Lussi and the Magic of Lucia Night

In the deep quiet of the earth, beneath an ancient oak tree, lived a troll named Lussi. Her home was carved from soil and roots, glowing softly under the flickering light of enchanted fire wisteria. Though modest in size, every inch of Lussi’s home was laced with care and magic—her walls built from handpicked stones, her bedposts shaped by roots, her rooms scented with dried herbs whispering secrets only trolls knew.

But the warmth of her haven couldn’t soothe the cold creeping into her heart.

The magic of the seventh troll kingdom—her kingdom—was unraveling. Troll magic was ancient and powerful, but it required renewal, a ritual exchange with the human realm. Gifts of magic had to be collected during the longest night of the year. And for years now, Lussi had avoided that journey.

The faultlines between worlds were perilous. The last time she crossed them, it ended in fire and fear—screaming villagers, homes burned, and misunderstanding that had left her wounded more deeply than any blade. Still, if she didn’t return to the human realm soon, the magic that protected her people would perish. The responsibility rested heavily on her old shoulders.

With a deep sigh, Lussi laid a pristine white robe over her rocking chair. She could feel the robe’s troll-spun threads weakening, like silk fraying at the edge of time. The chair creaked in agreement—or was it encouragement? Lussi wasn’t sure anymore.

She turned to her bubbling cauldron where a thick berry caramel simmered—made of raspberry, bilberry, and a pinch of happiness. It filled her burrow with a rich aroma that tugged gently at the soul. With care, she rolled the sticky mixture into perfect spheres and wrapped them in crackling candy paper. A full basket was a sign that she was nearly ready.

But first, a bath.

The cold water of her private spring sent shivers up her moss-covered spine, cooling the inner fire she had long struggled to contain. She scrubbed her yellow lichen rings and washed her long tangled hair until it gleamed. When she emerged, fresh green shoots had already begun sprouting from her scalp, mingling with the soft strands of her hair. Lingonberries hung like ornaments—signs of her renewed strength.

She dressed in her white robe, secured with an old leather belt studded with rubies and gold, and picked up her basket of magical caramels. It was time.

With a whisper of ancient words, Lussi stepped across the faultlines, leaving her world and entering the human realm once more. The journey bent the forest around her into a blur. Cold air bit her face—the kisses of winter—and snow clung briefly to her robe before melting. With each step, flowers bloomed in her footprints, only to perish before dawn. A soft reminder that magic still existed, even in a world that had mostly forgotten.

When Lussi arrived in the first village, lights glowed warmly behind curtained windows. Hope stirred in her chest. She walked up to a door and pressed a button—startled by its mechanical ding. It was magic of a different kind.

A man opened the door, blinking in surprise. “Lucia?” he asked.

The name was unfamiliar, but close enough. Lussi nodded.

“You’re early,” he said with a small smile, then turned to call out, “Kids! Lucia is here!”

Three children rushed to the door. One wrinkled their nose. “She looks weird.”

“I like her style,” said the eldest.

“Will you sing?” asked the youngest with wide eyes.

“I can sing,” Lussi replied, both touched and astonished. And so she did—an old lullaby trolls sang to their children:

“A trolling, trolling with a long, long tail,
He bruised the tip and stepped upon the sail.
Always in the way, until one day,
Mother tied it into a bow so it’d stay.”

The youngest child sang along, giggling with joy.

Lussi held out her basket. “One each.”

“Candy!” cried the middle child, grabbing a caramel.

Their father offered her something in return—yellow, S-shaped buns dotted with raisins.

“Lusse buns,” the youngest explained. “For Lucia night.”

Lussi accepted them with reverence. These saffron-scented treasures shimmered with the one kind of magic that transcended all worlds: the magic of giving.

House by house, Lussi continued her journey. She sang to elders who hadn’t heard a song in years. She gifted candy to children who squealed in delight. In return, she received buns, cookies, tea, warm wine, and something far rarer—human kindness.

The night, once feared, embraced her.

Near dawn, her basket was empty of caramel but full of golden bread and goodwill. She smiled, satisfied, and prepared to return to the troll realm when a familiar, unwelcome voice called out.

“Working tonight?” sneered a water spirit lounging nearby in the shape of a naked man. “No one works on this night.”

Lussi narrowed her eyes. “Why do you think this night belongs to you?”

“It’s a spirit night.”

“And trolls aren’t spirits?” she challenged.

“You don’t look like one.”

“Well, I don’t show up covered in lichen and expect people not to scream,” she retorted. “Troll magic requires adaptation.”

The water spirit scoffed, arms crossed.

“You’ve interfered before, haven’t you?” she asked, stepping closer.

“I… didn’t know,” he mumbled, caught off guard.

“Watch yourself,” Lussi warned. “Or next time, I’ll hex your precious pond.”

With that, she turned and crossed the faultlines, returning to her world, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

Deep inside the seventh troll kingdom, Lussi walked proudly into the throne room of the Troll King. He studied the buns with wide eyes.

“These are not breadcrumbs,” he whispered, voice thick with awe. “They’re made with saffron. These gifts… these will feed our magic for many seasons.”

Lussi smiled.

The longest night had ended not in fear, but in understanding.

Moral of the Story:

Kindness, generosity, and the magic of giving transcend even the oldest misunderstandings. When we choose connection over fear, ancient wounds can begin to heal.