A Christmas Smile: A Magical Fable of Loss and Hope

Flurries danced gracefully in the icy wind, twirling as if choreographed by nature herself. They rose and fell, only to be replaced by new flakes, continuing an endless cycle of beauty and departure. Amid this serene scene, a young dryad sat quietly, his eyes fixed on the frosty horizon.

Lady Winter had arrived, blanketing the land in peace and calm. Her presence brought him a fleeting sense of relief, like water to a parched throat. Though the sharp sting of his pain lingered, the promise of winter—of hope, joy, and renewal—allowed him to momentarily forget.

The dryad’s solace was short-lived. His tree, once strong and free in the wild, had been taken by humans, chopped down and placed indoors for their celebration. It was adorned with lights and decorations, but to him, it was a prison. A dryad wasn’t meant to live apart from his tree, and a tree wasn’t meant to be confined within walls.

The humans came and went, bustling around in their festive frenzy. One large figure called out to a boy, “Water the tree, boy! Can’t have it dying on us.” The boy carelessly poured water over the tree, spilling it in all directions before leaving.

Silence followed, but it was not the comforting kind. It was heavy and foreboding. A sudden hiss broke the stillness, followed by crackling. Flames erupted, engulfing the tree in an inferno. The dryad felt the fire consuming his lifeforce, every ember gnawing away at his essence. Weak and desperate, he made the only choice left to him—he fled.

Stumbling into the snowy landscape, he collapsed, his scorched body sinking into the cold embrace of the snow. The frost soothed his burning skin, but the pain was unrelenting. He was fading, his connection to the world severing with each passing moment.

As he lay in the snow, he heard faint laughter and the distant sounds of Christmas. It mocked him, a cruel reminder of the joy he could never share. Straining to lift his head, he saw her—a divine figure cloaked in frost and majesty. Lady Winter. Her presence filled him with a glimmer of strength as he dragged his weakening body toward her.

Kneeling beside him, Lady Winter cradled his head in her hands. Her expression was serene, detached from his agony, or perhaps indifferent to it. “Smile,” she said softly. “It is Christmas, and there is no reason not to smile on Christmas.”

Obeying her, the dryad forced a smile onto his face, masking the searing pain within. As the last flicker of his lifeforce faded, he disappeared into nothingness. The smile remained, for it was Christmas, and one must always smile on Christmas.