Shadows played haphazardly along the walls around her, dancing as though they were shivering in the wind, just as the fire before her did. The flames of the candles on the mantel above flickered as well, helping to cast more warmth and shadows across the room. The crackle and pop of the burning wood before her paired with the howl and moan of the wind outside her house, slamming shutters and whistling through the chimney. The scent of cookies in the oven spread across the room, filled it, mingled with the scent of cinnamon-soaked pinecones and peppermint-filled hot cocoa. Amidst the blending of the various winter-y symbols sat Pristine, dressed in a robe of red velvet, wearing holly in her lavender hair and a silver chain around her neck. She was slouched down in an overstuffed armchair nearly twice her size with her fingers pressed against one another in a steeple. She was thinking. Despite all of the cheer culminating in the room around her, slumped in her chair and covered with shadows she still looked the epitome of gloom.

No Christmas tree graced a corner, no set of candles by the window, nothing else to show any sort of winter spirit. The room lacked light cast by anything but fire, and lacked decoration past a few strands of garland. As Pristine’s ebon oculars scanned her surroundings, another frown came to her pursed lips. Her eyes re-focused on the flame before her and she shifted restlessly. She was waiting for something, it was obvious, but on such a windswept, cold, lonely winter night, what was there to wait for but the next morning?

There was a knock at the door. A small rapping, so quiet Pristine barely heard it ringing in her wolf ears, and wouldn’t have noticed it had she not been waiting for it. The frown that curled her lips turned slowly to a smirk, and her fingers drummed themselves against one another. As she waited, another tapping came from the door, this time louder, more insistent. Pristine did not get up from her chair; rather, in the direction of the door, she shouted “Go away!” Silence greeted her ears for one moment, then another, and she continued to listen. Then, again came the knocking.

Rising slowly from her chair, robes draped all about her in a regal manner, Pristine made her way slowly to the door, almost floating across the room. Halfway through the next knock upon her wooden portal she grasped the handle and yanked the door open violently. Mustering her most fearsome and irate glare, she stared down at the instigators. At her feet stood a group of no less than ten children, all dressed in warm rags, none above the age of nine and none below the age of three. Each looked up at her, fright evident in their eyes, but no movement to run was made.

After a minute or so of stillness, Pristine dragged her voice into a hoarse growl. “What are you all doing on my doorstep at this time of night? Shoo!” She emphasized her orders with an angry wave of her paw outward.

“Miss Pristine,” one of the older girls spoke up, “may we come in now? It’s really rather cold out here.”

Pristine continued to glare at the children for a moment longer before a look of warm kindness spread across her facial features. Her ears turned back and she kneeled, hugging the rag-covered toddler closest to her. “Come on in, everyone. I realize that grumpy trick never works on you! Mind the floors; keep your coats and mittens and boots in the alcove, on the rug, if you please.” She motioned the children into the house. What flew past her was a happily squealing whirlwind.

Once the kits had been unwrapped and each child was gnawing happily at the head of a freshly cooked gingerbread man, they crowded around her armchair, and looked at it expectantly. Pristine refilled her mug of hot cocoa and passed out similar mugs to the children who wanted them. She then slid into her chair and sat down. Ten pairs of eyes stared up at her from faces covered in fur of different colors. Ten different species of furre waited intently for her to do something; the younger ones became impatient. Finally, a small tiger cub tugged on the hem of her robes and gave a play-growl. Pristine gave a shrug, and, hiding a smile, addressed the group.

“Why did all of you come here? I was sitting here, minding my own business, sipping my cocoa and having a lovely time looking at the lights on my Christmas tree, and all of a sudden—“

“But you don’t HAVE a Christmas tree!” a little wolf kit shouted with a giggle. Pristine acted surprised, and looked around her living room once or twice.

“Are you SURE there isn’t one over there…?” she gestured toward the corner nearest the door. All the children looked in that direction, and as soon as they looked back, confused, suddenly there was a tall evergreen in the corner opposite the one they’d been staring at. The children squealed and laughed with glee, and Pristine gave each and every one of them a wide-eyed clueless look, shaking her head and shrugging, “I guess I was wrong, and it’s in that corner after all!”

“Make it light up like you did last year!” one of the children shouted. With a sly glance in his direction, Pristine shook her head.

“Last time wasn’t me; I tried to tell you, the tree caught fire! It just… caught fire in a… very orderly way!”

