#christmas inklings challenge

[allisonreader]

Here is my fairly early Christmas Inklings Challenge story. I honestly didn't expect to have a story done so quickly, though it's not the idea that I started with.

@inklings-challenge

A little background on this story so that if you haven't read anything in my The Hidden Royals realm, you won't be lost.

This story is told entirely from the perspective of Beth Wood (which isn't her full name). Beth is actually Elizabeth Ravenswood, wife to Theodore Ravenswood (going by Theo Wood) who is the crown prince of an island nation called Windsmere. (A secondary world, not a place fit into our own.)

They're both currently living in a different island nation called Shadowfen in secret exile after a tyrant named Roland killed all Theodore's family and took over as king. Theo and Beth were only able to escape thanks to a servant who snuck them out at the first sign of danger.

So the pair are raising their children in Shadowfen. They end up with three children, Thomas (Tom/Tommy who was conceived in Windsmere but was born in Shadowfen), a lost baby, Patricia (the middle child and only surviving girl), James (the youngest, whom is later kidnapped by one of Roland's men/spies), and the two babies who also didn't survive, many years apart.

Then here are a couple of links to the related stories.

The Hidden Royals; The Spark

The Hidden Royals "Master List"

Now the actual story.

Christmas Dress Tradition

All of her little family was home safe and sound, snug in their little cottage.

Theo would be off from guard duty the next couple of days before having to go back. Her babies were both asleep, although the one she was carrying was being rather active as she worked on Patricia's dress.

She had been working on it after Thomas and Patricia had gone to sleep for the last couple of months already. Patricia was probably too young yet to fully appreciate the work going into this dress. But she wanted her little girl to have a pretty dress.

One that wasn’t as plain as her regular day to day wear. A dress that could truly be considered her best dress. She had even made the dress in a way that she could let out the seams and hem as Patricia grew. And if the new baby was a girl, she could wear it too.

Part of what was taking so long to make the dress was the embroidery she was adding to it. As long as it was ready for Christmas was all she wanted.

…

As the years went on and her three children grew, it had become a tradition for her to make some sort of pretty dress for Patricia to open and wear on Christmas.

Neither her dear Tommy, nor James cared much about what they wore, while Theo mostly wore a Shadefenian guard uniform. Something that she never thought that she would get used to seeing him in and always made her heart ache with the reason of why he wore the foreign uniform.

So, she continued on with her project of making a pretty new dress for Patricia who would be delighted by opening it on Christmas.

…

Patricia was 16 when she started to help with the dress.

It had been a hard year for her. She had fallen rather ill near the time where she normally started to work on the dress.

At first she hadn’t realized that she was pregnant again, having thought those days were long past, but the pregnancy had ended without a living baby. Her third child buried, born far too soon to survive and leaving her both physically ill and heartsick.

Patricia, seeing her pain, decided that they would both work on her dress. It wouldn’t be a surprise like it had previous years, but she appreciated working with her daughter.

Never did she expect that on Christmas Patricia would surprise her with a dress of her own.

It was the prettiest dress that she had owned since she and Theo had fled Windsmere.

From then on Patricia and her would work on a dress for each other together. It made the loss of another child an easier burden to bear.

…

The first year back had been in Windsmere had been hectic.

Removing a tyrant king from power whom had kidnapped her youngest son and had killed her husband’s family was no light task. There was so much to do and put back into place that Christmas had nearly been forgotten about, dress making had been put on the back burner and forgotten about as they as a family got settled in a new home.

It was only the year after when Patricia came into her room with material for a new dress that she had remembered about it again. So much had happened and Patricia herself was pregnant with her first now; but together again, they worked on new dresses for each other.

Laughing as the dressmakers scolded them for doing so.

They just invited the women to join them and encouraged them to make something for their own loved ones. Adding to their tradition from there.

[secretariatess]

The Milkmaids and the Partridge

So, because I usually write other world fantasy, where Christmas doesn't actually exist. So writing a fantasy Christmas story for me . . . wouldn't be undoable, I guess, but it would take a lot more work than I wanted to put in.

So the theme was "Twelve Days of Christmas," which is meant of the literal days of Christmas and not the song. But I'm being very loose with all of this and using inspiration from the song, and inspiration from the real Christmas story.

It's more of a fairy tale than anything, so hopefully it's enjoyable despite my liberties, lol. It's under 5k words (which is surprising for me!)

For the Christmas Inklings Challenge, @inklings-challenge

 Once upon a time, in the Realm of the Ten Lords, there was a humble dairy farm on the outskirts of the town.  This dairy farm, known to most as the Starry Night Farm due to its uniquely painted barn, was owned and run by eight milkmaids.  These milkmaids were not sisters by blood, but considered themselves such all the same because of how close they got over the years.  The start of their friendship is truly an interesting story, but it is not the story right now.

 These milkmaids all lived in the space over the barn.  It was not a very large space, as they did not have many cows, but it kept them warm and provided beds for them, so they were quite content with their lives.  Their cows produced some of the finest milk in all the realm, and so they had met many a traveler seeking to taste the milk.

 Now one of their duties was to make sure their pastures were fit for their cows.  A good pasture led to happy, healthy cows, and that was part of their secret for their milk.  The milkmaids took this task very seriously and always kept a sharp eye out for anything that might pose a danger to the cows.

 It was one morning that Spirit, for that was the name of one of the milkmaids, noticed that there was a patch of foxtail growing in the corner of the pasture.  Now see, foxtail was not very good for cows, as the spikelets of the foxtail could get into the noses and ears of cows and cause great harm.  Spirit promptly got rid of it and thought that that was the end of it.

 The next day, Comfort, another milkmaid, saw foxtail growing in the corner of the pasture, and she took care of it before any of the cows wandered over.  Like Spirit, she thought that was the end of it.  But the next day, and the day after that, all the milkmaids had encountered the foxtail, each believing that they were responsible for getting rid of it and not realizing that their fellow milkmaids had done the same thing.

 It was not until Spirit saw the foxtail again, and this time, there was more of it.  She said to her fellow milkmaids, “Dear sisters, see here- I have removed this foxtail but a little over a week ago and it has returned in a larger bunch.”

 “You have removed it?” said Meek, another milkmaid who was normally quiet.  “Why, I have removed it myself only a week past! It has returned already?”

 “That is quite odd,” said Suffered, yet another one of the milkmaids.  “For it twas only yesterday that I removed a patch of foxtail.”

 It was then discovered that all of the milkmaids had removed a patch of foxtail.  The rate of its growth alarmed them.

 “Dear sisters, what should we do?” asked Patience, wringing her hands.  “If it will only come back, and in larger amounts, removing it will get us nowhere!”

 “Come now,” chided Righteous gently.  “There is no use getting in a tizzy just yet. We will ask the Nine Ladies for their wisdom about what we should do.”

 It was a very good idea, and the milkmaids agreed to trek into town at the end of the week.  The Nine Ladies were fond of dancing, and held a dance every end of the week.  They were married to the Ten Lords, save one.  This Lord fancied his leaping, as the rest of the Lords were, but thought that getting married would only tie him down.  He wanted to spend as many years as he could to leap as high as he could before he settled down and got married.

 It was a jolly sight when they arrived.  Half the townsfolk had arrived to participate in the dance, and the music was merry.  For those who were not as nimble on their feet, or perhaps were recovering from having partners who were not as nimble on their feet, there was a large banquet set up for them to enjoy, courtesy of the Nine Ladies.

 The milkmaids approached the table of the Nine Ladies, who were resting after spending only a few hours on the dance floor, and curtsied low to them, as one does to show respect to a noble.  In truth, the milkmaids were not used to curtsying as they spent much of their time with their cows, and one does not curtsy to a cow.  Because of this one or two of them thought they would tip over before they could straighten.  Fortunately, they did not.

 “Oh great Ladies of the Realm,” said Pure, rising up from her curtsy and clasping her hands together as though she were praying.  “We have come to implore you for your wisdom, as we are faced with a terrible problem and do not know how to get rid of it.”

 “Speak girls,” said the Lady in the middle, whose cheeks were red and jolly, “and tell us what your problem is that we may help you.”

 “Great Ladies of the Realm,” said Pure again, addressing them so that she may not be seen as rude, “we discovered a patch of foxtail growing in our pasture a little over a week ago. It was not too much of an issue for us, but we found out that it was growing every day, and recently we discovered that it has come back nearly twice the size. It is not good for our cows, and we are concerned about the damage it will cause them. What should we do about this foxtail that will not go away?”

 “Oh, fear not!” said the Lady at the end on the right.  “That is an easy enough fix. What you need is a partridge.”

 “A partridge?” repeated Pure.  She remembered her manners and quickly added, “Oh Great Lady?”

 The Lady at the end on the left nodded cheerfully.  “Truly! That is all you need. There is a partridge in the Garden of the Eleven Pipers- if you go to her, you may be able to persuade her to return with you. When she does, she will eat your foxtail, for that is what partridges like.”

 The milkmaids all curtsied low at this advice.

 “Great Ladies of the Realm, we thank you for your help,” said Pure.  “We shall be ever grateful.”

 “Now, now,” the Lady to the left of the Lady in the middle, “rise up and smile. Perhaps you will join us for some time in this dance!”

 The milkmaids did as the Lady requested, and danced for joy at the solution to their problem.  When they returned that night, for they spent many hours dancing, they prepared themselves for the journey to the Garden of the Eleven Pipers and put away their cows with a lot of hay to ensure their happiness.

 The Garden of the Eleven Pipers was on the other side and would take a few days worth of travel to get there.  The milkmaids had never been there themselves, but they had met people who had, and they were told it was a wonderful place.  So they were excited to see its wonder and bring back the partridge.  It was agreed to take a sack of seeds with them to present to the partridge in order to persuade her to return with them.

 In the morning, they set off, singing to each other all sorts of joyous songs.

 As they journeyed on, they came upon the Great Horned Owl.

 The Great Horned Owl was sleeping, and was not happy with being disturbed from his slumber by their joyful singing.  He settled on the side of the path, peering at them blearily with narrowed eyes as he tried to make them out.

 “Too-hoo! What is this to-do?” he hooted, blinking slowly.  The daylight bothered his eyes so.

 “We are going to the Garden of the Eleven Pipers,” said Peace, stepping forward.

 “The Garden of the Eleven Pipers?” hooted the Owl.  “Too-hoo! That is a long journey.”

 “It is only a few days,” said Peace.  “It is not too long for us.”

 “Too-hoo! I see,” said the Owl.  “Now why would eight young milkmaids be going to the Garden of Eleven Pipers for? Is this part of the Realm not satisfactory for you?”  The Great Horned Owl was a nosy fellow, and had to know about people moving about where they usually did not go.

 “We are going to find a partridge,” said Peace.  She showed him the basket they prepared for the partridge.  The milkmaids had agreed that it would be much more comfortable for the partridge to sit in a cushioned basket than to be carried by their arms or walk the whole way back to the Starry Night Farm.

 “A partridge? Too-hoo! What an odd thing to look for,” said the Owl.

 “We need the partridge to help us with the foxtail in our farm,” said Peace.  “It is growing at an alarming rate, and the Nine Ladies told us that a partridge will eat the foxtail.”

 “Too-hoo! Is that true?” said the Owl.  But the Owl was jealous.  He prided himself with helping all who came across his path with his wide range of knowledge, and he did not like the idea of the milkmaids seeking help from another bird.  Why wouldn’t the Nine Ladies send them to him?  He could have figured out a solution to their problem.

 “It is true!” confirmed Peace.

 “Well then, too-hoo!” said the Owl, devising a plan.  “When you come back, why don’t you show me the partridge before going back to the farm? I have some foxtail myself that I would like to get rid of. If this partridge can do it, than I would like to have some of her time.”

 The milkmaids agreed, because they did not know that the Owl was scheming.  He did not have any foxtail that was growing anywhere, so he certainly did not need the partridge for that.  He instead hoped to eat the partridge whole, so he could remain the only bird to whom the humans asked for help.  But the milkmaids could not have known this, for he was very convincing.

 So they continued on their way.  After a few days, they stood at the entrance of the Garden of the Eleven Pipers.  No one really saw the Pipers at work in the Garden, but they knew they were there, somewhere among the plants and trees the Pipers grew.  The Garden was enormous, and the Pipers allowed anyone in to come and rest, and to eat the fruit and vegetables of their garden.  It was a refuge for many creatures and people without any other place to go.

 But because it was so large, the milkmaids realized that it would take them quite a while to find the partridge.  They wandered here and there, stepping around the carrot patches and the tomato plants, twisting their way around the apple trees and blueberry bushes, until they came upon a sparkling creek winding around the orange trees.  In this creek were seven beautiful swans, swimming about and coming together to share some exciting information before drifting apart again to think of something else that had happened to them that week.

 The milkmaids quietly approached, not wanting to startle the swans.

 One of them took noticed and let out a welcoming honk.  “Welcome, welcome! Now, what brings the eight of you lovely milkmaids here?” cried one of the swans.

 “We are looking for a partridge,” said Meek, stepping in front of the other milkmaids.  “We were told by the Nine Ladies that we could find her here, but we do not know where to look for her.”

 “Oh, the partridge!” exclaimed the swan.  “Oh yes, we know the partridge. She joins us for our weddings and birthdays, you know.”

 “And when we have feasts!” piped another swan.  “She is quite a lovely thing, and we certainly enjoy her company.”

 “Perhaps you could point us in the right direction?” asked Meek.  “We are beginning to feel quite lost.”

 “Oh, but of course!” said the second swan.  “Now, if you go down that way, you should come out to some very lovely banana trees. There are usually some geese there who know just about everyone here in the Garden. They will tell you where the partridge likes to go.”

 “Thank you very much!” said Meek, and she meant it.  For it is not every day that one gets lost in a giant garden.  The experience was quite overwhelming.

 The milkmaids followed the swan’s advice, and sure enough, they came across some banana trees with six geese who had made themselves quite cozy at the root of the trees.  Their nests were big enough to hold fully grown humans, and they were made with the softest, finest things that the geese could find.  The geese were very particular about their nests, for once every week, they would lay one egg.  And then on the seventh day, they would all rest and care for the egg they laid.

 They were resting on this day, sitting happily on the eggs they laid and dreaming of the gooseling they would get to meet shortly.

 When the milkmaids arrived, they lifted their heads contentedly.

 “Excuse us, madams,” said Mercy, stepping forward this time.  “Perhaps you could tell where we might find the partridge? We were told that you would know.”

 “Why, of course dear!” said the first goose.  Her voice was that that only a mother could have when talking tenderly to a child.  “We know exactly where she is. She likes to roost among the pear trees.”

