” I ask, following.

“What is hot cocoa on a snow day without marshmallows?”

Asking Theo to sit still was like asking a fire not to burn. His eyes were alight, his every muscle needing to move, to dance, to jump. He chatters and observes, giggles and jokes, as he runs from the couch to the window, peering up towards the night sky. Everything tickles him as funny and if there is one idea coming from his mouth, there are seven more queuing up in his mind.

I gave up trying to read him his bedtime story two hours ago, when he ought to have been in bed.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see Santa from here?” he asked. “When is he supposed to come? After midnight? Do you think his reindeer will like the carrots? Do reindeer like carrots?”

“Buddy,” I chuckle, patting a space on the couch next to me. He reluctantly joins me, but wiggles in his seat, twisting around to peer out the window behind us. “Santa can’t come until you’re asleep, you know that.”

“I know, but… what if I pretend I’m asleep?”

“You’re going to pretend you’re asleep? And Santa isn’t going to notice?”

Theo shrugged his little shoulders. “I’m good at pretending.”

“Come on, off to bed.” I stroked my hand through his hair, pushing the wiry black strands away from his tanned forehead.

“I don’t wanna go to bed.”

“I know, but Santa can only come if…”

“Yea, alright… I see you’re point,” he replied and I had to prevent myself from laughing. He could be so mature at times.

We rose and I helped him off to bed, waiting another hour until I was sure he was asleep. I stuffed Theo’s stocking with a toycar and a candy bar. Not much compared to some kids’ Christmases, but to Theo, it’d be a bounty that would be almost too exciting. Two wrapped presents, several months’ worth of pinching pennies, made their way under the tree.

Sitting down on the couch with the tuna can, having tossed the carrot bits down the drain, I sat in dark and waited for the sunrise to kiss the windows, sleepless. After the lights filled the room for some hours, I started to worry. Sleeping in late on Christmas could only mean one thing.

I go to his room and touch his forehead: hot and sweaty. Damn.

“Hey buddy,” I said, sitting on the edge of his bed and stroking back sweaty hair. “How’re you feeling?”

He coughs and groans. “Did Santa come?” he gurgled between thick rolls of congestion.

“He did. Want me to bring your presents and breakfast to bed for you?”

He nodded, struggling to sit up and sniffing with a grimace and open-mouthed cough. “Did the reindeer eat the carrots?”

“They did.”

He smiled warily, lolling his head to my shoulder and closing his eyes.

“Let me get your presents,” I said, stroking his cheek and going to wiggle underneath him to stand.

“Honey!” Rick bellowed up the staircase. I grunted, rolling over on to my side and pulling the pillow over my head.

“Honey!” he called again, louder. “Come downstairs, quick!”

“Leave me alone—“ I groan, clamping the pillow tighter over both ears. “I’m sleeping.”

“But it’s Christmas morning…” his voice wasn’t shouting, but he was closer. I followed the thumping of his feet up the stairs, the thuds of him swinging around the corner of the hall, and finally the raspy breathing of the excited effort as he bounced the bed next to me by sitting down.

“So?” I reply, flipping the pillow back and rolling to my side to stare at him. “We’re two adults; it’s just a day off and on my days off, I’d really like to sleep in.” I rolled my head to the side. Eight-thirty. Technically, I slept in plenty, but thoughts coaxed me to a belief that I shouldn’t be out of bed until ten… eleven… one. Maybe never.

“Come on,” he wheedled, shaking my shoulder. “It’s Christmas! Don’t you want to see what I got you?”

“I thought we already did our gift exchange… with my family last weekend?”

“Well, yea, but it’s Christmas. I couldn’t not have something for you today.”

“I gave you my gift.” A frown weighed down the edges of my lips and I moved to sit up. “If you would have told me we were doing a second Christmas…”

“Come on, Lisa. All I want for you is to come downstairs.”

I grunted and moved to the side of the bed. I slid on my slippers and glided on my robe. “Fine, but I don’t like this. You know I don’t like getting stuff without knowing about it beforehand. I hate surprises.”

“Yea, yea,” Rick was up on his feet, grinning to my frown. “But tough titties.”

I rolled my eyes when I was sure he was looking.

We fumbled down the stairs. Rick marching ahead, and I stumbling behind. “It better not be a gaudy necklace like last year. I thought you did good enough last weekend…”

I was expecting to see some stupid wrapped gift underneath our faux, out-of-the-box Christmas tree stuck in the window in the living room. There was not. He kept leading me through the house until we arrived in the dining room where, much to my surprise, breakfast was laid out like a banquet.

“You cooked all this?” I asked. He must have seen the shock register on my face before I could hide it because he wore that stupid, smug smirk of his.

“Of course. Only the best for you,” he replied.

Eggs, bacon, hash browns, mimosas (with the good Champagne…). It was a feast worth getting out of bed for.

“Alright, you did good,” I said, going to take a seat. “Really good.”

“Better than a gaudy necklace?” he asked, reaching for the carafe to pour me a mug of coffee.

“Much better.”
 
DECEMBER 20th

"You sure you wanna do this, Molly?"

Standing outside her family home, Molly wasn't sure. Not remotely. Despite the cold, sweat dampened her hands and the back of her neck and her mouth had gone oddly dry. But where uncertainty lay, determination resided, resilient. Nodding, she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm sure. I need to see her... just one more time. I think it's what needs to happen, so I can put all of this behind me, finally."
ubu..."

With a deep breath, Molly stepped out of the car and crossing the street, approached her home. At the door, she knocked and stepping back, waited, hands knotted in front of her. She knew Chris was watching, but even with this comfort in mind, her heart pounded hard against her ribs as memories flooded in of the last time she'd come home. Of the night that Jerry had shot Ian... Of the night her father had defended his daughter and gone to prison for it...

The door opened with a creak and Molly stepped back as she took in her mother's diminutive form. Carol blinked up at her, a brow lifted,
and pulling the cigarette from the corner of her mouth, she leaned against the door frame, "Molly? You decided to come to dinner, after all?"

Shaking her head, Molly swallowed, steadying herself, "No. No, I'm not coming in, Mom. I just... I came to tell you something."

With a shrug, Carol pinched the cigarrete between her lips again, "What is it?"

"I forgive you." Molly breathed. For a moment, silence hung heavy as Carol continued to stare, but exhaling, Molly could feel strength returning to her, "I forgive you... for everything that happened. You were never there for me, and it broke my heart... and all those men...
those awful men you brought here. The things they did to me. You looked the other way, and you never said anything... never did anything. But I forgive you. I forgive you for all of it, Mom." Licking her lips, she lowered her gaze for a moment, steeling herself, before she looked up again, "But this is the last time I'm gonna come and see you. I need to move on, Mom. And I can't do that with you in my life...
So I'm not going to. I hope you get yourself straightened out. I really do. I always have... But I won't be here to see it. Bye Mom... Enjoy your dinner."

Taking another deep breath, she turned and without another word, she made her way to the car, never once looking back.

DECEMBER 21st

Snow fell in gentle, serene flakes, cascading down around the tombstone, as Molly knelt before him for the second time in only a few days. Chris had offered to come, but she'd asked to be alone, and now a small part of her regretted it. It was harder, somehow, saying goodbye to Ian, than it had been her mother.

But now, at least, a small part of her understood why, "I should have let it go, Ian." She whispered, and a tear slid down her cold cheek, "I should've just let it go like you said. Like dad said. But I couldn't... I didn't, and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I pulled you into it. That I pulled you down with me... with them. But I promise, Ian. It's over. For good, now. I know it doesn't bring you back, and I know part of moving on means letting you go, too... But I had to see you, one last time."