“Yeah right!” one of the older girls scoffed, “It even grew candles for the occasion!”

Pristine shrugged, and replied “Have it your way.”

With that, the tree in the corner rotated a full three hundred sixty degrees, and, having done so, sprouted silver taper candles from various branches. The candles hovered in mid-air, just above the branches, and one by one they lit themselves. The children at Pristine’s feet ooh’ed and ah’ed, their eyes wide with excitement and curiosity. Then, Pristine rubbed her paws together and gave the children a challenging smile.

“Who wants to help me decorate?”

Hours later, the children had woven their way through the harmless magical flames and hung shiny balls and baubles and pinecones from almost every bough on the tall tree. With Pristine’s help, the smallest child, a panda girl of no more than three, put the silver star tree-topper on. One of the other children had found a sterling silver candelabra of Pristine’s, with each of its nine cups occupied by a single candle. He lit each and every one slowly, the first with a match (he burned himself on the first few) and the rest with the candle he’d lit first. This he set in Pristine’s window, so it could shine out into the night. Then the kids returned to their spots at the foot of her armchair. They watched her expectantly as she sat down once more.

“Well, looks like we’re all done here. Maybe you should be getting home.”

“Tell us a story!” squealed one child.

“Okay, everyone, get your mitts and boots…--“

“A story! A story!” the children began to chant.

“…-- coats on, it’s windy out there, and remember not to play in the drifts…”

“A STORY!” they all shouted in unison.

“ALL RIGHT!” Pristine shouted laughingly in return. “Once upon a time, in a land far away, on top of a green hill there was a castle…”

Not more than an hour later, Pristine had a lap-full of tired kits and a rug covered in sleeping children. Some were still clinging to their half-eaten gingerbread men as if they held sentimental value. With a single warm and motherly glance around her living room, Pristine began to wake the children, nudging each one into pseudo-awareness and helping each one re-dress for the cold weather. She then gathered them all in the alcove.

“Remember what I said about not playing in the drifts,” she play-scolded with a waggling of her finger.

“One more, Miss Pristine?” one of the children asked, while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“One… more.” She whispered in return. Words of magic came to her head and she let them escape past her lips, floating like cinnamon on the air. “Now, each of you reach one hand into your left pockets.” The children did as they were told, and each pulled forth a sticky-sweet red-striped candy cane.

“Don’t eat them too quickly, and remember to brush your teeth tonight,” Pristine warned. The children gave nods of restrained excitement. Pristine opened her front door, and allowed the children to go out into the night. As the last child passed over the threshold, Pristine’s facial features suddenly registered regret. Before the children could bother to turn around, she closed the door behind herself, leaned back upon it, and smiled as her vision became blurry.

A tiny rapping sounded at her door, startling her.

“Who is it?” Pristine asked, cautiously hiding the wavering of her voice.

“Miss Pristine?” a tiny voice returned quizzically.

Gathering herself together, Pristine took a breath, turned around, and opened the door. The smallest child, the panda cub, was looking up at her with tears in her eyes.

“What’s the matter, hun?” Pristine brought the child into her arms.

“My candy cane… broke…!” the girl sobbed. A smile came to Pristine’s lips, and her ears twitched.

“No it didn’t, child. Here, let me see it.” Pristine took the child’s paw in her own and lifted it. There, where the broken cane had sat, now sat two candy canes, both whole. The child’s eyes grew as large as saucers and she wiped the tears out of them.

“Now go home, and be careful,” Pristine whispered as she gave the girl a pat on her head.

“Thank you, Miss Pristine!” the girl squealed… she turned and raced off to catch up with her friends. Pristine watched her run off and then closed the door again. Leaning back upon it once more, her weight braced against the smooth mahogany, she lapsed into momentary thought. If only she could be as easily amused, made as easily happy as those children were.

She wandered to her armchair and flopped into it. Glancing about her surroundings, she smiled inwardly at the tree in the corner, at the half-eaten gingerbread men and empty coffee mugs on her floor, and at the odd left-behind mitten or boot in her alcove. She looked down at the small table next to her chair. On a plate there was a single candy cane. Pristine lifted her feet and set them on her footrest, slouched down in the chair, and began to eat the candy cane. Though her position in the room hadn’t changed, and though the fire’s shadows still played along the walls and ceiling, though the wind still howled, the snow still fell, the shutters still clapped and the chimney still whistled, she felt better. The room filled itself with warmth. These were the holidays, and they were good.