May 19/20, 1536 (Late at night)
 London, England

 Anne awoke with a fright. She was lying on a bed in a grand, richly decorated bedroom. Perhaps it had all been some horrible dream. Perhaps she wasn't dead, after all.

 "I know what you are thinking, my lady. You most certainly died today."

 Lucien Castle, the Frenchman who had come to visit her, stood on the other end of the room, near the door.

 "How am I dead if I am here?" she asked.

 "Do you remember your death today?"

 "Yes. I was...my head-"

 "Cut off with a French sword. Yes, I was there. You're very lucky to be here now, if I may say so."

 "But...I do not understand, Monsieur."

 "Of course you do not understand." Lucien walked over to the bed. "And I don't expect you to. You will know all, I promise you. At the moment, you are not alive or dead, but somewhere in between. You have a choice to make now, my lady. You can die...or you can become what I am. And I must ask that you choose quickly, my lady. You time is limited."

~~~~~~

 The few weeks in between Thanksgiving and Christmas were filled with stress and worry. The Mikaelsons hunted for their missing sister, and Anne was concerned about what they would do if they didn't find her. She wasn't worried as much for Lucien; how could they blame him if he knew nothing of that development?

 The de Martels, however, were different. It was understandable why they took Rebekah Mikaelson, but Anne thought it really was foolish on their part. True, she didn't like either of them, but she would have really preferred not to see them get executed by the Mikaelson brothers in some horrid medieval-type display. She of all people knew how that felt.

 Rather than focusing on all of that, Anne preferred to focus on the company, Kingsmaker. It was admittedly easy to forget about, given everything else she had been a part of in the last couple of months. But Kingsmaker was important, too, given the projects Lucien was working on, things only she knew everything about. Things the Mikaelsons would never see coming.

 Anne and Lucien weren't together all the time, but they always got together around Christmas, no matter the weather, the circumstances, or anything else. If it weren't with each other, they would most likely be alone, and being alone on Christmas wasn't a pleasant thought for either of them.

 Given how busy she had been with all of Lucien's schemes, Anne nearly forgot to think of something to give him for Christmas. They had given each other plenty of Christmas gifts over the years, but this Christmas she wanted to give him something a little more personal, more special. What that could be, she at first had no idea, but as she was looking through her closet one day she found something, something she knew would work.

~~~~~~

 Anne and Lucien spent all of Christmas Eve together, just as they always did. They watched whatever Christmas movies were on the television and went out for dinner together. They didn't once discuss the Mikaelsons or the de Martels, or even any of Lucien's schemes. It was just the two of them, together.

 As it grew close to midnight, she said to him, "It's nearly Christmas. Any chance you'd want to trade presents now, round midnight?"

 "Of course I'm up for it," he replied. "I'll go get yours if you'll go get mine."

 "Well, that's easy. It's hidden under my bed."

 "Under your bed?" he repeated. "Isn't that the most obvious spot?"

 "I know. That's why I figured you wouldn't look under there."

 Each one hurried to their room and grabbed their gift, and met up again on the sofa.

 "Here." Anne handed him a wrapped package. "Open it."

 "Isn't the saying 'Ladies first'?"

 "Well, yes, but I would really like to see your reaction to mine."

 Lucien took the package from her hands and gently pulled off the wrapping. "It's...a scrapbook?"

 Anne rolled her eyes. "It's a photo album, genius. My photo album, really. Take a look inside."

 He opened it and flipped through the pages. "It's photographs of us, and all of the places we've been. And judging by the age of some of these photos, you've been collecting them for a very long time."

 She nodded. "Since photography first came into practice. It's been special to me, and now I want you to have it. There are still plenty of blank pages; I want you to be able to add some of your memories to it."

 "Anne." Lucien's features softened. "This is...well, I don't even know what to say."

 "You could tell me whether or not you like it," she suggested.

 "Of course I like it, Anne. This is something special to you, something personal, and you're giving it to me to add to. Thank you, Anne. I'm certainly glad I didn't buy you some random jewelry piece like I did last Christmas." He pulled a little box out of his pocket. "For you."

 She took the box in her hand and gently pried it open. Inside, there sat, wrapped in a plastic bag, a lock of red hair.

 "I don't understand," she said. "It's a lock of hair."

 "It's not just any lock of hair," Lucien said. "It's your daughter's."

 "Elizabeth?" Anne lifted the plastic bag out of the box. "Where did you get this, Lucien?"

 "I acquired some months ago while doing some business. I had multiple tests done on it, and it's authentic. I debated giving it to you right away, and I realized it would be a perfect Christmas present. So, there you have it."

 Anne looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "It is the perfect Christmas present." She carefully placed it back in the box, and hugged Lucien. "Thank you, Lucien."

 "Oh, come on, love, don't cry on Christmas. Look, it's midnight now."

 "I promise you, these are happy tears." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You're the best friend I've ever have, the best friend I'm ever going to have."

 He raised his eyebrows. "That's quite the declaration. But I suppose I can say the same to you. Come, my dear. Let's have a toast, shall we?"

 He poured them each a drink, and they toasted to Christmas and the entire holiday season.