"I had to let you know... I'm good, Ian. I'm happy, now, and I'm gonna be okay, and that's partly thanks to you. Getting your letter... it was hard, but I think you knew it would be. I think you knew I needed it... so that I could take these steps. And I'm always gonna be grateful for that. I love him, Ian. Chris... and we're gonna get married. His mom is gonna freak out, but we're getting married tomorrow afternoon. We need it... after all of this. We need it, and I think I finally understand that. That it's about Chris and I... and everything else was just in the way. I'm ready to move on, Ian. But I needed to say goodbye... and now I am. Thank you. For everything."

Her hand bushed the tombstone as she stood and with a small smile, she nodded, "See you..."

DECEMBER 22nd

It wasn't extravagant. Not in the slightest. Her dress didn't sweep down the aisle of a ornately decorated chapel... There was no choir or violins stringing out Canon in D. There were two guests - Chris's mother, trying desperately not to look as though she might at any moment strangle someone, and Chris's brother Tom.

Chris wore a charcoal grey suit and a red tie, and he cried anyway, when Molly entered the room in a white cotton dress she had found in thrift store. Their vows were simple, and poignant... promises to stay together, through everything - to endure, to strengthen, to hold on to each other and never let go.

Afterwards, pronounced man and wife, they left the courthouse for a small dinner with Chris's family. There was a cake, and laughter and even his mother had to admit there was a certain lightness to their decision... and later as the pristine snow came down outside the restaurant, Chris led Molly to the car and pulled his wife into a kiss that Molly was fairly certain made the angels sing.

DECEMBER 23rd

The following day, Molly and Chris woke to a winter wonderland outside of the small bed and breakfast in New Hope. The Delaware had nearly frozen, and all around was a certain perfect stillness.

They ate breakfast in bed, then talked about Christmas coming in but a few short days. Neither of them had to say it... not really. But it was clear that it would be the first Christmas in a long time that wouldn't hang over Molly with pain and sadness. Tracing her fingertips along his shoulders, she lay her head on Chris's chest and sighed, her lip turning up in a small smile.

"This is the best gift you could've given me, you know..." He said quietly, and she turned her eyes up to him, a brow quirked. Softly, he laughed, shaking his head, "That came out weird. I didn't mean... I mean... that was nice, too. But I meant you... All of you. This." His finger traced the simple gold ring behind her engagement stone and Molly smiled, nodded.

"I know the feeling, Chris. Really. I don't know that I could've done this... any of it, without you."

"...So I guess I can take back your other gifts, then?" He teased, and Molly laughed, pinching him.

"I don't think so!"

Grinning, he yanked her into a kiss... one that lasted the remainder of the morning.

DECEMBER 24th

Christmas Eve found Molly and Chris by the fireplace, Bing Crosby their only company. The following day they would spend with Chris's family (a promise to his mother to appease her frustration at their impromptu wedding), but Christmas Eve belonged to them, and them alone. And it was beautiful.

The peace, however, couldn't last forever and sometime shortly after noon, with a piercing shriek, the phone rang, shattering Bing's crooning.

Unraveling his arms from around her, Chris shook his head, "That'll be mom." He chuckled and reaching for the phone, he plucked the receiver up and put it to his ear, "Hello? Oh... Yeah. Yeah, no. This is... Sure. Hang on." A brow lifted, he handed the phone to Molly, "It's your dad..."

Taking the phone, Molly blinked, "Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"Hey, Noodle. Sorry I missed the wedding. I bet it was beautiful. Listen... I need a favor."

"Sure. What is it?"

"I realize it's the night before Christmas... but you think you could swing by?"

"I thought you weren't allowed visitors... Something about an understaffing issue?"

"Don't kill me.... But uh... There's something I haven't told you Mol. It got moved up... my parole date."

"Wait... what?? What are you... Dad?"

"I'm out Molly. For good. I'm out..."

Somehow, she kept hold of the phone, despite the shock that would have robbed her of conscious motor control. Chris had shifted closer, confusion and concern weighing in his eyes, as her own filled with tears, "Yeah Dad. I think we can swing by..."

"Thanks baby girl. I'll see you soon."

As she hung up, she looked to Chris and blinking, sucked in a shuttered breath, "...Think you could give me a lift?"

DECEMBER 25th

ONE YEAR LATER​

"Molly! You comin'? Your dad is waiting out in the car!"

Staring into the mirror over the bathroom sink, Molly tried to contain the tears, taking in deep breaths that did little to calm her.

"Hey Mol?" Chris called, his voice closet now.

Straightening, she ran her hands under her eyes and turned to the door, "I'm coming, Chris." Grabbing the decorative bag off the edge of the tub, she made her way to the door and pulling it open, holding the bag out to Chris, "Merry Christmas."

Looking at her, Chris's eyes widened, concern pinching his brows together, "Mol? Are you okay? You... were you crying?"

Sniffing, she nodded, giving the bag a small shake, "Trust me. I'm fine. Just... just open it."

Apprehensively, he reached for it and giving her a curious look, her pulled it open. Inside was a small white stick, capped in pink. His eyes snapped up to Molly again, and he gasped, "...Mol? Is this..."

Nodding, she sniffed again, "Yeah. Babe. It is."

Dropping the bag, Chris yanked Molly into his arms and spun her, the stick clattering across the hallway floor, the pink plus sign the best indication that sometimes the most unexpected gifts are the best...
 
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There is a time, poised between midnight and sunrise, known as the hour of the low tide of the soul – a time during which the veil between worlds runs thin. This is an excellent time for the malevolent workings of magic, especially when coinciding with the dark phase of the moon.

It was a little after 3:00 a.m.

I was drifting in a delightful half-slumber, my head brushing against a warm, satiny shoulder, when a deep bell chimed within my subconscious, awaking me instantly.

I quieted my pounding heart and lay there motionless, not breathing, so I could listen to the night’s silence.

My supernal senses (as hair-trigger sensitive as a mother’s instinct, who will, even from within sleep, wake instantly to the faint cry of a beloved child) rapidly scanned the integrity of, first, Alarc’s room wards (ever so lightly, so as to not disturb even a gossamer spider web with its poisonous occupant, spinning, spinning). Then Calpa’s.

I knew the fey had put up their own wards against outside intruders. But this treachery came from within.

Cloaking my activity from the enemy, I strengthened the protection on Alarc’s and Calpa’s rooms. Alarc merely thrashed restlessly and muttered in his sleep. Calpa, like a perfect soldier, instantly awoke at the psychic intrusion, sitting bolt upright, muscles tensed for action.

I whispered to him, “Calpa, it’s me, Auris Briar.” (I had adopted the misspelled name they used for me.)

“Where?!” his eyes sought the dark corners of his room.

“I’m not with you in body. I’m in my own room. With Sionnach. There’s trouble, but please stay in your rooms. I’m strengthening your warding and Alarc’s too. Watch over him and don’t let him leave the room for any reason! I’ll be right there.”

By now, Sionnach was fully aware, listening at my side, all softness gone, his breath harsh.

As I broke off contact with Calpa, Sionnach grabbed me roughly by the hand. “What’s this about!?” he demanded, his pleasing voice now rough with suspicion.

“Hey, easy there,” I admonished quietly. Throwing off his grasp, I arose quickly and belted my robe tightly around me.

“I’m not the enemy, Sionnach,” I stated coldly as he stared hard at me. “Something’s wrong tonight. Something uncountenanced. Working with me, and not against me, would be optimum.”

I walled myself off from picking up on any more of his emotions. Usually, empathy pretty much sucked. There was that small sharp pain in my heart, the part that always shatters when someone who has started to trust me, someone with whom I have started to connect with, pushes me away instead.