 “Thank you, kind madams,” said Mercy, giving a little curtsy.  She did not know if it was proper to do so, but it felt wrong to not do so.  Her fellow milkmaids followed suit, giving the geese a respectful curtsy.  “Perhaps you could tell us where the pear trees are? We are new to the Garden, and do not know our way around.”

 “Oh, you poor dears,” fussed the second goose.  “Wandering around the Garden, and no idea of how to get anywhere? It is a wonder you got this far then, I shouldn’t wonder. We would take you ourselves if it weren’t for the fact that we mustn’t leave these eggs alone. The Garden is safe, but it never hurts to be careful.”

 “Well, I shan’t tell them to go alone,” said the third goose.  “I would not want them to wander off and get lost again. Even with the best directions you can always take a wrong step, and next thing you know, you’re in the pumpkin patch!”

 “No need to worry,” said the fourth goose calmly.  “We shall send the calling birds with them. They will know where to go, and can stay with the girls so that they do not get lost. Now, you must wait for them,” she told the milkmaids sternly.

 The milkmaids agreed and settled themselves by the geese while the fifth goose let out a loud honk to tell the calling birds to come to them.  While they waited, the milkmaids told the geese of their mission, and the foxtail that was growing in their pasture.  The geese sympathized with their plight and fussed over the long journey that the milkmaids had to take to get the Garden.  The milkmaids let the geese fuss over them, for it was better to let the geese care for them and not to tell them that they did not need the care.  As it was, it felt nice to be cared for.  The geese made sure they still had enough food and water to continue on, and to make it back home.

 The two calling birds arrived shortly after the geese confirmed that the milkmaids would be able to travel quite comfortably.

 “Greetings!” said the first calling bird.  “We heard that someone is in need of our service?”

 “Yes, yes, these poor dears are looking for the partridge,” said the second goose.  “They are quite lost, as it is their first time in the Garden. Would you be so kind as to escort them to the pear trees so that they do not get lost?”

 “Most certainly!” said the second calling bird.  He swept into a bow as only a bird could.  “We can bring you straight to the partridge! However, we must tell you, that you will have to wait until nightfall to speak with her. For she is a very busy bird and does not come to rest until night.”

 “We can most certainly wait,” assured Mercy, giving the calling birds a curtsy in turn.  All this curtsying was making her legs tired.  She was not used to having to do this.

 “Right this way, then!” said the first calling bird.  He took off from the branch where he had landed and swiftly wove between the trees.  The second calling bird only took off when the milkmaids had started to follow, occasionally flying behind them or perching on their shoulder.  The first calling bird stopped when he had gone far enough, making sure the milkmaids knew where to go.  The second calling bird stayed with them to make sure they did not take a wrong turn and get lost.  He also had a very good singing voice and knew a great deal of songs, many of which he taught the milkmaids as they made their way to the pear trees.

 It was early evening when they arrived.  The calling birds brought them directly to the pear tree where the partridge would rest.  The milkmaids rested their weary legs underneath the tree.  Even though they tried to maintain a conversation with the calling birds, they eventually became too tired and fell asleep.

 They were awoken by a bright light from above them.  Looking up as they rubbed the sleep from their eyes, they saw light from a very bright star as a partridge came to rest in the branches of the pear tree above them.  She peered down at them curiously.

 “It is not every night that I come to find visitors beneath my tree,” said the partridge.  “What brings you here?”

 “O Great Partridge,” said Comfort.  She used such great titles because that is how one addresses the Ladies.  And if this partridge was to save them from their foxtail problem, it was only logical to refer to her like this.  “We have come to plead for your help. Our farm has a problem with foxtail- my sisters and I have all pulled it up, but it keeps returning. We were told by the Nine Ladies that you would be able to help us.”

 Peace held up the offering of nuts.  “We have brought you these as part of our request to come back with us,” said Peace.  “If you do, we will be forever indebted to you, for the foxtail is harmful to our cows, and our cows are our livelihood.”

 The partridge looked quite pleased with the request.  But not a pleased where she looked proud, but rather a pleased that she was happy they had asked her.  “Of course, daughters, I will come with you and take care of your foxtail. Now settle yourselves back to sleep so you are rested for the journey. In the morning, we shall head out.”

 The milkmaids thanked her profusely and settled back into sleep.

 In the morning, when they were still rising from their slumber and getting themselves ready to go, they were approached by three hens who prided themselves with knowing a language known as “French,” which was spoken in a realm very far from the Realm of the Ten Lords.  Though there were some who suspected that the hens had just made up a language of gibberish and claimed that it was real to make themselves seem well educated, especially since they could not speak any known languages besides the common tongue.

 But these hens were not here to boast of their language skills.  Instead, they looked quite concerned.  “Dear mademoiselles, you must not return the way you came,” they told the milkmaids.

 “Why is that?” asked Suffered.

 “We have it on good authority that the Great Horned Owl is expecting you,” they informed them.  “But he is not looking to get rid of foxtail, as he had told you. He was sharing with some of his friends how much he was going to enjoy partridge for dinner someday. If you return the way you came and meet with the Great Horned Owl, he will surely eat the partridge.”

 “Oh dear,” said Meek.  “That is something that we cannot let happen! But then, how are we to return?”

 “There is a hamlet of twelve drummers,” they told the milkmaids.  “Up in the hills, south of the Garden. If you go to them, they will provide you a way home.”

 The milkmaids thanked the hens for their advice.  They tucked the partridge all nice and cozy in the basket they brought for her, supplying her with their offering of nuts.  They then followed the hens’ advice and headed south out of the Garden.

 It was a hard journey to the hamlet.  It consisted only of twelve houses and one meeting house.  Each building sat on a hill of its own, and each hill was steep.  The drummers, who were not drummers by trade, would sit outside of their houses and drum with each other.  They only left their hills when they had to go to the meeting house to discuss important things that oculd not be said yelling across the dips between hills.

 When the milkmaids arrived, such an event demanded the use of the meeting house.  The drummers saw them from a long way off and were waiting for them there already.  The milkmaids collapsed on the ground, too tired from the journey to show proper decorum to the drummers.  Tearfully, the milkmaids told the drummers of their plight.  The drummers comforted them, telling them that they were safe.  The drummers provided for them blankets and makeshift beds so they could sleep in the meeting house.  Before bed, both the drummers and the milkmaids ate a lovely dinner of fruits, nuts, vegetables, and meat that each drummer harvested from his own hill.  The partridge remained in her basket, happily observing the dining.

 In the morning, the drummers came to the milkmaids.  They presented them with five golden rings.

 “These are magic rings,” said one of the drummers, who used congas.  “We use them when we want to leave the hills. They will take you back to your home without the Great Horned Owl’s knowledge.”

 The milkmaids thanked them as profusely as they thanked the hens.  They all partnered with another of the milkmaids, with Pure carrying the basket with the partridge.  One of the drummers, the one who played a timpani, accompanied them to show them how to use the rings and to take the rings back home after ensuring they got back safely.

 When they arrived at the Starry Night Farm, the milkmaids further showed their gratitude by gifting the timpani drummer with twelve bottles of their finest milk.

 They set the partridge amongst the foxtail, which had overtaken the whole pasture in their absence.  The partridge immediately set to work, eating away at all the foxtail.  When enough of it had been eaten, the milkmaids let the cows out, who had been safely shut away.

 Unbeknownst to the milkmaids, the Great Horned Owl realized that they were not going to return the way they came.  Enraged by their trickery, he himself flew to the Garden in hopes of finding the partridge.  Not knowing what a partridge looked like, he made sure to eat all the quail and grouse who considered themselves safe in the Garden.  When he realized that he still had not caught the partridge, he headed back to the Starry Night Farm to exact his revenge.

 The milkmaids were out in the pasture tending to their cows when the Owl arrived.  Talons spread, he swooped towards Spirit, who cried out in fear.  Her fellow milkmaids rushed to save her, but it was the partridge who jumped out in front of Spirit.

 The partridge fought fiercely, caring not that the Owl was bigger than her, nor that his talons were sharp and made to snatch her up.  To the Owl’s great surprise, she was stronger than she appeared and above all, determined.

 Just as the sun started to sink beneath the trees, the battle ended.  The Owl dragged himself away from the site of the battle into the uneaten foxtail and died from his wounds.

 The partridge remained where she was, beaten, bruised, and bloodied.  The milkmaids rushed to her side to find that she was already dead.

 The milkmaids wept bitterly, placing her in the basket that had been serving as her bed.  They brought the basket into the barn where they mourned the whole night.  Their tears exhausted them and they fell asleep around the basket.

 Morning came and peered through the slats of the barns.  The milkmaids blinked awake in its gaze.  There, in the middle of the largest sunbeam, sat the partridge, alive and well!  The milkmaids cried out in amazement and happiness.

 “O Great Partridge!” gasped Righteous.  “We thought you were surely gone! How joyous is it that you are not!”

 “Death could not keep me, daughter, after such a sacrifice,” said the partridge.  “I said I would take care of your foxtail, and I am not one to go back on my promises.”

 With great rejoicing, the milkmaids returned the pasture with partridge.  The carcass of the Owl was thrown out by the road, where worms, scavengers, and flies discovered it.  The partridge remained with the milkmaids and ate their foxtail.  The cows continued to be healthy and happy, and produced even finer milk than before.

For now, at least, they lived happily ever after.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

"have fun?" "exceedingly" is just normal character speak in all the worlds i write, idk about you

[inklings-challenge]

2024 Inklings Christmas Challenge: Official Announcement

The Event

The Inklings Christmas Challenge invites writers to create a science fiction or fantasy story within the Christian worldview set at Christmastime. The story can involve the Christmas we know or a Christmas-like celebration within another world, but must evoke the season in some way.

The Guidelines

Since the holiday season is a busy time of year, this challenge is meant to be low-stress and very casual. The only guidelines are as follows:

Writers can create a story in any science fiction or fantasy genre of their choice. You may use the Inklings Challenge genres as inspiration, or choose a completely different subgenre. Stories can be standalone, or can be set in the world of other works by the author.

There is no maximum or minimum word count, but to avoid putting pressure on writers in an already busy holiday season, writers are encouraged to try for very short stories.

No sign-up is required. Writers who finish a story for the Christmas Challenge should simply tag @inklings-challenge within the body of the post and tag it as #inklingschallenge, and it will be reblogged to the main Inklings Challenge blog.

Completed stories can be posted on a tumblr blog any time before the deadline of January 6th, 2025. If you don’t finish by the deadline, you are welcome to share whatever you’ve completed by January 6th. You can also post the completed story after the deadline has passed. However, because of the seasonal nature of the challenge, any stories posted after February 2nd, 2025 will not be shared on the main challenge blog.

The Theme

Each year's Christmas Challenge comes with a completely optional theme. This year's theme is the very broad concept of Tradition.

Christmas is a time filled with lots of traditions, and our stories can reflect that. You can incorporate current Christmas traditions in your stories, highlight the Christmas traditions of a future or alternate world, build a story in the tradition of other Christmas stories. You can even create a story meant to be a new Christmas tradition (if you're sick of all Christmas fantasy stories being retellings of A Christmas Carol). Interpret the prompt however you like (or ignore it, because it's an optional prompt).

Any questions, comments, or concerns can be directed to the @inklings-challenge​ blog, and I will do my best to address them.

That’s the Inklings Christmas Challenge! Now go forth and create!

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Potential Christmas Inklings Stories

Time travel story told through a child's letters to Santa (as she and her time-traveling parents are in various time periods across centuries)

Through a time-warping mishap, a woman from today gets transported to a spaceship far in the future and has to hitch a ride with a family going back to Earth for Christmas while dealing with their disdain for the "barbaric" past

Christmassy portal fantasy

A married couple rescues a time traveler. Turns out that the husband is from the past and several years ago made a Hallmarky decision to move to the future to be with his wife. Time traveler gives them a chance to go to his time period for Christmas, but they wind up bouncing around time and working out some issues with their relationship along the way.

Athelor story about Thomas (now more than a hundred years old and firmly, firmly ensconced in his life) meeting his terrified newly-arrived ten-year-old brother Danny and having to introduce him to Athelor while being reminded of a home he hasn't thought of in decades.

As you can see, some are more developed than others. All have at least some hold on my imagination, but I'm not sure which will stick out enough to lead to a completed story. Opinions (which one is most intriguing?), comments, thoughts about story directions, etc., all welcome.

[iminlovewithpercyjackson]

CHRISTMAS IN RAENOVA

for the 2024 inklings christmas challenge // part of the bellaterra series

After Holly, Seth, Naomi, and Zach are magically transported into the realm of Raenova to help the kingdom of Akelyra win a war against a witch and her kingdom, their lives have been busy. But they’re not too busy to miss home, and they’re certainly not too busy to miss Christmas on Earth. Luckily, there’s someone else who understands, and he’s going to make sure that the kids don't miss out, even if Christmas doesn't exist in Raenova.

@inklings-challenge

read on my website

It had only been a couple of weeks since Holly had crossed through that doorway in the woods back home. In those couple of weeks, though, Holly and the others ― her best friend, Seth, his sister, Naomi, and a friend of Holly’s sister’s, Zach ― had found themselves trapped in this realm, were introduced to a king and queen, told that they were going to develop special magical abilities to help them in battle, told that they had been brought here by the Maker ― God ― to help fight a war against a neighboring kingdom, and had met an older man called James, who had been brought here under similar circumstances many years ago with his own friends, including Holly’s grandmother. It had only been a couple of weeks, but a lot had happened.

Early one afternoon, fresh from a rinse off after a long morning of training followed immediately by the noon meal, Holly emerged from her bedroom, clean and with a clean dress on, and flopped onto the couch in their sitting room. A perk of their special position was that not only did they get to live in a castle, they had their own set of rooms. There were separate bedrooms with balconies, and a kitchen, sitting room, and library made up the rest of their expansive chambers, with the training area just across the hallway outside for easy access.

Her head landed in a pillow face down, and she promptly wrapped her arms around it, turning her head to face the middle of the room. Her knees landed on the couch, and then she let her stocking-covered feet land in Seth’s lap. He patted her leg absently, his focus on the book he was reading, his torso twisted toward the arm of the couch where he had the book propped.

“I miss home,” Holly said.

“Me too,” said Zach, and Holly turned to see him sitting in one of the chairs on the other end of the room. She hadn't noticed him at first.

“Yeah, so do I,” Seth said. “Our first Christmas away from our families isn't supposed to be until after college. But here we are.”

“We can't even call them,” Holly complained. “And they don't celebrate Christmas here. No presents for us.”

“None of the fun food, either,” Zach pointed out.

Naomi came out of her room, braiding her long hair. “What are we talking about?” she asked them.

“The fact that we don't have a Christmas here,” Seth said. “And that we miss home.”

