Fawn slowed her gait, straying toward the shaft of light that dipped through the crack in the fireplace wall. Leaning her head against the crumbling brick, she gazed out upon the room in wonder. It was her favourite hour. The sun was just beginning to set, bathing the wide, glass windows in December's fiery gold and infusing the dark, mahogany furniture with a rich warmth. Outside, the distant, snowy hills of Wiltshire were blushing with the evening's deepening hues.

In moments like these, she liked to imagine that time itself had stopped, the whole world suspended in amber like the strange, fossilized creatures she'd once glimpsed in the darkness of the study: the house silent, the hearth silent, only the muted sound of a nib scratching on paper breaking the illusion of perfect stillness.

She knew she shouldn't linger. It was soon to be dark, which meant the master of the house would take to stalking the rooms with his forlorn and brooding air, pausing occasionally and unpredictably to stare off vacantly into the shadows. The first time that gaze had fallen over her, Fawn thought her heart would stop, her body rooted where she stood by the almost tangible weight of her terror. But the expression on his face never faltered, his eyes restless as the churning sea and fixed far beyond her on some formless memory.

Each winter he blew in with the first of the frosts, dusting the fine powder from the mantlepieces and unfurling the white sheets from the antique furniture. From the safety of the inner walls, she would welcome him home, noting to herself the small changes that time had wrought: the cut of his cloth, the length of his hair, the stubble that darkened his angled jaw. She liked to watch him from a distance, admiring his imposing features as he paced, as he read, as he lovingly catalogued his botanical collections. Sometimes, when the loneliness got too deep, Fawn would pretend that they had simply grown comfortable in each other's silence, two friends sitting amiably together as the hours stretched on. From afar, it was almost possible to forget that they were so different.

Almost.

For the master of the house did not know she existed, and at the first stirrings of spring, he would depart again, sentencing Fawn to another long year of solitude.

The brass bell of the manor clanged heavily, followed closely by the scraping of the master's chair against the floorboards. Peering forth from her hide, Fawn watched as the doorway to the study ached open, revealing the towering form of the man. His appearance sent Fawn staggering backward instinctively, despite the familiarity of his presence. Recovering herself, she gazed up at him with careful study, her pensive face titling into a quiet frown. He looked sorrowful again, the fading light caressing the dark circles that bloomed beneath his ocean-grey eyes.

Angling her head out past the corner of the fireplace, she watched as his long, lean legs disappeared down the hallway toward the door, her tiny pulse thrumming with curiosity. Was he expecting visitors?

We wish you a Merry Christmas!

We wish you a merry Christmas!

A blast of frigid wind swept through the house, carrying with it a rousing chorus of melodic voices raised in song. Fawn's heart leapt in excitement as the dreary, empty rooms swelled with the buoyant air of yuletide carols.

"I'm afraid it's not a good time," a deep voice rumbled through the din. "I'm quite busy with my studies -"

We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year!

"If you could kindly just -"

Good tidings to you, and all of your kin!

"I said enough!" he thundered.

Fawn's body jolted as the singing abruptly ceased, the door slamming on the startled carolers with the force of a gale. She swallowed a whimper as he turned on his heel and stalked back toward the parlour, the terrible booming of his steps mingling with her own quiet trembling. Though every instinct begged her to retreat, she dared not stir, lest the smallest movement send the force of his fury down upon her. Pacing to and fro in agitation, his eyes came to rest upon the mantlepiece, the storm of his large movements gradually calming into stillness. Running a hand haggardly through the waves of his honey-brown hair, he laced his fingers behind his back and strode slowly toward the fireplace.

The ground quaked with the force of his approaching steps, sending Fawn scurrying backward against the inner wall. Heart thudding wildly, she waited for his gaze to settle on the object of his study. Though only at eye-level with his ankle, she could picture it as clearly as if she stood before it herself: an aged and darkened photograph of a yuletide long past, the soft face of a beautiful woman at the center, flanked on both sides by two young boys; her sons.

He sighed.

After several minutes of tense silence, the wood creaked under his shifting weight, Fawn's entire world reeling as he crouched down to his haunches to rouse the ashes from the fire. She pressed herself as far back against the inner stone as she could manage, his heavy shadow cloaking the hidden entryway that lay just inches from his feet.