I let it go. Holding onto it just made you bleed all the more inside.

As we worked our way down the hall, I scratched softly at the door of the Useelie fey, Cazimir, who was Brogan’s guard. He must have slept in his clothes, for he was at the door fully-dressed and alert in a flash, scowling at me as he opened his bedroom door. Before he could bark at me, I laid two fingers softly on his lips for just a fraction of a second, and held his glance meaningfully.

“You sense it, don’t you?” I asked him, as I stepped away from him.

“Aye,” he replied quietly, “but I wasn’t sure if it was --.”

“Me? Understood. Perfectly reasonable to think so. No, not my doing.” I shook my head. “And there’s no use warning your men upstairs, because there’s no one up there anymore.”

The white-haired warrior’s lips thinned. He was starting to see.

Sionnach stared at him, then me, trying to grasp the gist of our cryptic conversation.

“It’s not my place to tell you what to do,” I breathed, “but I think it would be best to stay by Brogan’s side tonight. Keep him safe. Don't let him leave the room until sunrise. Let us handle the rest.”

I could tell it went against the grain for Cazimir not to grab a sword and rush to action, but he was no heedless school boy. He nodded curtly.

“Don’t fail me on this,” he warned me, his face grim and unfriendly as he shut the door on us.

Despite our estrangement, I took Sionnach by the hand and tugged, as he stood there, staring at the closed door. “Come then,” I instructed.

He didn’t resist or reply, and I hated the way my hand felt in his as we made our way further down the hall.

Reaching out with my mind, I sensed that Calpa was guarding Alarc as requested. I tapped quietly at Alarc’s bedroom door and Calpa opened it, pulling us swiftly inside. Alarc was awake but his eyes were wild and unseeing as he moved restlessly around the room.

“Calpa, Sionnach,” I addressed them both, “you have to keep him in here. I’ll take care of below.”

“What’s going on?” demanded Sionnach. (I could see by his expression that Calpa needed no explanation.)

“Blood magic. Alarc’s being summoned,” I responded curtly. How I hated such filthy practices!

Contrary to my plan, I found myself creeping downstairs in the company of the Seelie fey, Sionnach. I had attempted to leave him with Calpa in order to guard and restrain their companion who was being summoned by blood magic, but the two teamed up on me.

I had one hand on the door knob, ready to leave, when Sionnach had ungently grabbed the back of my bathrobe. “Oh no, you don’t,” he told me grimly.

“Lady Briar,” Calpa, at his most formal informed me, “Sionnach will accompany you.”

“Alarc’s safety is more important!” I protested.

“Which is why you need to take me,” retorted Sionnach, harshly.

I wanted to distance myself from him as soon as possible. But there was no time to argue.

“Fine,” I snapped, shaking myself loose from Sionnach’s hold. “Let’s go.”

The red-headed fey followed me, close as my own shadow, quickly back to my bedroom and then down the unused secret staircase. Perhaps we’d gain some element of surprise this way rather than tramping down the main staircase like debutantes on parade.

We made our way into the kitchen. It was dark, chill, and quiet below, except for a faint murmuring that became louder as we moved towards the music room. The smell of blood was rank. The dread in my heart mixed with a fierce spark of anger.

The door of the music room was open and the area well lit with candles. The white rug had been careless thrown to one side and a summoning circle drawn darkly on the floor. There were four bodies slumped on the ground. I sensed there was life within them still, for the fey do not die easily. A fifth man, cloaked and hooded, stood over them, decorated with their life essence. He broke off his fell chanting and turned his head towards us as we approached.

White teeth in a tanned face. Yellow lights dancing in his green eyes.

“God, Piper.” (How could I have been so deceived?)

I fought rising bile and had to strong-arm Sionnach to keep him from rushing forward. I looked down at the three Unseelie fey (the one-eyed swordsman, the mink-haired brothers), and at poor Tash. There was still time to save Tash. My grip tightened on Sionnach.

“I’m sure you want to ask me why,” Piper snarled in annoyance. “And what. And oh, how could you?” He raised his voice to mockingly imitate a feminine pitch. “You mortals are so stupid. But I don’t have time for a game of questions.”

I ignored his insolence and faced him furiously. “Those three Unseelie, they were your partners, weren’t they? Until you decided to murder them for the blood summoning. Meaning, they must be relatives of Brogan. And you forced Tash here because he’s a blood relative of Alarc’s. But there’s no way that Tash is a traitor! ”

Piper smirked. “Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t. After all, you thought I was your good little lapdog, once. The harmless, simple-minded sprite! But none of you were clever enough to see through me. Not even you with all your supposed powers.”

I skewered him with a glance. “I never thought of you like that, Piper. Not once. Yes, I trusted you. When you trust someone you accept them as they are--not subject them to an interrogation as to their motives in being your friend.”

He looked at me with a glance of hate that was truly startling. “Whatever. Stupid woman. You’ve ruined it tonight. You’re a real pain in the ass. I’ve been dying to tell you that. And soon, one way or the other, Alarc and Brogan will-….”

Sionnach couldn’t contain himself. He leapt at Piper knocking both of them into the center of the circle, not being able to see the magical portal there. Piper disappeared instantly, with a startled look, and Sionnach began to as well, but I grabbed at him desperately with one hand, trying to pull him back, while pouring life energy into Tash with my other hand. I was off-balance, and had to choose one or the other before my next breath.

I flung my mind open to the remaining fey upstairs, giving them all we had just learned and begging them to save Tash. The half-souled Alarc and Brogan would be safe here--for now. Then I tightened my grip on Sionnach and tumbled after him into the unknown.

As we fell through dark tearing winds that allowed no clear vision, I slowed our descent as best I could. The worst thing would be to have Piper there (wherever “there” was), waiting for us, with a sword poised to skewer Sionnach on arrival. I calmed myself and put protective energy around the both of us, like a bubble. There was light below us, as if we had shifted to a different plane of reality and then we hit a deep, deep snowbank like a blast out of a shotgun.

Buried in it, dressed in nightgown and robe, I was damn glad I had diligently studied the practice of Tummo. (I admit though, I screamed on impact. It was freezing!) Sionnach was swearing in some foreign language, which I was pleased not to understand.

When we melted through, each using our own separate abilities, and finally dragged ourselves to a flat stable surface, we laid there panting for a few minutes, not meeting each other’s eyes. Then our heads swiveled in unison, for in the distance, among the cries of birds, there was the sound of bells.

We watched wonderingly as an elaborate sleigh pulled by two plumed horses came into sight, gliding across the snow directly towards us. It contained a dark-haired coachman in a caped greatcoat, a very tall, thin woman, elegantly dressed in black furs, and someone much smaller dressed in white.

I sensed nothing human about them. Now what?

Baby It’s Cold Outside

So. Here I was, bedraggled, clad only in my nightgown and bathrobe in broad daylight, lying smack in the middle of a vast snowy landscape with no sign of civilization. Wonderful.

To my side was Sionnach (I hoped he was freezing his ass off, but since fire was his element, I sadly doubted it), a Seelie fey, grandson of a gean-cánach, i.e., a love-talker, a wicked fairy believed to exude a substance through his skin that made him irresistible to most mortal women. One touch from the gean-cánach and any woman who felt attracted to men became irreversibly addicted to him. The love-talker would have his fun with the lady (repeatedly), and after ruining her, scamper off.

(In olden days, the victim would have gone a bit mad and then die of grief, abandoned. Now, I don’t think the creature would have had it so easy. Some slashed tires, coffee spilled over a laptop, outing him on social media over the internet—things might progress a bit differently!)