Naomi nodded. “I wonder what’s going on at home. I hope some magic makes them not know that we’re gone. I wouldn't want them to be stuck panicking that we’re not there, you know? We’ve been gone for a while now.”

Holly shrugged. “I don't know. Has anyone asked James that?”

“I did,” Seth said. “He doesn't know. He never went back, remember?”

Holly groaned.

“I wonder if we could get Christmas off from training,” Zach suggested hopefully.

Naomi laughed at him. “With Ailan? Or Liria? There’s no way.”

Naomi was very likely correct about that. The king and queen were typically hard on the four of them, not out of any sort of cruelty at all but out of a need to get the kids up to speed on fighting techniques so that they were prepared for the coming war. Holly understood. All the kids did. That didn't mean that they didn't still long for their weekends spent sleeping in. Seth had even mentioned missing school, but that was a sentiment that none of the other kids shared in the slightest.

Sighing, Zach leaned back in his chair. “You're right.” He got to his feet and picked up the fire poker, nudging the logs in the fireplace with it. The flames leaped higher, and they crackled as Zach messed with it. He dropped to the ground, laying out on his back, kicking his feet out in front of him and tucking his hands under his head. After a second, he sat back up again.

Anticipating his question, Holly grabbed for the pillow squeezed between the couch back and her hip. She flung it toward Zach, and he caught it with deft hands and a quick grin, laying back on the ground with the pillow tucked under his head.

“Thanks,” he said.

She nodded sleepily, rolling back onto her side and adjusting the pillow under her own head. Then she sighed. “I just wish we could have at least gotten to go home for Christmas. This Maker can open up that doorway anytime He wants, right? Why can't we visit?”

“I'm sure he knows that at least some of us wouldn't come back,” Seth told her, patting her leg again as he flipped the page of his book with his other hand.

Holly scowled. “I’d come back. Promise.”

Of course, though, nothing happened.

But a few days later, when Holly woke up to the sun streaming in from her windows and the glass balcony doors, she heard chattering outside of her room. Chatter was usual for their little group ― she, Seth, and Naomi had all been friends already upon arrival, and though she’d had her misgivings about Zach at first, he fit in well with everyone. Chatter this early in the morning, though, was not usual. Everyone tended to move sluggishly through pulling on their clothes and fixing their hair and grabbing a bite to eat before they all headed out to the training area.

Then Holly spotted the sun in the sky outside of the windows, much higher than it normally was when she woke up for training. She frowned at it for a moment, and then her eyes flew wide open. She leapt out of bed, tearing off her nightgown. Reaching for her training clothes ― the pair of gray trousers and tightly fitted gray shirt ― she yanked them on hurriedly, then shoved her boots onto her feet. Then, pushing open her door, she headed out of her room to go and grab her sword, then paused.

Seth and Zach were both sitting on the couch, laughing. Across from them was James, the old man who had once been a Raenovan warrior from Earth as well. His wife, Laia, sat in the chair beside him.

“Holland!” James smiled at her. “Good morning, child. Come and sit.”

She did so slowly, taking her spot squished between the two boys. “Aren't we late for training?” she asked.

“James got us the day off!” Zach exclaimed. “Ailan and Liria actually let us have the day off! Can you believe it?” he added, laughing.

“Nope,” Holly replied, a grin stretching across her face. “No way. We really have the day off?”

“Yes,” James said. “Merry Christmas, Holland.”

“It’s Christmas!” Holly stared at him, blinking. Then she smiled. “Merry Christmas, James. Merry Christmas, Seth, Zach.”

“Merry Christmas!” the boys chorused.

Naomi joined them shortly thereafter, and soon the sitting room was full of happy laughter and loud conversations.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Laia opened it to find a couple of servants carrying several large bundles. She directed them to the kitchen, and after depositing their packages, the servants disappeared again. Laia ordered them all into the kids’ spacious kitchen. Sitting on the island table in the middle was a large ham, several kinds of vegetables, and various ingredients that Holly knew were all for baking.

“This is all for our Christmas dinner,” Laia told them with a kind smile. “Come and help!”

The four teenagers and James promptly filed into the kitchen, passing recipes around until everyone had something to do. Laia took the lead on their ham, and soon that was cooking. Holly was put in charge of the dessert, some chocolatey concoction she’d never heard of before but that sounded close enough to a cake she was sure she could figure it out. Seth and Naomi, neither of them very good cooks, were set in charge of washing dishes and cutting vegetables. Zach took the vegetables and started assembling them into their respective dishes. James went to work on making rolls from the other ingredients.

Even with the six of them, it took a long time to get all of the food made and ready, but eventually, everything was done. Holly’s not-a-cake was the lone item remaining in the kitchen as they carried everything else into the kids’ dining room, placing it out onto the table that Naomi had set up earlier. Then everyone took their seats ― James and Laia at the head and foot of the table with Seth and Naomi on one side, Holly across from Seth, and Zach seated beside her ― and they began to eat.

“Did you have Christmas here with Holly’s grandma and the rest of them?” Naomi asked James.

James nodded. “We did something just like this every year we could. Sometimes we were in the middle of a battle or in another kingdom and we couldn't, but yes, we did. We would make a big Christmas dinner and have a whole feast together, just like this. Holly, your grandmother was always the one in charge of our dessert. We never trusted anyone else to make it. Sometimes our friends would come, too, and we would tell them about Christmas back home. Sometimes it was just us, and that was no less fun.”

“What did you do at your Christmases at home?” Holly asked. “What was your favorite tradition?”

“My family made ornaments together a week before Christmas,” James said. “Just little things to hang up. We would all make one that represented another person in my family, and then we would hang them up. When Christmas was over, we kept the ornament that represented us. I had quite the collection,” he said, and his smile was fond and wistful and a little sad as he thought of the family he hadn't seen in decades.

“What do you children do?” Laia asked.

“My family likes to drive around and go look at all of the lights people have put up,” Naomi said. To Laia, she explained, “People will decorate their homes for Christmas, both inside and outside, and the outside usually has these strings of lights all over. They’re really pretty. I love to see them. Sometimes we make it a competition to see which of the houses has the best lights.”

“Oh, I love doing that,” Seth said. “My favorite of our Christmas traditions is that we decorate our tree and put up our lights outside all together, always the day after Thanksgiving. My mom decorates the tree with me, and Naomi and my dad set up everything else inside. Then we all go outside and put up the lights. Dad and I put up the ones you need ladders for. Mom tells us where to move them so they look nice.”

Holly laughed at that. “So that’s why your house always looks nice!”

Seth stuck his tongue out at her.

“When I was little, my grandma always made our desserts,” Holly said. “I guess just like she did here. But as I got a little bit older, my sister and I got to help. We had a truce every year to stop fighting just that day so we could help my grandma make a whole bunch of batches of Christmas cookies, and then we would have a truce on Christmas when we helped her make our Christmas cake. After that, it was back to fighting,” she said with a little laugh, shaking away thoughts of her sister, “but not those days. We still help out with the baking now, and sometimes, my little brother helps, too. My sister said that whenever she has kids, she’s going to stick them with us so that they learn to bake.”

Seth laughed. “No one else in her family can bake,” he told everyone else. “Just Holly and her grandma. Her sister and her brother help, but they can't bake on their own.”

James laughed. “Your poor grandmother. I suppose your family members must have gotten your grandfather’s baking skills. He was hopeless in the kitchen.”

“Well, being a prince and all,” Holly said, laughing, “I suppose he never learned. And especially not with the fancy ovens we have at home.”

“No, I imagine that would be confusing,” James chuckled.

“I’m pretty hopeless in the kitchen, too,” Zach said, “at least when it comes to baking. But my mom always made a big breakfast for Christmas morning. We’d wake up smelling it, and then we would open presents really, really quickly while her cinnamon rolls finished baking. Then we’d all eat together. It was nice.”

“It was all so nice.” Seth frowned. “I do wish we could go home.”

“Me too,” Naomi said, and Holly nodded her assent.

“I wish you could as well,” James told them.

Laia brought out Holly’s not-a-cake shortly after that, and she quickly and deftly cut into it, passing pieces around to each of them. Holly was more than satisfied with the taste of it. They all ate their pieces, and then they sat around the sitting room, Naomi sprawled out on one of the couches, Holly squished between the boys on the other couch, and James and Laia in the chairs, quietly enjoying all being together in the warm room of the castle.

Finally, as the clock chimed nine, James rose. “It’s our bedtime, now, I think. Laia and I will be off. You kids should get to bed soon; you don't have a day off tomorrow.”

Holly and Zach groaned, and James laughed.

“You'll be thankful for this one day,” he told them. “Before I leave, may I pray over you all?”

Seth nodded, standing up and moving to the center of the room. Laia, standing beside her husband, reached for Seth’s hand. James extended his hand to Naomi, who reached for Zach’s hand as Seth reached for Holly’s. Then Holly and Zach joined hands, completing the circle.

Holly glanced around the circle awkwardly. She’d never liked prayer time when her grandma or her aunts or uncles insisted on it, and she had always been thankful that her own parents never prayed. Seth’s family did, though, and though Naomi wasn't big on it, either, Seth was. He’d never made her feel awkward about it or forced her to participate, but just being around it always made her feel a little bit off.

She’d never expected religion to be a thing in a world like this, and even when James had prayed over them the first time he’d met them, she’d assumed that was just something that had carried over from his childhood on earth. But she was wrong. Though churches weren't a thing here, everyone, at least in Akelyra, from the king and queen down to the peasants in the nearby town, worshipped a Maker. James had told them that this was what the Raenovans called God.

“Maker,” James said, his head lifted up, “we thank You for Your many blessings this year. We thank You for sheltering our home. We thank You for bringing these young men and women here to aid us in our time of need. We ask that You would continue to bless and shelter and protect us throughout this war.”

As James continued, Holly stood there with her eyes closed, her hands held tightly by the two boys. She wondered how she had come to be here. She wondered if the craziest part of this entire adventure was that she was in this strange, fantastical, magical world or if it was that she was standing here listening to someone pray and thinking, for the very first time, that he might possibly be right, that her grandma might be right, that Seth might be right.

After all, this magical world existed. Who was she to say that a God ― or a Maker ― might also exist? Maybe He did.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Heartstrings

Written for the @inklings-challenge Christmas Challenge 2023.

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.

Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

The string was still there, knotted beneath Rose’s left ribs. She was driving 75 miles an hour down the freeway in her ten-year-old Carolla, the radio on at a buzz. Outside the window, miles and miles of monotonous New York forest passed by. 

Her sister Joan was asleep in the passenger's seat, medical gauze still visible beneath her pale pink blouse. She dozed uneasily, turning her head occasionally from side to side, or else sniffling faintly. Rose hummed along to the radio and tried not to focus on the pulling sensation in her chest. 

Everyone has a heartstring that leads them home, which for Rose meant Eastledge Church in the Massachusetts town of the same name. Heartstrings are thick and fibrous, made of many smaller cords all twisted together. Rose's string had been wrapped round her heart in many tight loops over the course of her childhood, constricting her cardiac muscle while simultaneously holding it safe and secure. She didn’t know if her heart could beat without it. 

So: she drove. Exit in 143 miles, rest stop in ten. 

Eastledge Church was rotten. It had black mold in the walls and liars in the pulpit. Rose knew she should cut the string that tied her there. She wanted to. Joan had managed to yank out her own heartstring, but it had bled and bled and she’d needed two trips to the ER before it was safe for her to travel. Even now, she was pale and weak from the bloodloss. 

Still, Rose knew she should cut the string. She kept a pair of scissors in the glove box, in case she ever got up the courage to do it. 

“Where are we?” murmured Joan. She stirred a little, carefully shifting her weight away from the left side of her body. 

“You missed the Erie Canal– or, well, the picnic area anyway. There’s a rest stop with an Arby’s in like ten miles if you want dinner.” 

They arrived at their hotel in Buffalo just after two in the morning. Rose had an ache in her hamstring from working the gas pedal, but it was nothing compared to a chest wound. Both she and Joan had forgotten to call ahead from the road, so they had to wait while the front desk concierge went to find the manager and ask if he could still check people in once they’d started the night audit. The manager appeared at the front desk a few minutes later and told Rose curtly that it would be a while yet. 

“It’s standard practice at hotels.”

“I know,” said Rose. “I’m sorry. There’s a problem with my heartstring, see? And my sister’s got ripped out. We had other worries. I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” the manager answered dubiously. “Well, make yourself comfortable in the lobby and we’ll let you know when we can check you in.”

It was three by the time Rose finally stumbled into the room and collapsed onto the hard mattress. Joan came in behind her, barely coherent through the fog of her exhaustion. The light in the bathroom was flickering, but Rose didn’t care. Her heartstring hummed with promises of rest. Turn around, it seemed to say. You know you won’t be able to sleep the night until you’re back home.

“Screw you,” Rose said aloud. 

“Hmm?” 

“Not you. The church, Pastor Mark, and this stupid string in my chest.”

“Hmm,” agreed Joan. 

Rose indulged herself for a long moment in imagining the violent demise of an elder who had taught her to play Go in the welcome room once, and who had made excuses for the rot in the walls many years later. Her heart thrummed like a violin string. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. 

The next day, they drove as far as Gary, Indiana. Rose could feel her string getting tangled whenever she got on another exit; she worried about it even changing lanes. 

“Mind if I put on something a little more upbeat?” said Joan when Rose winced on a long merge. “I think we could both use it.”

“I don't think it'll help, really.”

“Alright, but maybe it'll get us singing along?”

Rose waved her hand in a way that meant “fine.” She bobbed her head to the peppy pop song her sister selected and tried to enjoy the drive. It was pretty country, a sunny day, and they kept passing signs for different scenic lakes along the way. 

“Finger Lake, Elbow Lake… do ya think we're building an arm?” she quipped, feeling lighter. 

But when Rose tried to start the car outside the diner where they’d stopped for lunch, her key wouldn’t turn in the ignition. Joan was paying for parking, but when she slid into the passenger's seat, careful not to jar her stitches, Rose threw her head down on the steering wheel and sobbed. She turned to her sister, questions about oil cans and engines on the tip of her tongue, but right then her heartstring yanked so hard on her heart that all she could manage to say was, “It hurts.”

“I know Rosie. I know it does,” Joan said back. “Mine does too.”

Fortunately, there was an Ace Hardware half a mile away. Rose left Joan with the car and walked there, then paid for the lubricant Google said she needed and headed back. There were still so many miles to drive that day, so much string left to unspool.  

On the way to St. Cloud, they changed time zones. Rose felt it deep in her chest when they passed from Eastern to Central time: a jolt on her string, like lightning down a kitestring. 

“Did you feel that?”

“I didn’t feel anything,” said Joan. 

“No, I guess you wouldn’t.” Rose stared at the glovebox a long moment before she remembered to keep her eyes on the road. There was only an hour difference between Eastledge and here, but with all that time pulling steadily against her ribs, Rose could feel every minute of it. 