"Bloody carolers," he muttered.

With a rush of air, he stretched back up to his lofty height before striding off into another room.

Exhaling deeply, Fawn heaved her pack of goods higher on her shoulders, slipping soundlessly back along the musty wooden pathways of the house's inner walls.

It hadn't always been this way.

Fawn remembered a time when the master's laughter filled the house, the desolate rooms coming alive with the light and music of the yuletide season. Every surface was transformed, glistening with the brilliance of silvers and golds that glinted and danced in the flickering firelight. Sprigs of ripe, red berries and fronds of evergreen adorned the arches of every doorway, swathes of vibrant colour amidst the deep and frigid landscape of winter. And the sweets! Stars above the sweets. Toffees and chocolates, candied almonds and puddings, oranges from beyond the distant seas. But perhaps her favourite thing of all was the immense and living fir tree that soared upward from the center of the room, its wide branches cradling dozens of tiny candles as if the heavens themselves had descended to earth.

She would wander out at night to gaze upon its beauty, the sight never failing to stir a fierce spark of awe in her chest at the wonder that was the human being. She knew she wasn't supposed to feel this way; after all, it was this vein of thinking that left her an orphan at the tender age of five and saw her banished from the borrower's colony ten years later.

Remember. Man may be brilliant, but he is also cruel. The same mind that can create the most beautiful work of art, can also fathom a thousand ways to destroy it.

Still, Fawn couldn't help but admire them, these humans. Some years she had longed so terribly to join them that she would gather her feast of sweets and climb up onto the wooden rafters far above the parlour room. From there, she could watch the celebration unfold in all its splendour, the cheerful voices of revelers mingling with the clinking of silverware and song until she could almost believe she were a guest of the party herself. On those nights, she would force herself to stay awake until the master took to the piano, the rich, deep timbre of his voice rising up with the crackling flames. She loved to listen to him sing, and high on her perch above the crowds, she would lend her small voice to his: a duet of the most intimate strangers.

But then came the winter when the house fell silent: no more carols, no more laughter, no more cheerful company. The celebrations ceased: glass ornaments and sweet, silver bells banished to the darkest recesses of the house for years to come, until finally, the yuletide was all but forgotten.

But not this year. Not if Fawn had her way about it.

Panting slightly, she heaved her pack to the floor where it landed with a muted thump. The small and cozy chambers of her makeshift home were warming up already: the benefit to setting up quarters directly beside the fireplace. Pulling her long, chestnut hair up into a queue, she sat cross-legged on the ground, opening up the drawstrings of the large leather coin pouch to sort through the treasures of her hunt.

There were the usual bits and pieces, dried crusts of bread that the master saved for the birds, lost buttons or yarns of twine, even a precious drop of lantern oil to stoke her stove on frosty mornings. Normally, Fawn would take the time to set these items carefully in their place, but today she pushed them aside carelessly, overcome with excitement.

Reaching to the bottom of her pack, her fingers brushed tenderly against a scrap of crimson velvet. The last piece of the puzzle.

It had all begun several months ago while exploring the dusty landscape of the attic. Rummaging curiously through a box of keepsakes musty with disuse, Fawn had stumbled upon a single Christmas stocking from years gone by.

It had taken her the better part of two days to drag the rippling sea of fabric through the narrow, cobwebbed walls and down to her small abode. Though the fine silk had been eaten through by moths and what remained snagged on stray nails and splintered wood, Fawn couldn't have been prouder when she finally arrived, collapsing upon the soft material in a triumphant heap.

Since then, she had dedicated herself lovingly to its restoration, scavenging the finest red fabrics to patch up the unsightly holes.

Today, she had finally recovered enough material to finish the job. And not a moment too soon. For tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and the night Fawn would finally bring the joy of Christmas back to the master's house.  

***

Author's Notes

Hi everyone! I've been working hard on this Christmas Short for the holiday season. It's been so fun to write so far, and I hope you like the first installment!

Chapters will keep rolling out from now until Christmas Day, so make sure to add the book to your library and stay tuned!

As always, if you like what you read, don't forget to vote, comment, follow, fund. 

www.ko-fi.com/auroraboreale

xx