I don’t think Sionnach inherited any abilities from his grandsire. I certainly was not dying of love for him. Yes, we had shared some romantic moments which I felt had meaning, only to see him turn around a few hours later and treat me with suspicion as if I might be some kind of homicidal maniac.

So, now we weren’t even talking to each other—which felt entirely idiotic. I followed him through the magic portal in the summoning circle, because I felt under an obligation to sort this mess out. And yes, protective and worried about him. But that had nothing to do with my feelings, because I would have done that much for almost anyone.

Having fallen through that portal into unknown territory, we watched warily as the sleigh approached us, gliding gracefully over the packed snow. As it got closer, I could see that I had been wrong. There was a coachman and the tall thin woman in black furs, yes. But there was not one child, but two, clinging close together, as if in terror.

Then a chill went through me that was not weather-related as I looked more intently at the coachman’s grim face.

Without turning my head, I whispered to Sionnach, “Uh. Any chance the Seelie and Unseelie courts are on really good terms with each other these days?”

He cleared his throat and replied softly, “Really good? No, but I don’t think it matters. Unless I miss my guess, we’re not exactly in “these days.”

Complications. I just loved complications. Especially when I was almost half naked, lying in an open field packed with snow. I watched the sleigh getting closer, definitely having sighted us and heading our way.

With one part of my mind, I shuffled the myriad possibilities of the encounter, as if I had a deck of cards on hand and was about to play a round of Yu-Gi-Oh! That part of my brain worked much better when left on auto-pilot so I shifted my more immediate attention to focus on reading the approaching figures for any clues as to mood, aura, physicality, abilities, and the like.

“So, now you’re talking to me?” murmured Sionnach, somewhat shyly

I turned my head to see him gazing at me intently. “YOU!” I exhaled in exasperation.

“Me? Me, what?” he asked in either genuine or pretended confusion.

I fumed for a split-second, but I’m not one to cling to negative feelings unless they serve a purpose. I tried to put it into words that the lunkhead could understand instead of just slinging insults.

I sighed. “Obviously, I don’t know how YOU operate, but I don’t sleep with someone one moment and act like they’re an assassin for hire the next. I'm not faulting you for this, but I don’t take random lovers for no particular reason except momentary lust. I really liked you, Sionnach.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue but I cut him off. “After everything. You were suspicious of me. You were rude and spoke harshly to me, which was unnecessary and unkind. Don't you know how it tore me up to see Piper changed like that? And to see Tash --."

My voice started to quaver and I had to take a deep breathe and control myself. I felt him lay a tentative hand on my arm, as if to comfort me.

"And when push came to shove, and I really needed you to be on my side, Sionnach, you wouldn’t follow my lead, but did whatever the hell you wanted to. Which is why we’re sitting here in our nightclothes waiting for two beings, who are quite possibly demi-gods, to eat us for breakfast.”

I took a deep breath and finished. "I really do think you're better than that. But apparently not with me. I'm sorry if I've been unkind in any way in return. "

He shook his handsome head dazedly and once again wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m quite the prize, aren’t I? Auris, please. How was I to know that you...? I’m not used to...., I never meant…” He stumbled for words.

But then, the sleigh pulled up within spitting distance and we both sprang to our feet.

Just before the sleigh reached us, I asked Sionnach a very important question. I asked him for a name. Armed with his reply, I waited.

Gods. Demi-gods. They carried their own unique auras of power which they could mask if they wanted to sneak up on you or wield like a club if they wanted to clout you over the head with their divinity.

Sionnach and I had hastily gotten to our feet as the sleigh approached and slid to a halt in front of us. The coachman was no lightweight, but he didn’t engage us, turning his gaze elsewhere. She, on the other hand, immediately shot to her full cadaverous height and pulled aura. Mentally, it was like trying to tap dance on ice in a gale-force wind. Physically? Not much better.

“Visitors. How lovvvely,” she drawled in a voice like a dozen sharp knives cutting into my mortal flesh.

Why couldn’t it have been a fertility deity? Or a goddess of healing or of mountain streams? But no.

I meant to bow politely, but would have taken a header if Sionnach hadn’t put an arm around my waist and steadied me. Hey. I was tired. I’d had a long night and it had been a while since I had to go toe to toe against anything more than magicians and rank and file fey, which are nothing to sneeze at, either.

The bitch snickered.

I let my companion do the sweet talking while I got back in the zone, checking out the two frightened kids in the sleigh as well.

I had no idea where the traitorous Piper had fled to, but one thing I realized. Before me were the missing halves of Alarc and Brogan’s souls. Nor was it surprising they were here, considering we’d fallen through the portal which the twisted sprite had created while trying to blood summon the two brothers back at my house.

Sionnach was desperately making nice with the crone. (I.e., begged her pardon for arriving unannounced, extravagant compliments, etc.) I was sure I’d give him a heart attack with what I’d do next.

I looked at the coachman and he met my gaze, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Excellent. No objections from that quarter. I couldn’t help smiling a little. It was good to see him again.

My glance didn’t fail to escape her notice, however, and she angrily broke off conversation with Sionnach right in the middle of his most overblown flattery.

“And you, young miss,” she hissed, “what do you have to say for yourself? My, my, if you don’t look like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.”

“What I have to say, ma’am,” and I bowed again politely, “is that the children’s mother would like them home for dinner.” I pointed at her two hostages, who stared at me, wide-eyed.

She was startled and I felt her immediately test me for power. It was like having my mind pulled through a sieve. I withstood it, not resisting, letting her assess me as a powerless mortal. I did not get my strength from any source she would recognize and so she relaxed her defenses and chuckled.

“How very amusing,” she cooed. “And do you, a stupid mortal, a base creature of clay, even know this lady’s name?”

“Saitada,” I replied firmly. “She mourns for her children who are as dead to her, but not-dead. It is time they returned.”

Her face contorted in rage. I reckoned it was a long time since any one had been so impertinent.

“We had a bargain!” she screeched. “I’ve upheld my part of it and I will not release them!”

“You agreed to care for them,” I rebutted. “These are not the faces of children that have been cared for. These are not the faces of children that know safety.”

I pointed to the white, drawn faces of the little boys who were whimpering as the crone worked herself up into a lather.

She paused, still livid, yet knowing I had her dead to rights

“And what would I get in return, having provided their upkeep for all this time?” she spat, sizing me up craftily. “You can’t expect me to go away empty-handed, now can you?”

I stealthily patted Sionnach’s hand reassuringly (he was pretty wild-eyed by now) and pulled an item out of his pocket, dangling it in sight of the death deity. It sparkled blindingly in the wintery light. (I had nicked it straight from the warehouse to Sionnach’s pocket, as I knew, that him being fey and a known quantity as it were, she’d not examine him as minutely. I’d have to pay the Concierge through the nose for this.)

“The necklace of Cyhiraeth!!” the hag cooed, her wrath deflected, reaching a bony hand eagerly out for the bauble. “My, my, my, she wouldn’t like me to have this at all, would she? What a naughty girl you are, to be sure.”

“So they say,” I smiled tightly. “The boys?”

“Yes, yes, take them,” she waved dismissively at them, “I tired of playing nursemaid to the brats ten seconds after I had them. The necklace?”

I made sure that Sionnach had a firm hold on each boy, and I, a firm hold on Sionnach. Then I tossed the necklace up in the air to the dark goddess, who caught it deftly. The coachman tipped his hat to me and I transported us the hell out of there, bringing us back to my now sad, bloody home, which was no place for a family dinner but would have to serve.

As we tumbled gently into my bedroom, the children safely between us, Sionnach made a noise between a gasp and a heavy sigh. “That’s another hundred years off my life, Auris. You sure do know how to age a man.”
 