Joan suggested calling their parents when they reached their hotel that night, before both sisters remembered that they would be asleep by now. Rose wondered if Pastor Mark was sleeping too. She hoped he had nightmares. She hoped he woke up with guilt pressing hard on his chest. 

They drove past Chicago in a heavy drizzle and spent two hours sitting in traffic. Joan tried calling their parents again, since there was nothing else to do. “I don’t know how you and Dad stand it,” she murmured. “Staying in town with your strings half-frayed. Isn’t it killing you?”

“Sometimes,” said their mother. “But your father and I have spent our whole lives reorienting our hearts. We've had to do it many times, and it never gets easier, but we get better at it.”

“Do you blame Rose and me at all– for leaving?”

“Of course not. But we'll miss you at Christmas.”

That night, Rose and Joan snuggled up together on a hotel room queen bed and watched the second half of some Julia Roberts movie that was playing on cable. Joan cracked jokes about the female lead's neuroses and by the time the credits rolled she was lying half on top of Rose. Their hearts were beating in time, and suddenly Rose was grateful, so grateful not to be alone with this grief.

They'd been traveling for days now and Rose's heartstring grew more and more taught by the mile. Now, if she touched it, blinding agony would shoot through her chest. Even just the glancing brush of a fingertip over the fibers squeezed her heart until all she could think of was the place under the stairs where she’d hidden for hours once when she was eight, sleeping bags spread out across the sanctuary floor, or sneaking into the kitchen during summer VBS. 

“Do you remember those lantern light picnics they used to do for a while? Right as summer was ending, you know, and the whole congregation came out for it, and it was just kind of magic?”

“Yeah. I also remember ditching it that one time and running out to the creek with Olivia and Liam.”

“What about that tea and testimony women’s event when they asked me to be on the panel?”

“Don’t remember that one. I didn’t think you ended up doing it?”

“I didn’t. Prior commitment. But it felt nice to be asked.”

“Mmm. I felt the same way when they asked me to do the layout for the new photo directory.”

“Teaching Sunday School. Nursery. Organizing the craft closet and going crazy with the label maker.”

“Mmm. Food drives, clothing drives, and silly little theatricals.”

“Remember when I got to sing ‘Do You Hear What I Hear?’ at the Christmas pageant? And the year you were Mary? And that one play after I aged out where you spray dyed your hair gray?”

“Some of it. I was pretty young for the first one. And I’m trying to forget as much about church plays as I can. Mr. Pierce directed them all, and I don’t want to think about him at all if I can help it. Not after what he said to Mom.”

Rose sighed. 

“Yeah, that's true. It's a bad lot, top to bottom. Anyway. How’s your heart?”

“It’s doing better, I think. The wound’s not seeping anymore. Sometimes, it barely hurts at all.”

It was Christmas Eve when they arrived in Helena. A Wednesday. Rose pulled into their aunt’s driveway and parked, then they both went inside to greet the extended family. Joan called their parents to tell them she and Rose had arrived safe. 

They had dinner with the family, but then the sisters went and sat together on the guest bed for an hour trying to figure out what came next. Rose pulled at the string beneath her left ribs until she could barely stand it, trying to decide if she could bear the Christmas Eve service her aunt and uncle attended. Joan just sat scrolling mindlessly on her phone, trying to forget for a while. 

They both wanted to go to church on Christmas Eve. That was maybe the cruelest part. Rose’s heart longed for carols and Scripture readings with a tender ache altogether different from the ever-present, stripped-raw yanking of the string. Joan was healing, and didn’t want to dwell on losing Eastledge any more than she’d already done. 

“I’m going, I think,” Joan said finally. It was nine p.m. and the service began at eleven. 

“I’m not,” whispered Rose. “I just can’t. It hurts too much.”

She made an apology to her relatives while Joan went to get dressed, gesturing vaguely at the place beneath her left ribs. Once the house was empty, she resigned herself to the tinny sound of carols played over her phone speaker and a few whispered prayers. When she prayed, Rose heard Pastor Mark’s voice as often as her own. Sometimes he told the truth, but most of the time he lied.

Oh God. This time back home, they’d be singing “The First Noel.” They’d be lighting candles soon, and the upstairs sanctuary under whose stairs she used to hide would glitter when they turned off the lights. 

When the churchgoing party got home, half an hour after midnight, Joan found her sister in the guest bath. She was sobbing and covered in blood. 

“I cut it,” Rose whispered. “I cut my heartstring. I couldn’t bear not being at the service–not the one here and not the one at home– so I cut it out of me. I took the scissors and I just– I– I think I’m bleeding.” She looked up. “I am bleeding, right? This is all my blood.”

There was blood oozing out of the wound in her chest, but it was on her hands too. It was on her lips, her nose, and how had even that happened? “I’m bleeding,” Rose said again. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

Joan called an ambulance, but first she reached back and unzipped her dress. She pulled it over her head and stood there, in her bra and black tights and nylon slip in front of her bleeding sister. “Mine stopped,” she said, slowly peeling back the gauze that covered her heart. The wound was shut, though the scar was still red and angry. “It hurt a lot tonight, Rosie, but it’s not bleeding. Yours will stop too. I promise.”

They spent Christmas night in the ER. “It’s a busy night in this ward,” one of the nurses remarked. “Lots of people pick tonight to tear away their heartstrings. It’s the worst night of the year for people who can never go home.” 

The Sunday after Christmas, Rose felt light-headed as she stepped into her aunt and uncle's church. She’d missed the carols, but some of the decorations were still up. The altar cloth was still white and gold, and so it would remain for a few days yet. 

Everything was either an echo or a contrast to Eastledge. “I wish they wouldn’t sing this song,” said Rose in her sister’s ear, pressing a hand to the place beneath her ribs where her heartstring had been. 

After the service, Rose went up to the front of the church and stood in front of the altar. She reached out and ran her fingers over the scalloped edge of the cloth, wanting to salvage some Christmas joy but instead only able to imagine the corresponding cloth a thousand miles away in Eastledge, Massachusetts. 

No, no, none of that. Rose screwed her eyes shut and she forced her thoughts back into something like order. She thought about Christ Incarnate leaving his home in heaven. Which way had his heartstring pulled him, she wondered. Had it tied him back to the Father, or had his heartstring led him straight to the cross?

“Eastledge Church broke my heart,” she didn't quite whisper. “You broke my heart, God, and I don't know what comes next.”

There was no immediate answer, but the gold threads against her fingertips were rough and scratchy. They ran along the white cloth in embroidered images of starbursts, crowns, and crosses. Her fingernail caught on a loose end, which unraveled a little when she drew her hand away. 

Before Rose quite understood what was happening, that loose end of golden thread had disentangled itself from the altar cloth and was hanging in the air before her eyes. As she watched, one glittering end wove its way towards her chest, underneath the bandage and through her skin. With a strange gentleness, the thread wound its way past her left ribs and tied itself, she was certain, in a knot around her heart. The string gave a little tug, but it didn't hurt her; Rose felt only a delicious warmth that began in her heart and seemed to radiate all through her body, from the hairs on her head to the tips of her toes. 

For an instant, Rose assumed that the other end of the thread was still embedded in the altar cloth; that this was God's way of telling her that she belonged here, at this church. Yet as her eyes traced the length of golden thread, they found themselves gazing up, where a faint shimmering was just visible high up in the rafters. 

“It doesn't end there,” she realized. With that, Rose turned and sprinted down the aisle and out of the church. 

The gray December sky was dotted with snowflakes. When Rose raised her head, they fell in her lashes and she had to blink them away. Yet there, high above her, she could see her golden heartstring vanishing into the clouds. 

“It leads to the Throne Room,” said a voice beside her. Rose turned and saw Joan standing beside her, with Rose's own coat draped over her arm. “I think it must.”

“Yours too? I mean, did your heartstring–”

“Yes. Christmas night, in the hospital with you. I looked up and it seemed to be unfurling down from the ceiling like Jacob's Ladder.”

“You never said.” Rose sniffed hard, not sure if it was the cold or the overwhelming emotion that caused it. 

“I don't think it's the sort of experience you can talk about, much. Put on your coat, Rosie. I won't say let's go home, not now– but the car is warming up, and I bet I can get Auntie to make us some cocoa.”

[l-e-morgan-author]

Likely not going to crosspost the links every day, but look. It's a thing. Sign up to my blog to see it every day until Christmas!

When it's completed, I'll do what I did last year and link every chapter in a single post. <3

[larissa-the-scribe]

Mission: Fallen Star (pt. 3) (last)

First part: >>> here. Previous part: >>>here A Christmas / New Year's Story, and as part of @inklings-challenge Christmas 2023 event Last time: the kiddos found a hungry monster, which was definitely not a fallen star.

They found several bright things over the next few hours. Most of those were bioluminescent plants, rocks, and creatures--perhaps they weren't exactly bright, but they were at least glowing and colorful. Ashley shoved a few of the things they found into her backpack, just in case one of them would work as a backup gift. 

Peter finally gave into his impulses and chased down one of the creatures (something between a squirrel, a rabbit, and a hedgehog, with glowing quills), at which point they had another debate. 

Mommy loves animals, Peter argued.

This animal stuck you with pins and also we never keep the animals, Ashley argued back.

Finally, it wriggled out of Peter's hands, pricking him and scuttling away, and Ashley managed to persuade him not to kidnap it again.

Eventually, they made it to the edge of the forest.

The ground sloped away from the knobbled forest, a plain covered in thick, waving grass that stretched to the edge of a river. Far beyond, they could see hills rising up into mountains.

And in the sky, so, so many brilliant stars, painting the vividly blue and purple sky with blazing speckles of glory. Like ice, cold and clear, like fire, burning and bright. They outlined the mountains in stark contrast of light and dark, though gleams of it caught on the peaks and trickled down into the fireflies that blinked in the sighing field.

It was... "pretty" felt like too weak of a word.

"Maybe one will fall," Peter said. He sat down in between two huge gnarled tree roots, and rubbed at his arms where the mud was peeling off.

Ashley stayed standing.

"Beautiful" felt too normal. Amazing, gorgeous, breathtaking--breathtaking came the closest, but no word she could find in her head matched the feeling of standing there, small, young, beneath these old, hoary trees, in front of this plain, looking up at this expanse of sky. Maybe it needed a whole new word altogether, one that didn't exist yet.

And underneath that, not fully masked by this strange feeling of bigness, of being there, of beauty she hadn't been looking for, there was something much easier to name.

Frustration. It was taunting her. There were so many stars. So many stars, so high up, so out of reach. And she and Peter were very, very small, and very lost. And very tired.

Ashley sat down beside Peter, half-curling up and resting her chin and arms on one of the roots, gazing out at the field. Something was building in her throat, uncomfortably like tears.

As soon as she sat down, the walking and running and excitement and fear from earlier all caught up with her and seeped into her with the murmuring of the trees.

Mommy and Daddy were going to have to find them in the morning, and they would be so far away, and so worried about them being lost and gone. Peter was muddy and had lost his finder, the one he and Daddy had built and that he loved so much--and it was all her fault.

"I'm sorry," Ashley whispered. "I... thought this would work out better, and be like... a second Christmas. I'm sorry we failed and it was my fault because I should have known better."

When she looked back, however, Peter was already asleep.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, deliberately saying it out loud. If she thought it at him, it would wake him up. Or mess up his dream.

She curled up tighter against the root, clutching at her arms and letting ice build up under her finger-tips. Her tears didn't freeze, though. They started pooling out of her eyes, and dripping down her face with uncomfortable heat. 

Ashley intended to sit up and figure out a solution, stop the tears, or else properly think about the crimes she had committed. But instead, almost as soon as the tears had started, she was asleep.

 

When Ashley woke up, the air was very still, an odd sort of quiet that felt normal for the world, like it was gathering itself for a deep breath.

The stars were fading slowly out, less stark than they had been a couple hours ago. Their brilliance stood against a paler background, now, and far off over the mountains a thin ribbon of paler blue was turning into gold and pink.

Somehow it soothed her, the quietness as birds started their song and the earth prepared to be awake. It felt big and endless, ever-moving, unshakeable. In the grand scheme of things, she was small, and so were her troubles--and for a reason she couldn't name, that was comforting. The worlds all continued to move. Her world would, too, and it would be set right.

Still, she didn't know why she was awake now. She'd gone to sleep in enough odd places that she wasn't disoriented--but she hugged her knees and wished either Mommy or Daddy were here. That was normally why it was fine to go to sleep anywhere. Mommy and Daddy would take care of anything that needed taking care of. But now, she and Peter needed taking care of, and they were far away from Home. Such thoughts didn't prick at her as painfully as last night, though. It was a simple matter of fact.

Something shining, something brilliantly bright, caught her eye, and in a flash of wonder the distant, lovely thing wiped every other thought and worry away.

Embedded in the ground, not ten meters away, something radiated with silver and white and gold.

Ashley gasped and rubbed at her eyes.

It was still there. And it was so obvious, so truly right, that she wondered why she had ever imagined anything else had been, could possibly have been it.

A fallen star.

It glowed and pulsed, sending out little spikes of light in concentric circles, whirling like gears around a heart of pure, burning white--wrapped, in turn, around a tiny, tiny seed of brilliant, blackish blue. 

Ashley elbowed Peter awake.

At some point in the night, he must have gotten the blanket out of his bag, since now it enveloped his flailing limbs as he jolted awake. He also must have been half-awake by whatever had disturbed Ashley, because he was up and on his feet before she was.

Before she could say anything, he disappeared in a flurry of speed.

"It is it!" He yelled, waving at her. "We found it! And"-- he cut off, stooping to pick something up--"it's magic!" In his upraised fist he swung his finder.

Picking up the star proved troublesome. It was quite hot to touch--the ground around it was scorched and the mud baked hard--and the outside of the star wasn't quite solid.

They tried to dig under ground with ice and lift a whole bit of the clay into the air with ice that Ashley could hold onto. But then they couldn't quite put it all in a backpack--it was having trouble fitting through the opening--and the ice kept melting.

Ashley wanted to laugh. Such a magical, beautiful thing, a piece of the night kindling the day, and they were trying to shove it in a backpack. Some small part of her that she didn't know about yet almost wanted them to fail, now, as much as she wanted them to succeed.

Finally, Peter pulled gloves out of his backpack, thick ones for "making things," and he reached out and picked it up, cupping it awkwardly into his hand. He shivered from head to toe, like an attack of goosebumps.

"Not much different from lightning," he said, "at least not with protective gloves. I can put it in a glove and wrap it up in my sweater and hold it." 

