Elvira

Elvira loved Christmas. Not the bright and cheery Christmas of carolers and candy canes, but the quiet, magical kind, the kind that whispered through snow covered forests, candlelight and the kind carried the scent of pine and mystery.

This year, she decided to decorate her tree late on Christmas Eve, when the world outside was still and the snow blanketed everything. The grand old tree stood in the corner of her living room, its branches full and dark, its needles giving off a wonderful pine  aroma. She had spent the evening arranging her favorite decorations pretty glass ornaments in deep greens and reds, vintage silver tinsel that sparkled like frost and her collection of odd handmade baubles collected from antique shops and flea markets over the years.

She adjusted one of her most cherished ornaments, a small raven carved from onyx, its eyes set with tiny garnets. It hung near the top of the tree, nestled close to the soft glow of the colored lights.

This year feels special Elvira whispered, stepping back to admire her work.

Outside the wind howled rattling the windows. It was the kind of sound that might have unsettled many others, but to Elvira, it felt like a chorus joining her. She reached for the final ornament, a crimson bauble etched with swirling silver designs. It was new, a gift from a mysterious customer at her little curiosity shop. He had handed it to her just days before, saying For a tree like yours, it will feel right at home.

The bauble felt warm in her hand, almost alive. She turned it over, admiring the way the light danced across its surface. Carefully, she placed it on the highest branch, just beneath the black star she had crafted herself from twisted metal and garnets.

As soon as the bauble settled into place, the room seemed to shift. The glow of the tree lights deepened, casting long, soft shadows on the walls. The ornaments sparkled brighter, their colors richer than before. Elvira felt a strange sense of comfort wash over her, as if the tree had come alive in response to her touch.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and plopped into the plush armchair by the window. From there, she could see the tree in all its glory its ornaments twinkling like stars against the dark green branches. The storm outside had softened, the wind now a gentle whisper. Snowflakes danced against the glass, their intricate patterns catching the faint light from inside.

Her black cat, Salem, climbed onto her lap, curling into a ball and purring softly. She stroked his fur, her gaze fixed on the tree. Memories of Christmases past flickered in her mind and the laughter of her grandmother as they baked cherry wink cookies, the faint sound of an old record player playing Christmas carols and the way the world had always seemed so magical when she was a child.

Here’s to keeping the magic alive Elvira whispered, raising her mug in a quiet toast.

She stayed there for hours, lost in the glow of her tree and the warmth of her memories. As the clock struck midnight, a single thought crossed her mind, perhaps Christmas didn’t have to be loud or busy to be extraordinary. Perhaps it could live in the quiet moments, in the beauty of a perfectly decorated tree, and in the gentle sight of snow falling outside.

For Elvira this was her kind of Christmas a little quiet, a little whimsical and entirely magical.