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Serenity

“That’s another hundred years off my life, Auris. You sure know how to age a man.” That’s what Sionnach had said to me as we arrived back at my home.

I had a lot on my mind, but the first thing was to confirm when in time we landed.

To pinpoint nearby physical locations that you’re familiar with and go between them is one thing. Generally, that's like a walk to the corner store. However, the further away you are from your goal, and the less familiar you are with either point A or point B, the more likelihood there is of interference. There’s a lot going in the universes at any given moment.

And, I had to take into account that we had been in the presence of deity-level energy. That’s what tweaked my nerves the most. Most cultures have a story where a human wanders into fairyland for a day and exits to find they have been gone, not for a day, but for a hundred years.

I sincerely hoped Sionnach’s wisecrack did turn out to be just a joke!

He saw my expression and was just too sharp not to read me.

“Wait,” he exclaimed, his eyes widening, “you don’t think--?!”

I put my hand gently over his mouth and frowned at him, giving him the universal look for “shut the hell up.”

First, we had to look after the children--even though they were not so much creatures of flesh and blood, but magical receptacles fashioned to hold captive part of the soul energies of Alarc and Brogan. For what reasons, I neither knew nor particularly cared at this moment.

I cuddled the poor little mistreated things and soothed them into a deep sleep, winding wards around them so strong that such would even survive my death.

Sionnach’s impatience was obvious, but he endured in silence until I powered up my laptop.

“Auris, I hardly think now is the time to be checking your Facebook page,” he hissed.

Without looking up, I whispered back to him, “Ah, so you know about Facebook do you? Is that where you hooked up with most of your women since you’ve been living around here? Guess you haven’t heard about Tinder, yet.”

“I do so know about tinder,” he replied heatedly, “I’m not an idiot. I’ve been lighting fires for hundreds of years before you were ever born!”

“Baby, I just bet you have,” I murmured under my breath.

“Look!” I swiveled and grabbed his shirtfront, bringing him close to the computer. “Look at the date and time. We’re back before Tash was attacked, back before dinner was served yesterday.”

“Is it true? That’s amazing!” Sionnach exclaimed and then he looked at me in concern. “Hey now, don’t start crying.”

“I’m not crying,” I sniveled, grabbing for a tissue. “I think I caught a cold from lying in a snowbank for too long.”

“Right. You’re tough as old boots, I forgot,” apologized Sionnach facetiously.

“What’s amazing is that you have any degree of popularity with women, whatsoever,” I replied tartly.

“I was popular with you,” he said pointedly and then looked aghast at the words that had slipped out of his mouth.

I smiled ferally at him and he took a step back.

“Never happened!” I chirped cheerfully, watching his incredibly handsome face fall a little as he processed that. “You never won the ugly sweater contest and hmm, so forth and so on. Now, if we can move on from your imagined conquests, we have lives to save!”

The tearing pain in my heart from seeing Tash bleeding his life out on the music room floor and the other horrible revelations of that moment receded and my soul’s serenity was restored. We could fight now.

I had to speak to the bodyguards, Calpa and Cazimir, right away.

White

I retraced our steps of early yesterday evening.

Tash and Piper had been helping me in the kitchen. Dinner had been prepped but a roast was still cooking. Brogan and his Unseelie brethren had arrived. (Why weren’t there any female guards? I had to wonder.)

Then I had ushered everyone into the dining room for drinks, trying to relax some of the tension between the two factions, especially since the last time Calpa and I had run into the Unseelie they had drawn a weapon on Calpa and threatened his life.

Now Sionnach and I were lurking downstairs like cat burglars, getting ready to meet up with our doppelgangers.

“Okay, I’ll call to mine. Mentally,” I added, as Sionnach looked wild-eyed at that. “I’m more used to that kind of thing. She/I will come out here, we’ll merge and then I’ll poke my head into the dining room and find an excuse to call the other you out here to the kitchen.”

He looked ill at the thought. “And then I’ll just saunter up to myself and … merge? I don’t like this. What if …?”

“Look,” I said in exasperation. “Do you want to put everyone on their guard by showing up in duplicate? And try to look friendly towards yourself when you meet. Here, just watch what I do.”

Poor Sionnach. The process really was terribly unnerving, but the clock was ticking.

As if in a dream, I saw myself come out of the dining room and head towards the kitchen, looking rather perturbed. I stepped out of my hiding place with my palms open in a universal sign of peace. We slowly reached out towards each other and the moment our subtle bodies (or auras) touched, it was just one me again.

Seriously, it did make you feel totally nauseous, but I didn’t want to tell Sionnach that in advance.

When it came his turn, Sionnach completed the process with his double gracefully and then threw up, his face white as a sheet. I held his beautiful long hair back from his face until he was done being sick and then got him a tall glass of water and some damp towels.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been through a lot today,” I murmured to him, rubbing his shoulders sympathetically. “Are you feeling better, now?”

“Better, but still awful,” he groused. (I imagine the upper crust fey don’t puke that often.) “Don’t ever make me do that again.”

I made no promises. Despite his hedonistic ways, I knew that like me, he would do whatever it took to set things right.

“Okay, step one completed,” I whispered encouragingly.

Just then Piper walked into the kitchen. Piper who had pretended to be my friend. Piper, the murderer. Piper, the black magician. My gut clenched. Luckily his eyes were fixed on my hands that were massaging Sionnach’s shoulders and his face took on a look of distaste.

“Can’t you two save it for under the mistletoe?” he asked rather nastily.

Good. Be a brat, Piper. This would mask the real reason for the tension between us.

“Piper, have I ever told you how to live your life?” I asked sharply, as if in irritation. “Honestly, you could cut me a little slack in my own home. I don’t appreciate having to skulk around in case you don’t approve of my every move.”

I had never spoken to him so caustically before. His head swung up in surprise and he tried to disguise it with manufactured pathos, but I saw the seething hatred beneath the mask he always wore of the merry, pure-hearted sprite.

Still playacting, he let his fragile-looking shoulders slump in devastation and slowly walked away as if wounded to the core by my reaction.

It was hideous to have to see him and know. To have my memories of precious times spent with someone I thought was a friend, fanned out like a deck of cards on a table, and know that the person I had been cherishing not only was a killer, but had hated me. I guess, all along.

Once he was out of sight, I covered my face with my hands for a few seconds and then got up and walked to the kitchen window.

“I need a moment, Sionnach,” I said quietly. “See if you can send Calpa and Tash in here—purportedly to help me serve dinner. Say something like Piper’s relieved of kitchen duty for the rest of tonight because he’s been working so hard. Piper will assume it’s just because I’m mad at him. You keep an eye on Alarc and the rest. I won’t take long. If Calpa kicks, just say I especially asked for him. And smirk.”

Sionnach looked at me worriedly, at a loss for words, but I waved him away with a frown and he left.

It was snowing hard again. Once more, I let myself be soothed by the sight of it, the dazzling purity of gossamer white illuminated by myriad holiday lights falling from the deepness of the night sky. Nature could often be terrifying, but it wasn’t evil. You didn’t have to be ashamed of admiring its beauty.

I was ashamed that I hadn’t seen through Piper, but I had to put that aside now. I must quickly apprise Calpa and Tash of the situation and then somehow find a way to speak alone to the Unseelie guard, Cazimir.

Facing Calpa and Tash (two of the Seelie fey that guarded Alarc), I quickly informed them of several outrageous things before dinner.

First, their ally, Piper, was in fact a murderous black magician in cahoots with three of the Unseelie who had sauntered into this house tonight.