He pulled out his sweater, which he had gotten for Christmas. It was part of the outfit that went with the gloves, and Mommy had made for when he and Daddy did fire things together. Ashley helped him pull a glove off while he balanced the star in the other hand--shivering occasionally goosebumpily--and held it very carefully while he slowly tipped the star into the glove. It slid in, the outer spikings catching at Ashley's hands and almost making her drop the glove in an explosion of an intensity that was something like electricity, something like warmth, something like being stabbed, something like a cat licking you. Wonderful and terrible. She wanted to throw it as far as she could, or else hug it tightly to her chest.

Peter took it from her and swaddled it in his sweater. The whole thing wriggled and pulsed fascinatingly as he made a cradle for it around his chest. 

"It might fit in a backpack," he said, "but I don't know what that will do to the rest of the contents. And I don't know if it would squish it at all to get it through the opening, and I don't know what squishing a star would do."

Ashley nodded her agreement.

He looked back towards the tree. "Oh, also, don't forget your blanket."

Ashley blinked. "That's your blanket. It was on you."

He blinked back at her. "I didn't get my blanket out. I thought you got yours out."

Ashley shook her head.

Peter sped back up to the tree and came back with it in his hand. "Huh. It is mine."

"Maybe you were too sleepy to remember."

"I guess."

They stood there for a moment, before Peter started stuffing the blanket back into his backpack.

Ashley should have felt triumphant.

They found a star.

They did what they meant to.

But... she couldn't be happy right now. Not yet. There was something icky latched under her ribs.

"Peter," she said softly, "I'm sorry. For last night. And I'm really glad you got the finder back." That wasn't all she wanted to say, but, even through her mind, it was all she knew how to say right now.

He looked down at where he'd slung the finder around his neck, as shiny as if someone had cleaned it off, then back up to her. "I'm glad too," he said. "And... I'm sorry, too. I had a chance to see more of it first, and I should have realized it was weird. But... I was kind of mad at you for being bossy, so even though I knew it was some kind of creature, I let us follow it. I didn't know it was a *mean* creature," he added hastily.

"Oh." Somehow, that didn't make her feel better. She kicked at the grass around them. "I'm... I'm sorry for being bossy."

"It's okay. You were being a good mission leader." He cradled the odd bundle on his chest and grinned up at her. "Besides, we found it. I couldn't have done it by myself, because I would have slept all night. So I needed you to be bossy. And you needed me to carry it. And we needed each other to be brave. And now we can get back and make Mommy and Daddy happy."

She found herself grinning back. "Yeah, you're right. You're pretty cool sometimes." She stepped forward and hugged him overtop of the star. It tingled oddly against her chest, but not unpleasantly--it felt like brightness should. 

He hugged her back. 

The icky feeling melted.

In the end, they weren't far away from the tree where the Door was. They must have gotten lost after the creature had attacked them, and wandered around almost in a circle.

Peter's finder pointed the way back to it, and between Ashley creating a slippery icepath for herself and Peter running her along it (at about a quarter of his normal speed), they were back before the sun had finished fully lifting itself over the horizon.

Ashley hoped that they might be able to slip in unnoticed, maybe even get Peter in the shower before Mommy and Daddy were moving around. But a problem presented itself immediately, in the form of Mommy standing at the door.

Crossing her arms, she tapped her fingers along the sleeve of her jacket. 

"You guys woke up early," she said.

In her voice lurked that tone adults use when they already know something that you're supposed to also know--but more confusingly, and more prominently, her tone was a smile. Even though Ashley couldn't read Mommy's mind, she could tell Mommy was most definitely amused.

In some ways that was reassuring. In others, it was an unknown, and therefore unsettling. Ashley let go of Peter and ice was already in her palm. "We... um... we wanted to get something for you," Ashley said. "For Christmas. And New Year. So we were looking for it." 

Peter had already hid the bundle behind his back. "But. It's a secret. Daddy has to be here too."

Thankfully, Mommy didn't seem to see the bundle. Otherwise she would have looked at it or said something. Right?

"Oh, alright," she said. "I'll be curious to see what you found so close to Home that could be also be so secret."

"Good, she doesn't know," Peter thought at Ashley in relief.

"You'll have to tell me about where you got the mud, though," Mommy said, holding Home's door open for them. "After a shower. Or two," she added as Peter shuffled past, trying to keep the bundle away from her view.

Daddy was up now, too. His eyes were still full of sleep, and he hadn't put his jacket on yet. "Home has been telling me some... interesting things," he said, looking over his two children and his wife with narrowed eyes.

"Oh. Oh no." Ashley frantically tried to figure out how they were going to explain this. Daddy could always tell when you were making something up.

"I can't believe Home ratted us out," Peter agreed.

"Um... it's... a surprise," Ashley stammered.

"I don't suppose..." Daddy looked up at Mommy.

They did that thing where they talked to each other. Somehow. It frustrated Ashley to no end. She was convinced it wasn't telepathy, she knew it wasn't, but it was something like it, something that she didn't know. They just looked at each other and understood, and no one else had any idea what there was to be understood.

They stood like that for a long moment, Daddy tilting his head, looking, and then Mommy gave a very, very slight nod. 

"Our kids got up early to get us a present of some kind," Mommy said, patting Ashley's head soothingly. "And I don't believe it was just the mud."

Peter blushed. "Um, no. We, um...." he looked frantically to Ashley.

"We wanted to get you guys something special," Ashley said, looking earnestly at Daddy. Suddenly, she didn't know how to act. She clasped her hands in front of her and let her fingertips get icy. "We... um... because you got us such nice Christmas presents, even though all the stuff is happening with work, and um..."

"We know the job on this world isn't going so well," Peter prompted, glancing from Mommy to Daddy. "And Mommy wanted to go to a place with stars. And we wanted to get something bright and white to start the New Year off with. So. Um..."

He trailed off and shoved the bundle in front of him.

Daddy raised an eyebrow, and accepted it, smiling. Carefully, he unwrapped it, leaving just the glove left. Raising an eyebrow even further, he slid the star out of the glove and into open air and held it with his magnetization, catching the star in a shifting prism of red. The star caught the vibrant richness of the patterns in the magnetization and amplified them, drawing the lines into itself and lining them with shimmering gold, casting the whole room into a blaze of light and shadow.

Daddy blinked.

"It's gorgeous," Mommy whispered.

"Is... is this a star?" Daddy asked, looking up at them sharply.

For a second, Ashley thought they had made a mistake. Peter, with no such inklings, grinned and nodded.

"That's... that's an incredible gift," he said, softly. "I'm not sure how you managed, but, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you guys teaming up made something impossible happen."

Ashley exchanged a glance with Peter and they both straightened up a little, pleased.

"This is also very thoughtful." He smiled, and that felt better than even seeing the star--by a tiny bit. "Thank you, guys."

"That was very brave of you guys to go after such a thing," Mommy said, hugging Ashley. "It was a big task, but you guys faced it and stuck through it even if it got hard. I'm proud of you both."

For once, warmth felt better to Ashley than the cold. She turned and clasped onto Mommy tightly, burying her head in Mommy's stomach. Not long later, Daddy pulled them and Peter towards him, and that warmth felt good, too.

Three days later, as Home's clock struck midnight, Mommy hung the star over the Doorway. It glowed, pulsing and sparking, and then settled into the fixture Daddy had built for it. Home practically purred in response, and the star slid into its place as if it has always belonged there, lighting up the whole living room in soft silvers and golds.

Somehow, it looked just as amazing and magical here as it had in the sky.

Mommy hugged them again. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Ashley smiled into Mommy's shirt, basking in how the air of the house felt clearer, lighter than it had in weeks.

"We did it," she thought, satisfied, towards Peter. She could feel him smiling back. And she could feel Mommy still hugging her, and hear Daddy clapping Peter on the back.

It was a good end to Christmas, and a hopeful start to the new year.

[shakespearean-fish]

Strange Light

(something for the @inklings-challenge Christmas challenge)

The dark seemed to fall earlier every day. It couldn’t be much past the eleventh hour, and yet the clouded sky was already deepening into blue dusk. He needed somewhere to shelter for the night, a place in the trees and underbrush where the snow had fallen less heavily. The second night had been the best; he’d found an abandoned burrow and curled up to sleep with a drift of dry leaves to cover him. But, of course, he couldn’t stay there.

Although it was never said, he’d known full well when they pronounced the banishment that they meant to let him die in the wild. The allotment of food they’d sent with him was only just enough for two days; he’d made it last for five, and this was the sixth. Nothing was growing except for the brambles of withered yellow berries that meant poison, blindness if he was lucky and a stricken heart if he wasn’t. He told himself that there might be another town soon and a house willing to take him in, but it grew harder and harder to believe. Even if any such place lay in his path, he was of no worth to anyone.

As he toiled on, with snow drifting around his ankles and stray twigs reaching to tear at his cloak, he heard a strange sound carried by the wind. Deep voices, singing a melody that he tried to follow, in words of a language he could not understand. The hope that he was not alone drove him forward, but when the trees thinned and a clearing opened ahead, what he saw there froze his heart.

Five figures sat around a bright fire. They were taller than any man, with coats of grey fur and a pair of curling black horns on each head. The woodspeople, those in the town called them, although there were other, worse names. He had never seen one before, but he’d heard the stories. Hush, mothers would say to unruly children, or the woodspeople will come and take you away. It was said that they were savage, no better than beasts; that they would kill travelers and hang their bodies from the trees. The five ended their song. He was about to draw quickly back into the forest when the smallest one caught sight of him and shouted. “Look! What is that?” it said curiously, in the manner of a child. “It’s all hairless like a new cub.”

The other four turned to see him. “That is a man,” one replied. “And not quite full-grown.”

The tallest of them rose and stepped toward him; he would have run, but he had no strength left. To his own shame, all at once he began to weep, finally undone by fear and hunger and weariness. The creature gazed at him with dark eyes. “Poor little one,” it said. “Come.”

A pair of strong yet terribly gentle arms lifted him and set him down by the fireside. He sat there too stunned to move or speak, too numb to think of anything but the warmth beginning to loosen the dayslong ache in his bones. Perhaps it was a trap, a lure to keep him from escaping, but he no longer cared. They kept silent around him until his weeping stilled. The one on his right, who had answered the child, brought out a leather flask from a pouch at its side. “This will better you.” He drank and found the taste sweet but poignant on his tongue, and his hunger eased. “Where are you from?” the creature asked.

“From the town to the west.”

“What led you here? Where are you journeying?”

“I—I don’t know.” He was unsure of what to say, no more wanting to give them the truth than to lie.

The tallest looked at him keenly, but its face was grave and sad, as if remembering what it did not wish to. “They cast you out,” it said. “I have seen others in these woods.”

Under the creature’s eye, he couldn’t deny it. The words choked in his throat, and he only nodded in answer. “But that’s cruel,” the child cried.

“There is much cruelty in this world.” The tallest sighed. “Stay at least the night with us. In the morning, we can set you on a path to the next town, if that is your intent.”

“You are very kind. They always said you were dangerous,” he faltered, before he knew what he was saying. He thought they might be angered, but another of the creatures shook its head.

“Men are determined to fear us, and so they do. We did not expect one of them to come so near.”

“I followed your voices. Please, what were you singing? It—it was beautiful.”

“It is an old song for the coming of the Light.”

“What is the Light?”

“Who is the Light,” said the tallest in surprise. “Little one, has no one ever told you?”

The darkness was now drawn close around, the flames glowing golden on their faces, and they began to tell him a story that he did not know. And as he listened it warmed him more than the fire did, and filled him more than food.

[stanart4clearskin]

ceo!art donaldson who loves it when you give him head while he’s on a call because he likes the challenge of having to act normal.

ceo!art donaldson who has his office sound proofed right after he hires you because there’s an inkling in his gut that you might be having to work late.

ceo!art donaldson who is always sober during out of office work get togethers or work parties so that he can drive you two safely back home.

ceo!art donaldson who drags you away to the bathroom during office parties because he can’t just wait until you guys get home.

ceo!art donaldson who makes you sit on his lap while he’s working overtime so that you two can spend some time together.

ceo!art donaldson who calls you into his office just so he can sit you on his desk while he’s kneels on the floor eating you out like it’s his last meal.

ceo!art donaldson who makes you sit next to him during meetings so he can keep a hand on your thigh under the table.

ceo!art donaldson who always takes you on his work trips under the guise that he needs his assistant at all events work related.

ceo!art donaldson who leaves lingering touches like a hand on your lower back as he passes by, a hand on your shoulder as you two talk in the break room.

ceo!art donaldson who proposes to you after four years of secretly dating and then debuts with you at the company’s annual christmas gala.

ceo!art donaldson who fires any worker if they every make an sleazy comments towards you after it’s revealed that you two are engaged.

[allisonreader]

This story has been a challenge and has been fighting me every step of the way. Because of that, it was giving me this feeling of not being terribly happy with it, though it’s not all that terrible. It’s just not coming off that writer high of "this is brilliant and flowing so well."

Here’s my story for the Christmas @inklings-challenge this year.

Technically it is related to my story The Hidden Royals. Particularly last year’s inklings story The Hidden Royals; The Spark, but it should be completely stand alone as well.

A Hidden Christmas

As Silvertide ended and Icecrowning began he found himself wondering how much longer King Roland's reign would last.

The rebellion had only been growing stronger in recent months. Though it had been started from the infancy of Roland’s reign.

They had lost many people in those early days before they went underground.

That said; Icecrowning was typically a more dangerous time of the year, due to the fact that it withheld the season of Christmas. Which couldn’t be openly celebrated due to Roland's stance on practicing Christianity was a crime punishable by death.

It made life hard. Although he and his family managed to keep it quiet, like their participation in the rebellion. A rebellion that was soon to come out of the shadows; but not until after Christmas.

For now, the poor boy who started the strengthening of the rebellion would be stuck in the cell across from Daniel. While his family was surely worrying about him.

He had gotten to know the young man; the stable boy, from the Shadefenian Royal Stables, fairly well since he was incarcerated at the end of Amberswell.

He had been on duty; sitting outside of Daniel’s cell, on the wooden chair that had been provided; due to his age, when the boy had been brought in.

News about the boy had spread before he had even stepped into the country. That he was being brought before Roland because he looked like a Ravenswood; though there was no definitive proof one way or another. Without that proof, Roland couldn’t completely condemn the young man. Not that that had stopped Roland before.

Which is why the young man; James Wood, had a cell across from Daniel and was on occasion interrogated about where his family was.

James stuck to his story, even when Roland had him whipped or otherwise turned violent. His resolve was strong.

Especially since he had admitted to him, that he was exactly who Roland thought he was and that his parents and older siblings were still alive.

Rumours that he might have confirmed to the rebellion. Of which helped add to its strength.

