The Dryad’s Last Christmas Smile

The Arrival of Lady Winter

The snowflakes twirled and danced, carried by the whispers of the wind. They rose, spirited away into the heavens, only to be replaced by another flurry, an endless ballet of beauty and farewell.

Watching from a distance, a young dryad smiled.

Lady Winter had arrived.

To him, her presence was like a sip of water to a parched throat, a fleeting relief from a pain that never truly faded. Though his heart ached, Winter promised hope, joy, and the possibility of a future—a future he desperately clung to.

The holiday season was a cruel paradox. Warmth, lights, and laughter surrounded him, but he longed for the silence of the forest, the quiet company of snow-covered branches and woodland creatures curled up in their nests.

He longed to be home.

But his home… had been stolen.

A Tree That Was Never Meant to Be Inside

A dryad was never meant to be separated from his tree.

And yet, here he was—his spirit tethered to a fir tree now standing in a stranger’s home, dressed in shimmering ornaments and glittering lights.

The humans bustled about, wrapped in layers of warm fabrics, chattering about gifts and feasts. He could only watch.

One of them, a broad-shouldered man, barked orders.

“Water the tree, boy! Can’t have it dying on us.”

A young boy rushed forward, sloshing water carelessly from a glass. It splashed onto the floor, onto the branches, and onto something that should never have been touched by human hands.

Time seemed to slow.

Then—a spark.

A hiss. A crackle. A roar.

Flames erupted from the base of the tree, crawling upward in greedy, twisting fingers of fire.

The dryad screamed in silence as the fire sank into his very being. It devoured him, stole his strength, and drained his life.

It was not just his tree that was burning—it was him.

Pain surged through his body like a thousand knives, but he had only one choice left.

He had to run.

A Desperate Escape

With his remaining strength, he ripped himself free from the tree and staggered toward the door.

He barely made it outside before his legs collapsed beneath him, sending him tumbling into the snow.

The cold—oh, the blessed cold—soothed his searing skin, but it was not enough to stop the inevitable.

His vision blurred. His breath slowed. The sounds of carols and laughter filled the air, so painfully distant from the tragedy of his fading existence.

And then—

A figure appeared.

The Gift of a Smile

She was tall, graceful, ethereal, draped in a cloak of winter itself. Lady Winter.

Her presence alone gave him strength, and with his final reserves, he reached out to her.

She knelt beside him, cradling his head in her cool hands. There was no pity in her eyes, only a serene understanding.

Then, in a voice as soft as falling snow, she whispered:

“Smile. After all, it is Christmas. And no one should be without a smile on Christmas.”

The dryad obeyed.

His lips curved into one last smile, even as his body crumbled into nothingness, his essence carried away with the winter wind.

Because it was Christmas.

And on Christmas, you were supposed to smile.