Second, tonight Piper intended to sacrifice his unsuspecting allies and Tash, in order to empower a blood summoning compelling Brogan and Alarc to slay their guards and enter the circle which had a portal leading out of this world into others.

Third, Sionnach and I had just come back from one such world after meeting with a death deity with whom we bargained for the missing halves of Brogan and Alarc’s souls.

Lastly, we arrived here backwards in time by several hours.

Talk about walking in a winter wonderland!

Humans would have laughed in my face or given me a sedative. Fortunately, I was dealing with fairies who were down with this kind of craziness

I spoke quickly and concisely except when I recollected seeing Tash’s broken, bloody body. Then my voice cracked and tears welled up in my eyes. I wiped them away, hurriedly. “I’m just so mad!” I explained, fiercely.

Calpa nodded impassively, but also put a comforting hand lightly on my shoulder, and Tash gave me a quick fierce grin, “It’s nice having a pretty lady weep over me!”

It was no surprise that they proposed a plan of action which involved multiple dead bodies, but I opposed turning my home into a battlefield. Besides, two of my Unseelie guests were also in danger, Brogan and his bodyguard, Cazimir. We needed some delicacy here.

“Calpa,” I whispered, as the roast came out of the oven and Tash started slicing it with unprecedented aggressiveness, “The key to this might be the boys’ mother. Do you think I can meet her without all hell breaking loose?”

Somehow, centuries-old fey had become “boys” to me.

Calpa shrugged. “She’s been in seclusion for years--people say she’s mad. It could be dangerous.”

“Brogan and Alarc are targets as long as they’re so vulnerable,” I replied with conviction. “You’re powerful, Calpa, and Alarc is fortunate to have you, but just the same. Plus, it’s simply awful for them to continue this way.”

Instead of answering, Calpa turned to Tash and instructed him to start bringing the food to our assembled guests. I was shocked that the water fey was stepping onto my turf—hello? my kitchen?--but I restrained myself, watching with interest.

What was he up to?

Tash loaded the gilded food service trolley (that extravagant bit of French fantasy was rather embarrassing when wheeled out in front of others) as Calpa whispered quietly into his ear.

Tash shot me a wicked look and chuckled. “I’ll do it, but I won’t be held accountable.”

Calpa turned and took my arm. “Come, Auris Briar, where is this staircase you spoke of?”

Surprised, I pointed. He started escorting me over to it.

“It’s okay, Calpa,” I whispered, “I can walk under my own power. What’s up?”

“Not here,” he murmured, stern as always, as we began to climb the narrow staircase to my bedroom suite. “Wait.”

His long dark hair was loose today, not tied back. So shining and silky-looking, flowing to the small of his back, that you wanted to reach out and pet it. Which of course, I didn’t!

I had put the key on a long chain around my neck, and now unlocked the door as we reached the top, exiting through the dressing room into my bedroom, where the two soul-children lay sleeping. Calpa sucked in a breath at the sight of them.

“Your warding is very strong here,” he said approvingly, as he nudged at it with his power.

“Careful, you might get bitten,” I said tartly.

Unexpectedly, he turned and smiled at me ever so slightly. “And does the biter never get bitten?”

(What the hell was that supposed to mean?)

“Do I have permission to add an outer ward here?” he asked, gazing around the perimeter of the room.

“One that would have the seeming of being weak and thus would sandwich someone in, but not let the intruder out? A trap ward?” I asked.

“If anyone was to breach your sanctuary, Auris, it would be an additional safeguard if you and I were elsewhere.”

“What elsewhere do you have in mind? And what exactly did you tell Tash that made him smirk at me like that?”

“One question at a time,” Calpa answered like a schoolmaster. “First, I will take you to see Saitada.”

You will? Isn’t that hazardous, since you’re not Unseelie?” I asked in alarm.

Calpa sniffed haughtily. “Hazardous? To me? Hardly! Besides, she resides in neutral territory.”

“Ooookay,” I agreed. “So what did you whisper to Tash before he went into the dining room? The look he gave me was quite suspicious!”

Calpa’s dark eyes glistened with something like amusement, “Merely that if questions are raised regarding our immediate whereabouts, he will imply that you and I are having a private conference elsewhere.”

“What type of reputation are you trying to give me? First Sionnach and now you!” I punched his arm lightly.

Calpa shrugged, but looked into my face intently. “Well then. Is he your lover?”

Blushing, I bit back a flip answer. “If you’re asking if we’ve shared the ultimate intimacy, which is none of your damn business, we have not. Sionnach is lovely and I think we might be friends. But for him, romantic love and trust bear no relationship to each other. For me, it’s a deal breaker. So there’s an end to that.”

Feeling rather humiliated, I turned my back on Calpa and walked away, muttering too softly to be heard. “He didn’t trust me last night. You did.”

Then I pasted a neutral expression on my face and spun around to face my audience. “Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

It was the night before Christmas and Calpa and I were skipping out on the ugly sweater contest. We told Sionnach to proceed as Master of Ceremonies, and left him and Tash to closely guard Alarc while we set out to visit the Unseelie noblewoman, Saitada--Alarc and Brogan’s mother.

Since permission had not been granted beforehand to visit fey lands, I had to undergo the indignity of being dressed up by Calpa in my best evening dress and cape, and being blindfolded with my hands tied in front of me.

Calpa started off the old way. Changing the landscape every few steps to correspond with where he wanted to end up. We were about half-way there when the blindfold went on.

Actually, that was fine. I didn’t want to know. Once you’ve seen the way, you could dream of it in your sleep and inadvertently be transported.

I ignored the voices and jibes of the occasional non-human stranger. Calpa was taking some heat for having me as a companion and he exerted all his influence to keep me safe, often having a protective arm around my waist

I could hear the incredulous tones of the fey around us when he proclaimed we were here to visit the Lady Saitada. General opinion was unfavorable. The nearer we drew to our goal, the less fey we met. It became like a huge null zone.

Finally, Calpa gently untied my hands and took off my blindfold. “Her estate,” he informed me.

I blinked my eyes several times trying to take it in. A huge, dolorous ruin of a mansion behind black iron gates which hung crookedly off their hinges. The sky was overcast in a peculiar way that made me think its color was unrelated to weather.

“Very atmospheric,” I quipped, grasping Calpa’s hand tightly for a moment. “No gateman, so I guess we just go right in?”

He looked at me somberly. “We can turn back.”

I smiled wearily at him, dropping his hand and striding forward. I couldn’t run away from this. He walked beside me, taking smaller steps so as to not leave me behind. It was a bit of a hike to the front door. I imagined in better days visitors didn’t just stroll up the driveway.

Once on the doorstep, I fixed my gaze on Calpa and pointed my chin at the front door. He could have the pleasure of knocking. He thumped the heavy kelpie-faced knocker on the door several times. We were debating whether to barge in, when the door slowly swung open in best horror story style.

“Definitely, an invitation,” I declared. I went to enter, but Calpa swept me aside, going in first in case there were unfriendlies.

No signs of life. Not even a mouse.

There was a feeble blaze moldering in a massive old fireplace and the few wall sconces holding candles were lit here and there at random in the dank decrepit old place.

I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind, scanning for intelligent life. “Upstairs, one flight, to the right, in the back,” I told Calpa, waving my hand vaguely.

“Also, something down below. Ew.” A chill ran over me and the fine hairs on my arms stood on end. “Don’t know what that is. Don’t wanna know.”

Calpa looked about ready to bolt.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promised him, saucily.

His lips tightened at that and he gave me a really pissed-off look.