They had even managed to get a hold of Theodore. He would be sneaking into the country after the holidays to help lead and take back his country and son. Until that point, he went into work and watched young James shiver in cold while he and Daniel talked about the days under King Edgar’s rule with the boy.

Before he knew it, Christmas was upon them; and he worked.

His wife loaded his pockets with as many little Christmas goodies as she could. The previous day, he had stopped by to see Daniel's wife and pick up a letter from her. Which he had done before his family’s small meal together. They’d sneak a couple more of those type of meals in throughout the next few days. But, for now it was time to get to work.

"Merry Christmas Daniel, James." He greeted them.

"It’s Christmas?" James asked blinking a couple of times.

"Yes it is. Unfortunately though, it’s a banned celebration here. Anything more than a quiet mention could end up with me joining you in one of these cells."

"Really?" Was the next hesitant question from the young man. He came over to 'check' the lock on the cell and slipped James a handful of the homemade sweets that were in his pockets.

"Unfortunately yes, if the wrong person were to hear or come across such a celebration, those participating could be arrested if not executed. Many a Christian has ended up in the noose or lost their head. Depending upon how Roland feels. Terribly horrible thing. So the day and season are greatly ignored these days. In the sake and name of safety and what not. I only dare speak of it, because I know the men on duty won’t spread word of what’s being spoken of, if they were to check and overhear."

He moved away from James' cell and went over to Daniel’s. Giving him a couple sweets as well.

"I managed to bring a letter from your wife in." He handed the letter through the bars.

"Thank you. How are they?"

"She and the kids are doing well. They’re all healthy and remaining safe."

"Thank the Lord on this Sacred day."

"Indeed."

He went and sat down on his chair and helped himself to one of his own sweets. James came close to the bars of his cell, with his eyebrows furrowed slightly and jaw tense.

"Would it be dangerous to speak about what it used to be like?" The boy asked.

"Possibly, but I think for the day we can risk it," he answered.

"What was it like then? Before the day was banned?"

"Busy," Daniel laughed.

"Eventful," he agreed.

"There were feasts and the royal family would spend a few days throughout the season going around doing charity work. They would give each and everyone one of us who worked in and around the castle a present. A treat from the kitchens, often made by your family themselves, something practical that was needed and toys for families who had kids. Your father and grandfather gave my kids their presents in person the last year before his high and mighty took over," Daniel said.

"Time off was arranged for everyone for at least a day or two extra. More if they could get away with it," he said.

"What else was there?"

"Oh, too many things to tell you in a place like this. What did your parents tell you about their traditions?" he asked.

"That they never really got the chance to make any of them their own, before being forced to create ones from scratch."

"Well, one of those traditions that used to happen today, was that any of us who were working on the day, were invited to bring in our family and that’s when they would give us all gifts. Beyond that, they would sit down and share a meal with us. Sharing the work of the preparation and the clean up. Then the doors would be opened to anyone who might need a meal and a chance to warm up," Daniel said.

He straightened in his chair and hushed the pair of them, their meals were being brought, making it no longer safe to talk. For the rest of his shift Christmas wasn’t mentioned.

The next day on his shift, poor James was removed from his cell to be beaten again while being interrogated. The poor boy came back bruised and shivering harder than ever. None of them dared to bring up the topic of Christmas again.

🎄🎄🎄

I’m calling it complete, whether it is or not. I had wanted to do this whole thing with Wilson’s wife (the guard's wife) sneaking in to visit her husband, but actually being there to visit Daniel and James an bring them each a small blanket, hiding them as shawls to get them in. But, that was happening. So here’s this in the state that it is.

[cannibalisation]

i. not a lot, just forever

it doesn’t take much to keep yourself safe, yet it is still a challenging task for most. surrounding yourself with those who maintain warmth seems to do the trick, luckily you have remus and sirius, and they have you. (3.4k)

poly wolfstar/fem!reader

caution. injuries following lycan transformations, remus uses a walking cane, mentions of sirius’ family, gore/blood(?), bullying, reader has a bird animagi form.

i’m new to the marauders fandom and have limited knowledge, sorry for any character inaccuracies.

sewn together. 

ONE of the window latches in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory was broken. Fortunately, it’s the window right by Remus’s bed. A playful mishap between the group of them caused a book to go flying at it, shattering one of the glass panels. The window was repaired with a spell Peter had cast, but he was never able to mend the bolt. That's what makes it easy to sneak in when it’s past curfew. 

Remus lies atop the covers tonight; he only managed to shuffle the pants of his nightwear on. The plaid shirt was thrown haphazardly on the crest of his bed frame. Faint lines of gauze wrapped around his torso are visible beneath his chalk-white polo shirt. They’re stained with a muffled red; he must’ve bled quite heavily. 

The matron healer did an exquisite job as per usual. Neat fastenings of bandages; his wounds were clean. Though you would’ve preferred if Madam Pomfrey tried a little bit harder to convince Remus to stay the night in the hospital wing. 

This month's full moon was one of the hardest for some reason; you have an inkling that your presence was a contributing factor. Remus usually insists that you should stay far away from him when he changes, and he didn't even intend on revealing his lycanthropy, but Sirius persuaded him to change his mind. 

As soon as the truth came to light about his furry friend, you immediately urged him to let you help—in any way possible. The two of them were very strict regarding the routine, and in turn, you were very understanding. Sirius had been extremely reliant on your aerodynamic abilities, as your Animagus form held avian qualities. 

Remus was still on the fence about it, but with a few honeyed words and gentle (manipulative more so) kisses from you and Sirius, he was convinced. The transformation process created significant agitation, which only increased in intensity over the course of the week. 

He was clearly more possessive than usual, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't entertaining. Neither you nor Sirius complained about Remus's insatiable want for affection; the two of you were never to be out of his sight. It was especially difficult during the day due to your separate schedules; after supper, you were confined to his dorm room. 

It was abnormal for the quiet boy you’ve grown to love to act in such a way. More often than not, it was more common for Sirius to act like this, treating public displays of affection like he would a new toy he got for Christmas. That’s what was most likeable about him; he was irrevocably himself. Remus was the opposite; they both stabilised one another nicely. 

Often it was like you were intruding, that you didn’t fit in as well as they did. A whiff of these thoughts, and they were quick to dismiss any negative feelings, and that was greatly appreciated. A balanced scale needs its anchor after all. 

Much to your delight, James and Peter did not make themselves at home in the boys dorm—they must’ve both been warming someone’s bed tonight. 

You have a vague idea of where James might be, but Peter leaves you in mystery. For all you know, he could be sneaking around with a Slytherin or two; that sounds like something he’d do anyway. 

Sirius is curled up in his own bed opposite Remus’. He watches with a soft look as you sit yourself down beside the injured boy. Much to your dismay, he had stayed in such a position as you attempted to crawl through the open window, chuckling quietly to himself at your struggles. 

Remus shivers as your hand brushes his mousy-brown curls before settling against it. How soft he looks when he’s like this. 

“He’s been asking for you in his sleep.” Sirius whispers, toying with the chequered quilt he lays beneath. You give Remus a once-over before looking back at the other boy. Sirius smiles lightly when that happens and pulls back the blanket so it sits just above his ribs. 

An invitation; he wants you to join him in his bed. And you desperately want to, but Remus needs you. Amidst his sleep, he blindly searches for your hand, and you comply by locking your fingers with his. 

The small tick in his brow soothes over, and he hums contentedly when you brush your forefinger against his palm. 

“He’s been saying your name.”

Your free hand finds purpose in Remus’ hair once more. “Cute, does he say yours?”

“No. I think it’s because he knows I’m here already. Perhaps I’ll ask him when he wakes up.” He taunts. Locking eyes again, you give him a humoured glare in disappointment. Of course he’d tease Remus about mindless sleep talks. 

One time, in a fit of anger, you had cast a spell in the general direction of Severus Snape (he had spoken ill of a fellow house member; what else were you supposed to do?). The dunce had managed to move out of the way just in time, causing the spell to hit Professor Flitwick. 

With a fresh pair of stag antlers perched on his head, the professor took away fifteen points from Gryffindor. It was a brief reprimand; still, Sirius has yet to let you live it down. He still makes jokes about it with James to this day. 

“I beg to differ.” Remus interrupts; he must’ve been awoken by the playful conversation. “I just don’t really like you.” He jokes, grazing his nimble fingers along the surface of your linked hands. 

Sirius scoffs before tugging at his blanket, pulling it up over his head so he can hide beneath it. “That is a lie; you love me, Moons.” His voice is muffled from underneath the quilt. 

Chuckling quietly, you continue to brush through Remus’ hair. He had always been appreciative of such services; often you could be found with your hands perched in his curls. 

Sirius instead preferred when you played with his hands. Fiddling with the brass and silver rings that decorate his lithe fingers always makes his heart grow fonder. 

You were prone to favouring back scratches, but you’d never tell them that. 

You lean downwards and press a small kiss to his forehead. “How are you feeling?” 

“Much better now. The madam gave me a Calming Draught and then I fell asleep.” He said slowly, observing you with a loving look that would make anyone’s heartbeat stutter. “What about you? Didn’t frighten you too much, did I?” You shake your head; he could never scare you. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Sirius rolling around in his bedsheets. With an exaggerated huff, he throws the covers off and flicks at his hair with one hand. He must be bothered by the lack of attention from the both of you. 

He turns his head and squints at you with faux anger, and you have half the mind to laugh in his face. Not a good idea, though; it would probably make him more annoying. 

Then he leaps from the confines of his bed with such haste it makes Remus flinch. He rolls from his bed and lands on the rugged ground. He continues to roll over until he reaches the foot of Remus’ bed. Now the whole room is lightened with soft laughter. Remus decides to stick out his free hand to dangle it over the edge of the bed. 

Like a dog with a bone, Sirius grabs a hold of it and entwines his fingers with Remus’. 

Every full moon will be hard; Remus knows that much. The process will never get easier to recover from; it will always eat at him. But so long as he has the two of you with him, he might be okay. 

bears the weather

Winter break was never easy for Sirius Black. Normally, he’d choose to stay on school grounds for the holidays. You’d often stay too, out of solidarity, and Remus would always bring treats back from his family home in Wales. 

This year, though, Sirius had been owled a letter from his mother, instructing him to come home over the break. 

He didn’t want to, that much you could tell. Sirius did not cry when he said that he would not be at Hogwarts for this year's Christmas holiday, but his eyes did gloss over, and his voice was terribly shaky. 

He became dismissive throughout the last week of classes; you were not able to comfort him in the way you had hoped to—for how are you to comfort a boy unloved?

He didn’t contribute to many conversations on the train ride back to King’s Cross Station; Remus had told you not to worry, but even he looked dejected. 

Sirius had briefly embraced you and Remus and claimed that he would write to the both of you. With a forlorn gaze, you watched as he and his younger brother made their way from the platform. 

A total of three letters, marked with the wax sigil of House Black, were delivered to your doorstep. How fitting that the owl that did so was ebony in feathers, a clear indicator of its keeper. The beast had tried biting at your fingers when it let go of the envelope. 

On the contrary, fourteen letters with Remus’ name smudged on the top were sent to your house by post. 

There were a couple of days during the winter break when you met up with Remus and some of your mutual friends. You had a joyous time ice-skating and drinking hot chocolate on Christmas Eve. An invite was sent to Sirius on both of your parts, but much to your grief, he did not show. It was lovely seeing and spending time with Remus, but it was clear that the both of you felt as if something was missing. 

Before you knew it, school was back, so were the uniforms and casted spells. The spring term always went by quickly, though the tension between the three of you was stifling. Sirius had been cold for the first week back; it was like the winter weather had made its home in his form. 

Though he gradually warmed up, there was something unusual about it. A strain in his shoulders or a furrow in his brow that had yet to settle, even when he slept. It ate at your heart that you couldn’t seem to figure out how to help him. Others were starting to notice too.

“Hey, is Pads doing alright?” 

Lily Evans, ever the gentle soul. It comes as no surprise that she was worried. You pause at her question, inked quill hovering over the smudged parchment. 

“He’s fine. I suppose.”

“Have you spoken to him much? I’ve only ever seen him at dinner time or in class.” 

You shake your head quietly and keep your gaze fixed on the paper. She is right after all. Sirius spends most of his time holed up in the dorm room, and no, you haven’t really had the chance to speak with him. Most of the time he’d be right with you now. In the library, studying for exams—or more so distracting you from studying. 

He isn’t, though; today it's just you and Lily sitting at a lone table in an alcove, hidden behind the many towering shelves of books. 

Although you can’t see it from where your gaze is fixed, the inquiring gaze of Lily Evans is harsh against your neck. 

“It’s just—” you start, strangling the feather quill with vigour. “I don’t know what to say. He’s struggling, that's clear, but I don’t know how to help him.” Such a stuttered confession makes you feel sick to your stomach. It’s something to do with Lily’s ambience that makes you go soft. She smiles delicately at your apparent demise. 

“Maybe you don’t need to say anything? Just let him know, in any way you can, that you're there. For him.” 

“You’d serve as a mighty fine therapist if this witch thing doesn’t work out for you, Lilyflower.” You mutter with a half-hearted smile. The russet-haired girl only hums with a small grin and turns back to her own parchment. “You’re lucky I’m not charging you for my wise words of wisdom.” 

You ponder Lily’s words on the lone journey back to the Gryffindor common room. 

Sirius Black was not a fragile individual, a quality that is quick to be learned. He was undeniably a brave soul; he didn’t let much get to him. The topic of his family, the noble and most ancient house of Black, was an arduous one; he could hardly speak their names without choking up. You and Remus knew this well and made sure not to bring them or even your own families up in conversation. 

It was a good few years ago that you had first been acquainted with Walburga Black. It was a short introduction when you were in your youthful age, therefore, you don’t remember much. Regardless, even in your earliest of life, did you realise that she wasn’t the kindest of people. Her eyes had frightened you the most, beady and almost pitch-black. They scanned over you like a predatory animal would when it spots its prey. 

That moment was all it took to notice the animosity she held for most. Sirius’ eyes were similar in colour, but they were so much more gentle. 

When Remus told you that he had never met Sirius' family before, you promised yourself that if you could, you would protect him from them and any other pure-blood zealot. 

Your eyes lock with James Potter’s as soon as you walk in through the portrait door. Somehow he is all-knowing and nods his head in the direction of the stairs leading up to the boys dorm rooms. Nodding back to him in gratitude, you make your way up the creaky steps posthaste. 

Remus is sitting upright on his twin-sized bed, watching over a curled-up Sirius. He glances up at you with melancholic eyes and gives you a small smile. 

You approach Sirius' bed quietly and take in the pile of blankets and pillows there. He observes as you sit down next to Remus, having only his face visible from underneath. To your delight, Sirius appears to be more content than he has been in a long time. His head rests on one of the cushions, his dark curls strewn about. You gently hush him when he stirs under the warmth of the covers.  

