Noel, Noel. Every 25th of December has unfurled as an uncanny, somewhat monotonous and repetitive day for the past century. She honours it in her own unique way, always the same way; dancing with the moon, rising with the sun, cinnamon tea, A Christmas Carol, and hymns sung to a God that isn’t hers. She reads that same book every single year, her copy now beaten and worn, and she later finds herself shrunken in the back of a congregation, singing along to these carols that are usually so similar to each other, and honouring each language their choir speaks.
This year, not a lot of the above is practised, and traditional routine is disobeyed.
It’s in these past six months or so, since arriving in this town, that loneliness has hit her the hardest. It’s been gaining so much and then having everything gained thrown so viciously that has scared her into a state of imbalance, rendering her incapable of seeing through habits connecting her to an imagined place of comfort.
Thinking of everything she has learned to love, and all of it, them, and him, that has been splintered into tumultuously unsettle, she takes to the forest edge and though she finds minor comfort in her intentions, there are no glad tidings gathered by her solemn step.
In a clearing she has found, she begins to dance, and bathed in silver moonshine she creates elegant silhouettes with which she glides from the forest floor. The sounds of nature create a glorious melody, that would fall upon anybody else’s ear as a simple whistle of wind or call of wild bird. This celestial music may only be accessed by the dancers themselves, and the audience, which in Nims mind there is not at present.
Except, someone does watch, and Nimueh has yet to notice.
Sera had watched as generations celebrated this time of year. All in their own ways, with their own customs, and songs. They had even taken part in some of these long ago before coming to the place that would one day become Sunnybrooke. They hadn’t taken part since then, unable to help but feel a twinge of pain as they thought of the way she had looked with the snow in her hair. Now, they watched others, or just simply served holiday themed items at the Witching Hour.
They had come across the other dancing. She was beautiful and graceful. Closing their eyes for a moment they listened to the music of the birds around them, and whistled out the song of the phoenix to add to it, before opening their eyes once more and leaning against the tree, continuing to watch the dance.