“Let’s go,” he growled, heading up the stairs. His temper had him moving fast ahead of me and I barely saw him disappear into a room. I picked up my long skirts, racing after him. For all my bravado, I didn’t fancy being left behind! I shouldn’t have teased him after all he had endured on my behalf.

My heart thumping, I caught up and stood in the doorway of the room he had entered. It was huge and stacked haphazardly with an immense amount of paintings. At a far corner was a being, who I assumed was the artist, perched on a high stool in front of a canvas. Pausing with a brush in hand, they were speaking to Calpa.

I couldn’t tell at first glance, in the dismal lighting, if it was a man or woman. They had long hair, smoke-blue, to the floor, and were tall and very thin with stooped shoulders. I heard them say in a rather dreamy voice to Calpa, “Oh. My. A new subject. How delightful. You must pose for me.”

They held Calpa’s chin in their bony hand, examining him. I was surprised that Calpa permitted the liberty.

I made my way over to the two of them at a good clip, gazing briefly at various paintings as I did so. They were so lifelike they seemed to move. I had just reached Calpa, when I saw a painting that made me stop short.

“Piper!” I exclaimed.

Calpa looked at me sharply and then in shock at the artist, drawing out of their reach.

“Piper,” said the artist dreamily (yes, she did appear to be a woman and I guessed this was the Lady Saitada). “I remember Piper, such a sweet boy. But then HE had to have him. I told him no, but he gets so stubborn.”

Who had to have him?” Calpa asked quickly.

“Why, my oldest boy. He was quite cross after the twins left home,” she said sadly. “And lonely. No one comes to play with him any more.”

“The twins. You mean Alarc and Brogan?” I asked cautiously.

“Oh! You’ve met my boys!” Lady Saitada exclaimed pleasedly. “You know” she continued in a lowered voice meant for confidences, “I was forbidden by the Queen to have more children but their fathers were such handsome men.

“I never heard of an elder son,” Calpa said with a troubled expression. “By chance, was his father one of the Sluagh?”


As we chatted, it was obvious that Lady Saitada had never consulted the handbook “What To Do With The Sluagh In Your Basement.” The woman had fled the borders of sanity and was not a little dangerous herself. I had just seen her lure even the stalwart Calpa into what seemed to be a hypnotic trance.

To think that the Unseelie noblewoman had willingly lain with one of the Sluagh was not inconceivable. (The Sluagh being perhaps the most fearsome of all the fairies: men killers, soul stealers, who rode with the Wild Hunt—some believed them to be fallen angels.)

Since Sluagh supposedly exist on the souls of the living and the dying, Saitada must have realized the danger to her younger sons, Alarc and Brogan (twins with two different fathers) from her eldest child, whom she had named Kevyn.

To lessen the urge that the Sluagh felt to feed on his brothers’ souls, I theorized, she must have siphoned off part of the twins’ souls into magical receptacles, hiding them with the crone demi-goddess.

Good news? Kevyn was only half-Sluagh. Bad news? His mother, on closer inspection, seemed to be part Lamia. A peaceful resolution didn’t look probable.

But Calpa could get in trouble if this wasn’t handled carefully. A Seelie fey in Unseelie territory? Without the sanction of the rulers? There could be serious political and personal repercussions.

We told Lady S. we would fix a spot of tea and went to the kitchen, nosing about.

There was no tea or edibles of any kind. Hell only knew what she lived off of.

There were no servants.

Best guess was that all the living resources had been exhausted. The mother probably lured visitors (mainly male, by the look of the paintings). Piper being the most recent.

Perhaps Kevyn saw Piper’s connection with his half-brothers, Alarc and Brogan, and instead of devouring his soul, inhabited or co-inhabited Piper. I’m not sure if any of the real Piper was still in there.

We were racing the clock to prevent the events of last night from reoccurring.

I looked sideways at Calpa, consideringly. He raised his eyebrows. I didn’t think he was going to like my plan.

“You’re not going to get rid of me easily, Auris Briar,” he stated calmly.

Damn! “Ah…what do you mean by that?” I inquired. How could this proud, cold Seelie noble read me so well? I had never considered him the intuitive type.

“Don’t mistake me for Sionnach. I actually have a brain. And I’ve seen you, no, felt you in action before. Don’t you dare try to whisk me off somewhere!” he growled, bringing his face up next to mine menacingly.

“Things could get a little tricky. I don’t want to bring trouble to your door,” I whispered, his face still in mine. “I don’t want you to die, Calpa."

“Oh? And it’s fine for you!?” he replied, incensed.

“I’ve done it before,” I shrugged.

He looked like he would explode. “You! Are! Absolutely and totally impossible!” he hissed, grabbing my shoulders and giving them a little shake, before shoving me up against the wall and kissing me.

Well. Perilous situations can trigger this part of a person’s psyche. But still, I was shocked. I thought him a frigid, emotionless, haughty, yet worthy and honorable man with iron self-control who considered humans far beneath him.

And now this. It’s wicked how a girl can be deceived.

Finally, short of breath, we parted. “Fine,” I panted. “You made your point. I’m dragging mom down to the dungeon and playing it by ear from there.”

“That’s a PLAN?” Calpa stared at me.

I headed for the stairs. “Oh and do try to not let yourself get hypnotized again. You realize Lady S. is part Lamia, right?” I shot back over my shoulder.

Out of sheer charity, I overlooked the tenor of his reply.

In short order, and before any magical portraitures could be made, we stood in front of Kevyn’s cell. Lady S. might have been crazy, but she was a still a mother and eager to show off the apple of her eye. I held my breath while she unlocked the door with a delighted smile, tensing myself for a possible attack from the Sluagh.

I was not prepared for a sight that ripped at my heart. There was someone in chains. A gaunt, dark-skinned creature with leathery wings huddled as far away from the door as possible in a posture of abject despair. He slowly lifted his face from his folded arms, a fragile face that was beautiful but marked by suffering.

“Help me,” he whispered, but without any real hope.

“Kevyn!” his Unseelie mother said brightly. “Is that any way to talk to the nice visitors I’ve brought you?”

It was against all my principles, but there were too many variables and too much at stake. Very gently, I entered his mind. By all the gods, it hurt to be there!

Feeling like a crash victim, I grabbed Calpa by one hand and Kevyn by the other. Still wincing, I looked at Calpa apologetically.

“Porting,” I explained, and hoped he had caught a few Star Trek episodes.

I landed us in Calpa’s bedroom. He could yell at me later if he wanted. But as expected, it was tidy as a pin, no back issues of Squirrel Girl laying about.

Calpa was completely wild-eyed by then. I sat the half-Sluagh, Kevyn, down in a corner and mentally instructed him to zone there, while holding Calpa back.

“It’s not what you think,” I said urgently, “Kevyn’s innocent. His mother’s been force-feeding him all these years. We need him!” (Sorry, Kevyn, for revealing your stuff.)

“Need him for what?” Calpa was livid with me. “To destroy us all?”

I kicked him in the shin.

“Listen to me, you with a brain! Kevyn’s the only one that can shut down what Piper’s become. Kevyn’s refused to take anyone’s soul, but as a result, a string of entities are crowded into his mother’s latest force-feeding. A black magician clawed his way to the top of the heap and is utilizing everyone’s talents for his own agenda. And he knows everything Kevyn knows—at least at the time of transfer, which was before I met Piper.”

Calpa stopped being an ass and listened.

“The magician borrowed from Piper’s memories and persona, but Piper is effectually… gone,” I said, choking back tears. “He couldn’t survive the horror. Kevyn can end the suffering of everyone trapped in that body. He can save Alarc and Brogan from being hunted by that thing. All he has to do is touch Piper’s body.”