“It’s okay,” you murmur, leaning your head on Remus’ shoulder. “I’m here.”

Yes, Sirius thinks. You’re here.

sheds her feather

Muggles would never know the true rapture of flying. Sure, they could board a plane and take to the skies—but it would never feel the same as spreading your wings in the breeze. 

Each sliver of wind could be felt in your feathers, urging you to go faster, higher, forever. Though you’d never say it aloud, you’ve thought on many occasions to just spend the rest of your life in the sky.

You’ve always been a curious child. At least that's what Mother had believed, especially since you had snatched a coin purse from someone as a child and given it to her when you heard her gripe about money on the phone. She had been horrified and gave you a slap on the wrist in return. 

Her reaction did not ail you; often your closest companions are gifted something shiny in appearance.

Sirius was ecstatic when he was gifted an argentate ring engraved with a wolf signet, and Remus embraced you warmly with a soft kiss when you handed him a sterling silver novella bookmark—it had a small etching of a dove bird on it; you thought he’d appreciate it most. 

In a hasty manoeuvre, you land on a railing of the Astronomy Tower. With a ruffle of midnight-black feathers, it returns you to your natural form. 

The transformations have gotten much better than what they were originally. The first time you ever attempted it, you crashed into a tree and broke your wrist. That hadn’t been an easy one to explain to Madam Pomfrey. 

A shot of pain saddles up your leg, causing you to gasp loudly in shock and crumble to the floor. 

It was foolish to assume the flimsy bandaging you had done was adequate enough to halt the bleeding. 

The linen wrapped around your leg was stained with a bright crimson, nothing too bad to worry the nurses about it though. 

The most recent Quidditch game was won by Gryffindor; the losing team, Slytherin, was obviously not pleased with the results. A group of students had managed to corner you right after classes had finished for the day, and they must've been searching around for something to burn their energy off on. Unfortunately, that just happened to be you.

The Diffindo charm was not often used out of malice, but that didn’t seem to stop this particular Slytherin boy. The slash was embedded deep enough into the skin of your leg, causing a significant amount of blood. The cruel group of seventh-years draped in green ran off before you could react properly.

As luck would have it, you managed to sneak into the hospital wing undetected and quietly bandage yourself up. A clatter of objects from behind a curtain had spooked you enough into transforming and flying out an open window. 

The pain in your leg had majorly subsided whilst in Animagi form; perhaps the wind has healing properties. 

But now as you were crouched over in the tower, it’s clear that is not the truth of it.

A clamour of footsteps sounds out in the winding tower, and you attempt to transform again. To no avail, as the pain is too much to bear, so instead you brush back your uniform skirt as it had ridden up. 

Sirius makes himself present with a whistle; Remus shakes his head as he trails after him. The wooden cane that he’s taken recent use to creaking under his form. 

“We saw you flying overhead when we were walking back from Herbology.” Sirius confirms with a grunt as he sits down cross-legged. It was common for you to take off from the tower as it was the highest point in Hogwarts and generated the most adrenaline.

“Thought we could beat you here, but no, you’re just too fast!” He praises. 

Remus manages to sit down as well, without any help. You nod in compliment, trying to mask the pain in your leg. Sirius doesn’t notice the way your face screws up as he drones on about class, but like always, Remus does—probably some weird werewolf gene. 

“You alright, love?” He intervenes, Sirius stops talking for a moment. A hum leaves your throat; a bit too enthusiastically. Words are not reliable right now. 

Remus is clearly unconvinced, and Sirius casts a suspicious look your way. With a sigh of defeat, your hands grip the edge of the skirt and lift it slightly, just to show the dribbles of dried blood on your leg. Sirius’ breath hitches in his throat, and Remus looks at the scene with growing exasperation.

“What—Who did this to you?” Demanded Sirius as he moved to pull higher at your skirt. “No one, nothing, I mean. I just—” You start, but Sirius continues on.

“Don’t lie to me; you’re not this clumsy.” A laugh escapes you, but even that brings a twinge of pain. Remus shuffles through his leather satchel that holds his study books. 

He’s had to get a lot more creative regarding how he routines his life, now that he has to walk with an aid. Sirius was more than kind enough to gift him the costly satchel, much to Remus’ humbleness. 

He pulls out a roll of gauze, and you can’t help but grace him with a lukewarm smile. Always the caretaker he is, Remus Lupin. 

Sirius grabs the roll at breakneck speed and huffs drearily as he unravels your previous work. “You need to go to Poppy; I can’t do very well with this.”

Shaking your head in quiet disagreement, you watched as he wrapped fresh gauze around your leg. 

Remus leans over and brushes one of his forefingers against your cheek. With a soft pout, you cast a shy gaze at him from beneath your eyelashes. His eyes are always so soft when he looks at you. 

Sirius always teases him for it but gets equally as giddy whenever Remus gives the same look to him. He acts indifferent to it all the time, but there is no denying that his eyes are any less mellow.

He finishes by tying the fabric into a knot at the innermost point of the thigh, warmth rising to your face at the closeness.

“Going to let us help you now?” Remus asks. It’s a rhetorical question but you still search for an answer. Regardless, you nod your head at the question.

They can help you, always.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

WE MADE IT

[otaku-tactician]

random whb 'a christmas beneath heaven' thoughts

i feel like all the demon kings have their very sharp and intelligent moments, in which they have a strong understanding of their surroundings and the situation-though that often gets interrupted by their chaotic sides and vices (which is so goddamn entertaining to me, and makes them relatable in a sense- they have the potential for growth and change.)

All demons are able to influence others to an extent, but whilst the other kings feel like they're still in the wine cellar, maturing with time and experience; I personally feel like Lucifer and Asmodeus are a completely different level of 'sharp and 'intuitive'; like 30 year aged, full-bodied wines.

These two just seem to read things on an entirely different level, even if their behaviours are starkly contrasted to one another's. They're able to notice precise and small details that'd usually pass over the minds of the others.

I'm sure that other events and the main story probably explores these things too, but I'd like to focus specifically on this event; as it gave me many thoughts.

spoilers for the event 'Christmas Beneath Heaven' below!

(btw this is 'not' the link to the event on YT. ; it is!! this account uploaded a lot of the chapters, which is where i got screenshots this time.)

Lucifer

To me, the strongest example of this was how Lucifer knew, from the very start that the mysterious medicine to cure the 'Christmas Cold' wouldn't turn up where everybody else hoped it would.

From the start, he had an inkling it wouldn't be in the middle realm; yet simply because nobody bothered to confirm said information with him, he didn't share his opinion- letting the others independently tackle this lofty challenge.

And the way in which he's able to precisely imagine how every king behaved in their confrontation with the angel Achazriel- shows how talented he is in terms of observational skills, able to predict a great deal of outcomes and situations based off the sheer extent of knowledge he possesses of his peers alone.

He's unsurprised by Achazriel's observations of each king, simply responding with a 'that's (insert name here) for you'; showcasing little to no surprise at all at their behaviours, even if said king has 'changed' or 'developed' in ways.

In a sense, he gives the impression of a proud family member that watches dotingly over all their relatives; observing them with great interest.

My point is? Simply that this guy sure is impressive, possessing such accurate judgements of others and having such a great skill in psychologically digging to the core of numerous beings and situations so quickly and efficiently. His sharpness is really something else, for him to instantly predict how events proceeded just from the slightest bit of information.

Then again, Lucifer is a doctor; so him possessing such a keen insight does make perfect sense. Even Asmodeus asks this guy for his perspective, so maybe Lucifer is just built that way lol.

It would be useful for a doctor to know so much about all his patients, their injuries, thoughts, behaviours, and personalities. Seems Lucifer takes very good care of his demons, which is sweet.

Counterpoint

However, a sharp intuition, influence and intelligence are not traits that are unique to Lucifer either.

There are likely many examples in this in other events, as well as the main story chapters- however I'd like to raise an example from this event (just to stay relevant to this post).

An example is when Belphegor charms the other kings into participating in his idea. He does this by appealing to the manliness of the other kings, subtly influencing their emotions and decisions. This shows that Lucifer is not the only one who understands the kings well enough to accurately predict their behaviours.(they are stuck together for a loooong, loong time so it makes sense they know how to press each others' buttons so wellT-T).

(LMAO this scene was so funny!) So from this, I feel like quite a few demons have the intuitive skill to influence one another's thoughts and emotions, so they all possess sharpness to some degree.

However, I don't think this detracts from Lucifer's incredible skills of observation either. Just because others can do it too, doesn't mean his skill isn't mighty in how all-encompassing it is; with him able to know of most things before even witnessing their answer; and to possess such keen foresight on his peers. Maybe the main story explains the how and why behind Lucifer's abilities in greater detail (I haven't read all of it yet).

Now onto the next big guy...

Asmodeus

Asmodeus also has a very sharp wit, from the very time his first card was released; there were many posts on his ability to quickly analyse others- almost as if he was 'reading the characters' minds'!

Yet again, Asmodeus portrays such a terrifying skill in the way in which he deftly handles Bimet.

In their bets to see how long Beleth would last in the Middle Realm, Asmodeus seems as if he instantly knew what Bimet's bet would be.

There's Bimet, calmly predicting the extent of Beleth's abilities, and as yet another sharp demon; he's able to estimate this very well (so yes Lucifer and Asmodeus aren't the only sharp demons for sure)... Until ASMODEUS STRIKES.

Asmodeus can narrow into others like an arrow, his readings on them akin to a dagger- they never miss their target. It's as if he understands others on an extremely advanced level- none are able to hide from his observational eyes.

And thanks to this, Asmodeus completely leads Bimet's competent line of judgement astray:

As soon as Bimet tries to confirm his predictions with Asmodeus, the cunning guy throws an ugly spanner in Bimet's confident line of thought, throwing him completely off his game- with a judgement that left Bimet feeling deeply ashamed of himself.

It's utterly terrifying what emotions Asmodeus can invoke within others with simply a sentence, able to pry into very vulnerable parts of them. No wonder nobody likes talking to Asmodeus.

Poor Bimet is now completely thrown off his game, thanks to Asmodeus' manipulation; now having to rely on alternative methods to reach his final bet. It's clear that Asmodeus's lofty status as a king, as well as his chilling judgement can have a very strong influence on other demons, and this event just continues to build upon this aspect of his character.

unrelated ramble below:

(Asmodeus' theme in events also sounds like a wild western song, so maybe that's a nod to him being like a dangerous cowboy or sm? A very sly and conniving one, for sure- whose manipulative bullets slither as slowly as his theme. the damage is only felt once his bullets are embedded. His theme has also got some silly-sounding instruments too though, so he does remind me of a troll-like character.)

back to the point:

Asmodeus purposely did this to unnerve the demon (Levithan calls him out on it.) Asmodeus really does give the vibes of an internet troll sometimes, playfully messing around with others and manipulating them for his own personal thrills (wouldn't be surprised if that was one of his many kinks.)

And the end result of such an intelligent manipulation of Bimet's goals and thoughts?

Asmodeus wins the bet entirely, and Bimet crumples up his shit in rage (much to Asmodeus' pleasure). It's completely insane how adept Asmodeus is at trolling other demons-especially ones who are as quick-witted and alert as BIMET-showcasing just how terrifying it would be to take Asmodeus on in a battle of wits.

He likely knows your answer as soon as you come up with it, and won't hesitate to lead you astray onto the wrong decision if he finds amusement in doing so. What a devious demon. T-T

The last note I had on how Asmodeus and Lucifer seem to deftly pick up on miniscule details and tensions- that others aren't always aware of- is how when the some of the other demons found it hilarious to see Beleth become the first unlucky victim to take on his old 'friends'; Asmodeus is quick to pick up on how uncomfortable such a situation would be for Beleth- shocking the other demons into silence at such an eye-opening observation.

His remark leaves some of the demons reeling, expressing guilt for not considering how making Beleth encounter his old friends would make Beleth feel.

In conclusion, Asmodeus is an absolute mastermind at making others feel DEEPLY UNCOMFORTABLE (a bit like his twitter intro posts). Asmodeus is out there playing 4D chess, whilst the others burn in the flames of all the horrifyingly accurate reads he has on them.

Though other demons are also very sharp and competent, Asmodeus is able to manipulate and change their patterns of thought as well, quickly sapping them of their self-assured confidence.

OVERALL

Lucifer and Asmodeus are on a whole different level when it comes to reading others, man. And it's a lot of fun to watch! Though other demons are also sharp and intelligent, able to influence one another- Asmodeus and Lucifer's influence is practically COSMIC; able to topple the schemes and plans of other mighty beings, as well.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Song of Starlight: A Starfall Story

For the 2023 Inklings Christmas Challenge at @inklings-challenge, he's a story set and posted on December 28th--the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

A Song of Starlight

Johannes had once considered Oskar Abel a friend. The bright young manager who ran the theater, concert hall, and opera house funded by the Diriks starfall had secured Johannes the audition with the symphony orchestra, where he'd risen to first chair and featured violinist in this Christmas season's concerts. Now, as the slim, balding young man sat stiff and stone-faced behind the paper-strewn desk in his wood-paneled office, he looked like nothing but a toadying, soulless businessman.

Through the cracked-open window, Johannes could hear the daily rumble of the city street--the rattle of carriages, the distant chime of church bells, the shouts of girls selling stardust and boys selling newspapers. An entire world unaware that this supposed friend had just sent Johannes' world crashing down.

In a low voice, Johannes asked, "What do you mean, dismissed?"

Abel straightened a stack of papers against the top of his desk. "Lady Diriks has ordered that your employment with the Diriks Symphony Orchestra come to an end."

"Now? Three days after Christmas? In the middle of concert season?"

"Our patroness saw no other alternative." Abel pushed up his wire-rimmed spectacles. "I'm certain you're aware of the theft of one of the stars from the chandelier."

"Aware? The entire orchestra's been talking about nothing else since Christmas Eve!"

"I'm afraid suspicion has fallen on you."

Johannes' blood ran cold.

The star chandelier had been planned as the crowning glory of the Diriks family's new concert hall. Their mountain starfall was the prime landing place for solara stars--the largest and brightest stars that gave off the purest white light--and the intricate silver chandelier would hold a thousand of them. Lady Diriks' own son had supervised the construction, cutting every facet of every star himself. The day before its grand unveiling, one whole star had gone missing. Lady Diriks was out for blood.

Johannes had never dreamed it would be his blood.

After the shock passed, Johannes' temper rose. "What does that have to do with me? I've never seen the star! I barely walk past the workroom!"

The manager polished his glasses. "I'm afraid the circumstantial evidence against you is strong."

"What circumstantial evidence?"

"Several witnesses maintain that you were the last one in the building before the star was stolen."