###

It is a longer tale than I can tell here, but knowing what we did, it wasn’t hard to ambush “Piper” and have Kevyn make contact with him. He instantly merged into Piper’s body and there was only a faint overlay of wings, before he started to dissolve into shadow. He lifted his head and gave us the smile of an angel at peace.

The Seelie apprised Cazimir of his subordinates’ treachery, make of it what he may.

I left it to the remaining Seelie and the Unseelie Cazimir to merge the child-like soul receptacles with Alarc and Brogan. I heard that all went well.

Yes, I heard it second-hand for I had left them the run of my house and walked away, saddened and tired. I couldn’t forget what I had learned in Kevyn’s mind. His suffering for so many years was dark and terrible and it scourged my soul.

I had penned a brief note to the Fey, thanking them for their help. I didn’t want to live in that house any more – I’d have the Concierge sell it. I quit my job and went far away. I didn’t want to talk to anyone I knew. I couldn’t focus on my disciplines. I drifted, not wanting to be seen or heard.

Several months later, I was lying on the beach of some deserted little island, half in and half out of the warm water, letting the waves tumble me around while my mind blessedly went blank, when I felt someone lift me from under my arms and drag me to dry land.

“What the hell?” I murmured protestingly, “get offa me.” It’s not like I had been in danger of drowning.

“The hell I will,” replied a familiar voice.

I turned around and stared into his face. “What are YOU doing here? And since when do you use language like that?”

There were tears in his eyes. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to comfort you, Auris Briar” he whispered.

“Well, you’re the stupidest damn fairy I ever met,” I sniffed, starting to cry myself. “You know that, right?” The wall within my heart started to crack and I fell against him softly. My unexpected Christmas gift, out of season. (Maybe with time I could even train him how to say my name properly.)
 
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Silent Night

Inspiration used: Garaile Scriven

Mother had promised to spent Christmas eve with him. Even if she had to work, even if it was busy, she had said she would come back home for Garaile.

He believed her. After all, no one celebrated Christmas alone, right?

That year, as Garaile was alone at home, waiting for his mother to return, the night seemed to be eerily silent. While the young boy was looking forward to the singing and the presents, he was mostly looking forward to the appearance of his mother.

However, the silence of the night continued to persist, even long after he had closed his eyes and drifted away.

Sleigh Ride

Inspiration used: Melinda Geralds, Patrick Geralds, Zedekiah Blackbourne (@darkflames13) & Alistair Blackbourne (@FieryCold)

All Zedekiah knew was that the Geralds had two daughters and a son, not in which order they were born. When he met the second Geralds, Mel, he believed that to be the only son. Logically that turned the youngest in the second daughter.

It didn’t help either that none of the Geralds siblings were ever called by their full names. As such Mel turned into Melvin, and Pat into Patricia within the boy’s mind.

“I want Zed with me!” Pat demanded, tears welling up. Mel had loudly decided that Pat was the first to go down the hill, sledding. No buts were made and Pat didn’t try to defend either, even if scared.

Ali rose a brow at the demands of the youngest Geralds, wondering if he might have a crush on his brother. Zed had a different reaction, however. Raising his arms up in protest the boy jumped back.

“No, you have cooties!” he exclaimed, horrified. Mel scoffed, wondering who had been feeding him lies again and Alistair shook his head. Zed could be so clueless.

“Just go down already, I wanna go as well!” The older Geralds gave Pat an impatient push, sending the person down the hill, but without the sleigh.

There tumbling down the hill, in the sparse snow, went the youngest Geralds sibling, screaming for dear life.

He never dared to go sledding again.

Baby It's Cold Outside

Inspiration used: August Yilmaz
Whenever August attended a party people always asked one thing of him: to play some music.

He didn’t mind doing so and often enough he granted them their wish. So this night as well as he took a seat behind the piano in the corner.

With one last glass of wine in hands many in the room were a little wasted, but they did recognise the moment that was about to come. As the host called for their attention the people went quiet until August started to play the first tune.

Recognising the song a few small voices started to sing, joined in by braver and louder voices, until everyone in the room picked up. It was a fitting song for the end of a party.

’I really can't stay (get over that old out)
Baby, it's cold
Baby, it's cold outside’

Family Dinner

Inspiration used: Garaile Scriven & Anice Runeswell (@VocaStar)
“Do you want some more turkey?” Mrs. Runeswell cut a big chunk of the meat, raising it up.

“Sure,” Mr. Runeswell smiled, lifting his plate towards the meat. However, the meat didn’t go to his plate.

“I mean Garaile, dear,” Mrs. Runeswell puts up her brightest smile as she slides the meat on the blond’s plate. The Slytherin boy beamed back at the woman, thanking her while giving the husband a cheeky look.

“Thank you, mrs. Runeswell!” the boy said with a mouthful, enjoying the attention he was being lavished in. Mr. Runeswell sulkingly cut some meat for himself.

Cursed be his daughter’s boyfriend.

Serenity

Inspiration used: Emrys
Emrys liked his silence. It was familiar, and he felt that it belonged to him, just as he belonged to silence. It gave him peace, unlike the everyday sounds made him feel.

However, as of late Emrys found serenity in a different sort of silence.

The look of Joan when she opened the new pack of Bertie Bott’s jelly beans was something he could never quite grow tired of. The queasy look that then turned into rage, that silence that turned into an angry storm.

The Hufflepuff would be sure to duck away and hide behind Asher before anything happened.

White

Inspiration used: Ondine Fear
The kitchen smelled of chocolate and melted butter, and the counter was littered with dirty dishes and white spots of flour. Ondine had spent the whole day baking with her sister, finally putting the finishing touch on the dark chocolate cake.

“That looks like snow!” her sister breathed, and the blondine smiled, continuing to shake the confectioners sugar gently to cover the cake.

How precious her time was with the sick girl, Ondine found. Despite her sister’s age the childlike wonder never failed to be amazed. It was a delight, but also a sad realisation that she would never grow past that mentality.

Winter Wonderland

Inspiration used: August Yilmaz
There rarely was any snow in his birthplace. August had as such rarely seen any and definitely not as much as he did right now.

“Wow,” was his only reaction as he watched the white fall down from the sky in piles and piles. It covered the trees, the land, up to his knees! Amazing! Wonder filled his eyes as he took in the winter wonderland surrounding him.

He tried to play around in the snow as much as he could and was allowed, not minding the cold. Snowball fights, building a snowman and creating snow angels. Such a rare joy it was, that first year with snow.

The Night Before Christmas

Inspiration used: Emrys
Tomorrow it would be Christmas, Emrys knew that, which was why he didn’t want to sleep. So that tomorrow wouldn’t come, or at least take longer to come.

Drinking another cup of hot chocolate milk the boy seated himself in front of his window. The night was already falling and his parents were preparing for bed as well. Tomorrow it would be Christmas and Emrys had no idea what to expect now that he was spending it at home. He didn’t look forward to it either.

When his mother kissed him goodnight he didn’t respond. He hasn’t for years by now, but tonight he didn’t look up either. His silence even more prominent than ever before.

Tomorrow was Christmas and Emrys wasn’t looking forward to it.

An Unexpected Gift

Inspiration used: Garaile Scriven
Garaile was used in receiving gifts. His parents would send him one every time when they failed to show up, another dirty promise to follow that would be broken later, followed by another present. He was expecting it by now.

However, this year was different. When he came downstairs on Christmas morning he expected to see his granny, but instead was met with the face of a younger female Scriven. One he had given up on seeing.

“Mom?” Garaile whispered, still dazed and still struck in surprise. Did she finally come to see him on Christmas day?

When the woman turned Garaile shot up from his bed.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself, wondering why he still dreamt of the unexpected.
 
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