"I stay late every night. I'm the featured violinist! This could make my career! I can't practice at home when I've got two sleeping daughters."

"You have recently purchased notably more expensive clothing."

"One suit! That I've been saving up for since July! I can't play for an audience of starfall elites in my old Sunday clothes."

"Stardust has been found in your dressing room."

"Cufflinks!" As the manager's face twisted in confusion, Johannes explained, "I can't afford real star fragments. I bought glass beads filled with stardust. They look almost like the real thing, but they shattered the first time I fastened them."

None of his explanations had any effect on the manager's placid face. "Nevertheless," Abel said, putting his glasses back on his face, "until a more thorough investigation can determine the star's whereabouts, Lady Diriks has deemed it best that you not be allowed on the premises."

"And how do they plan to give the Christmas concerts? Who else is supposed to play my solos?"

"Lars Henning is quite familiar with the music."

"Henning!" Johannes spat. "He's the one who accused me, isn't he?"

The manager blinked and did not speak.

The delay, the hesitation--he might as well have said it aloud.

Henning had hated Johannes since the day he had been given first chair. Johannes had seen the contempt and envy in his eyes every moment of every day. Henning couldn't accept that a starcatcher's son could rise above a scion of one of the city's wealthiest houses.

Johannes snarled, "And he's believed because his father owns a starfall while mine only gathered the stars that fell on it!"

Abel straightened his spectacles. "I assure you that no individual witness had any effect on our patroness' decision."

It would have made all the difference in the world. Starfall stock held fast to their own.

Johannes felt like the floor was falling out from under him. His anger turned into desperation. He leaned over the desk looked into the manager's eyes. "Oskar," he said, man to man, friend to friend, "you have to help me. I've worked for years to get here. I have a wife at home. Children. They need me to bring in--"

The manager's face softened. "A man of your talent will find employment in another company."

Johannes barked a humorless laugh. "A suspected star thief? Accused by Lady Diriks herself? They won't let me near the footlights!"

The manager sighed, and for a moment, he looked almost human. "I'm very sorry, Vinter, but the decision is out of my hands."

If he were sorry, he would have done something. Instead he'd caved to their patroness' demands without question. The odious, spineless, toadying pencil-pusher. A man of business in a house of art. If Johannes shook him, his brains would probably clink like coins.

Johannes picked up his violin and stormed toward the office door. "That'll be a comfort to me when my children are in the poorhouse, I'm sure."

#

Johannes refused to slink out of the theater like a disgraced criminal, so he put on his hat, overcoat, scarf, and gloves with professional precision, took up his violin case, and strode through the main lobby of the Diriks Concert Hall. The silver chandelier sprawled overhead, its million arms curling like ocean waves. In the light of day, its thousand stars were shuttered in closed lanterns that could be opened with the turning of a single lever. The masterpiece of Lord Bastiaan Diriks himself. Johannes hoped he'd go blind from it.

A single star missing out of a thousand, and Johannes' life was destroyed--his dreams, his hopes, an entire lifetime of work. Johannes' father had nurtured his talent for music, working double shifts to pay for his music lessons and later, to cover the costs that came even to students who went to the music schools on a full scholarship.

You're made for more than the starfields, his father had said. Find a job where they don't search your pockets for stars at sunrise like you're a common thief.

Now here Johannes was, a rising violinist in a prestigious symphony orchestra, cast out for the theft of a star. He could have laughed at the irony if he'd had any heart for it.

Outside, the sky was bright but overcast, sending down a light shower of snowflakes. Carriages rattled past, horses' hooves clattering on the cobblestones. The sidewalks were crowded with the skirts of window-shopping ladies, their children gazing in awe upon the the beautiful theaters. Johannes had hoped to bring his children here someday to see him play. Clara was almost old enough to come. She and Dorit would stay home this year, but his wife Agathe had tickets for the front row on New Year's Eve.

He couldn't face them yet. Couldn't come home in the afternoon when they wouldn't expect him until after midnight. He couldn't go into a tavern or cafe. He didn't dare to waste money on dining or drinking, and had no wish for company who'd know his face and want his story.

So he walked. Up and down the streets of the cruel stone city that had once been the fulfillment of all his hopes. Past markets filled with the luxuries he'd never be able to buy his children. Past houses owned by people who didn't know what it was to struggle and scrimp and have all your dreams destroyed. Past towering churches that seemed to laugh at all his prayers.

Night came early this time of year, and soon the city was darkening to match his mood. The lampkeepers emerged to uncover the streetlamps and unveil the common yellow star fragments within. High above in the clear, cold sky, a million stars, white and distant, seemed to mock him. Johannes knew the old tales of stars falling down to make the fortune of the penniless, virtuous hero who stumbled upon the treasure. If those stories had ever had any truth to them, they were only fantasy now. Should the largest, brightest star in all the heavens fall at his feet, Lady Diriks and her like would see him thrown in prison for touching it.

Ragged urchins came out of the shadows to gather stardust that had fallen from the lamps, or to offer it as heat or light to passersby. Johannes took a pinch of warming dust offered by a dirty-faced girl, placed it in his gloves, and immediately regretted the eighth-krenin he tossed her. He was like her now--always had been, he supposed--living off whatever scraps the rich saw fit to spare him, and he could spare few coins now.

Children shouted as a carriage sped through the streets--large and glossy, with gilded scrollwork and four of its very own star lamps. Through an open curtain, Johannes glimpsed a woman in a red silk gown who wore a dozen colored star fragments as jewels in her hair. Late to the theater, no doubt.

Were Johannes still with the orchestra, he'd be tuning up now. About to play one of the finest symphonies ever written for a crowd of the city's elite--people who'd paid hundreds of krenins to hear him play.

Johannes' temper rose. Lady Diriks had money enough to keep the world's finest musicians as trained pets, and keep the music they played as a luxury for the rich. All these people in the streets around him--good-hearted housewives, grocers, seamstresses, lampkeepers, even dustgirls--could not dream of such wonders.

Johannes could give them the symphony--his part of it, at least. His violin was tuned, his fingers were trained. He could give these people music that the wealthy of the city spent hundreds to hear. If Lady Diriks didn't want him, he would give her music away.

Johannes strode into the pool of yellow light cast by the nearest star lamp. With brisk motions, he set down his case, removed his gloves, picked up his violin, and began to play.

#

Birgit rushed toward the shining pile of stardust near the lamp post. She knelt on the frozen walkway and tried to gather the glowing treasure into Mama's little clay jar. Mama said falling stardust was the cleanest--Birgit should have been here when the lampkeeper uncovered and cleaned the lamp--but maybe Birgit could wash it in the fountain near the church. She'd watched Mama do it a hundred times. Stardust floated, and she could skim it up with her cloak. Then she could take it to the glassmaker on 42nd Street. He was kindest and gave the most coins.

Birgit had to sell all the stardust she could. Stardust meant coins, which meant clothes and bread and maybe a bed. There was no Mama to get these things. Mama was cold and white and stiff, and Birgit was too afraid to go in the room with those open, frozen eyes.

The memory of this morning put tears in Birgit's eyes. She wasn't crying. She was too big to cry--nearly six years old. But with no Mama--there was no Mama--Birgit felt very small, and the world felt very big and dark and cold. The icy wind sent cold knives through Birgit's threadbare cloak. She huddled against the lamp post and felt too sad and afraid to move.

In the light of the next lamp, a man stopped. He wore a thick brown coat and had shiny black boots. The lamplight made him glow, like the angels holding stars in the big church. Birgit sat up and watched.

The man set a case on the ground and pulled out a fiddle. Then he began to play.

Birgit had heard fiddles before, in taverns and on street corners, but this fiddle sang as those fiddles never had. Its voice was sweet and soft, rich and pure, like angels or lullabies. It sang to the stars, its voice reaching, stretching, quavering, making Birgit think of being warm in Mama's arms.

The song became louder, faster, richer, warmer. It made Birgit think of dancing, of candles, of the big church on Copper Hill. The cold, dark world fell away. Birgit forgot who and where she was. She knew only the music, beautiful and bright, so real that everything else seemed like shadows. Her spirit swam, soared, and danced, following the song high and low, happy and sad, joy and sorrow and so many feelings that Birgit thought she might burst. Stars surrounded her, all sizes and colors, coming down from heaven to hear the music with her.

After eternity had come and gone, the song slowed and faded away, and Birgit was herself again--cold and alone, but no longer afraid.

The music was a warm and glowing treasure in her heart, a bright, beautiful secret that no one could take away from her. And on the ground, in the lamplight, was money. Big silver coins and little copper ones, sitting in and around the man's black case. The stars had brought it, Birgit knew. She knew the stories, had seen it herself. They had come to the call of the music and turned into money. Money that meant clothes and fire and bread for sad and lonely girls.

Birgit forgot to be tired and rushed toward the money. It had fallen from heaven, so it was free to take, just like stardust. She gathered handfuls of coins, holding them close against her dress.

And then a shadow blocked the starlamp, and Birgit remembered to be afraid again.

#

Johannes saw the stars surround him as he played. At Christmastime, everyone who owned anything with the faintest claim toward being a piece of star jewelry--whether it was a fragment in a necklace, a shard in a ring, or even just some stardust on a hair comb--would wear it on the street. The people that surrounded him wore stars in all colors and sizes, but he could barely do more than glance at them, because the music had him in its thrall.

When Johannes emerged from the song, he was surprised to see the coins at his feet. At first, he was ashamed--he, classically trained, being thrown coins like a common beggar. But that was what he was now, or would be. Once the story spread, respectable people might refuse to give him even coins.

A small, ragged form darted out of the shadows started swiping coins from his case. Johannes' blood rose. The dirty little urchin! Were the creatures everywhere? A plague, an infestation on this city, stealing food from his children's mouths.

Johannes lunged for the coins, prepared to fight off the thief.

The thief looked up, and they met, face-to-face. She was young. A child. As young as his little Clara--no, younger. With sunken cheeks, unbrushed brown hair, bony hands, fingers and nails blue from the cold. Her little gray cloak was thinner than his shirt. Her shoes, scuffed and tattered, barely fit on her feet.

She had nothing, this tiny girl, fighting for her life in the cold, hard city. And he, with a thick overcoat, new shoes, a warm house, and a violin worth a small fortune, had been prepared to fight her for a handful of krenin. Johannes was ashamed of himself.

As the child stared at him, frozen with terror, Johannes gathered a handful of coins and dumped them into the girl's lap. He placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder.

"Little girl," he asked. "Do you have somewhere to get out of the cold?"

#

Agathe, bless her, understood everything. She gave the child--Birgit--a warm bath and a clean set of clothes--Clara's smallest were still too large on her--while Johannes told her what he had gathered of the girl's history. Her mother dead just this morning--frozen to death, by the sound of it. She had no lice, thank goodness, nor signs of any catching disease, so they gave her a cot near the kitchen stove, after feeding her what they thought she could safely stomach of thin porridge and plain bread.

As Birgit curled up beneath a pink-and-white patchwork quilt, she looked something like a kitten snuggling before a fire, not so different from Clara at that age. She clutched the cloth bag full of coins--she insisted on calling it "star money"--to her chest like a rag doll

"We could take her to the sisters in the morning," Agathe said. "They'll know what to do with her."

"She may have family still living. I could make inquiries."

He'd have time to, now that he was not needed at the concert hall.

"I should have been playing onstage just then," Johannes said. "If I hadn't been there, what would have become of her?" He had a sudden vision of that little face, white and frozen in an alleyway, unseen by dozens of comfortably prosperous people passing by.

Agathe took his hand. "You had far more important places to play tonight."

Johannes looked down upon his wife, the lamplight giving her brown hair an angelic glow. He'd been so concerned for himself--his loss of status, the death of dreams--and so afraid of disappointing his wife and children. Yet his saintly little wife saw only the good this disaster had brought.

"What about tomorrow?" Johannes asked softly. "And all the days after? The story will spread. I may not get work with another orchestra."

"People know you," Agathe said firmly. "They ought to know that the man who'd take in a starving child would never steal a star. If they don't know it, you don't want to play for them."

"Who else can I play for?" Johannes asked. "We can't raise two girls off of coins from the street. I have no other trade."

"Talent like yours will find release. On another city's stage. As a teacher. Even if you only play at home, it will do some good in the world. Whatever happens, God will provide." She squeezed his hand. "It is nice to have you home at Christmastime for a change."

In the distance, church bells chimed the hour. Snowflakes fell softly outside the window. The white walls of the kitchen were bright and clean, the room warm and cozy. This was more pleasant than a practice room.

Boards creaked heavily in the hall, and two small, bleary-eyed girls in white nightdresses peered into the kitchen.

"Girls," Agathe cried, moving toward them. "What are you doing up?"

Clara and Dorit raced past her, their faces alight with joy. "Papa!" Clara shrieked, throwing her arms around his waist. Dorit pressed her face against his legs. Johannes crouched to gather them in his arms.

"You're home early!" Clara said as Johannes pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I couldn't spend another night away from my girls," Johannes said.

Birgit started awake, sitting upright and wide-eyed as she goggled at the riotous little intruders.

Dorit tugged at Johannes' sleeve. "Who's that?"

How to explain a dustgirl--unimaginable poverty and desperation--to such innocents? "She's a little friend who needed a place to sleep. I met her when I was playing my violin on the street."

Clara seized one of her Johannes' wrists and tried to drag him toward where his violin case sat on the kitchen table. "Can you play for us, Papa? We haven't had any Christmas music yet! You give it all to everyone else."

Johannes was startled. When was the last time he'd played for the girls? He'd spent so much time practicing at the concert hall lately, living deep within the symphony, that he hadn't considered how little music they had in their lives.

On the cot, little Birgit sat with tangled hair and dark circles under her eyes. Johannes told his daughters, "Maybe tomorrow. Our guest needs to sleep."

The girls broke into an outcry of, "No!" and "Please, Papa!"

To his surprise, one of the voices was a small, raspy one from the cot.

Johannes crouched beside the little dustgirl. "Would you like to hear some music?"

The little girl's eyes glowed with wonder, as if he'd just offered to do magic. "Please," she whispered.

Johannes clapped his hands against his knees. "Very well." He sprang to his feet and removed his violin from its case with a flourish. It glowed golden-brown in the lamplight, and seemed to be quivering--almost alive--beneath his fingers. He placed the rest between his chin and held the bow over the strings.

He basked in the glow of in his warm little kitchen, with snowflakes falling outside, surrounded by the shining eyes of his wife and daughters and one adoring little dustgirl. He was home with his family instead of hidden away in a practice room. A child who might not have survived the night was now warm and safe. What were concerts, accusations, and even Lars Henning's jealousy, compared to that? All troubles could wait until morning. For now, Johannes would be grateful.

With a smile, Johannes touched his bow to the strings and played a song about a Christmas star.