In the wee hours of the morning, small package was left upon the doorstep of 4 Garden Street in the small hamlet of Whithouse. Written upon the package, in a nondescript hand and material, is a large “C.”
If the person who resides in this place, with the initial “C,” opens the package, they will find a fine black dress. It is adorned with silver lace, bright buttons, and silky ribbons. It’s made of a silky, warm fabric: dyed cashmere. The dress is clearly not meant for every day use, but it is not so embellished that it couldn’t be worn to an event like a festival or show.
Yule Gifts for All!
Well, not for all. For most that my characters know. They’re all described, if notes are attached, and the like. Happy Holidays and Yule-time to you all, ICly and OOCly. ❤
- Tarlanc – “Having an official marriage ceremony counts, right? As a gift to each other? I mean, we’ve got to find tokens for each other and dress up and all that…”
- Ian – Two small figurines. The first is a small male figure in a robe and with pulled back hair; a small detail that may take him some time to see – or not – is a teeny snakehead peeking out of the robe’s sleeve. The second is a borderline comical representation of Ian, mid-swinging dance step. Stained to a deep red color, both figures are small enough to hide in a pocket. A note attached simply says, “Now you both can be with each other all the time, one for each. – L”
- Helvia – A perfectly round baby’s rattle, with intricate nettles and honeysuckles intertwined in three carved rings around it. If she ever counts it, she may notice there are nine nettles and nine flowers per ring. The enclosed note says, “I counted 27 beans inside: three sets of nine. Very safe rattle! – L”
- Guradan – A small bundle of notes, wrapped with the rattle. There is no note, but his name is written on the parchment that holds them together. It consists of an accurate family tree of his mother’s side, along with a few notes of remembrance from those who knew the family well.
- Gis – Chairs! A note is left in her friend’s mailbox: “I have two chairs waiting for you, they match your table perfectly! Don’t want to leave them in the snow, so come and get them whenever you’re able. – L”
- Rosie & Course – A lightweight wooden rattle, much like the one given to Helvia, only the decorations are roses and vines, two large rings instead of three; a small note says, “For the three of you. – L”
- Caraeglir – Wrapped in paper, a set of very authentic and sturdy hand-spades and other gardening tools, clearly imported from Gondor. For little Civrennil, yet another rattle covered in roses as well as a well-made wool hat.
- Ceswyn – A sturdy stick, smooth and with a leather-wrapped handle. Attached to it is a small, stuffed mouse made of durable fur. A little note, “Hope you and Snowball enjoy!” is attached.
- Nethali – Old and strong, a very nice smelling bottle of aged scotch.
- Cynewynne – A large pair of incredibly bright socks; most (including Lori) would call them “in poor taste,” alternating waves of bright green and purple. Also a well-loved copy of some rather torrid poetry.
- Ian – Two tall and wide candles, swirled purple and white; small flecks of silver and gold foil are folded into it.
- Luned – Tall and slender candle, swirls of black and white. Small silver flecks of foil speckled throughout.
- Ian – A hat and pair of gloves, very warm wool. Knit with two colors of yarn, one showing on each side. One color is a light lavender, the other a royal purple.
- Daeline – A spicy, heavy loaf of traditional Yule-time bread from Sûri-kylä, along with a carefully knitted cap. It is both made with delicate and soft yarn and very stylish (even if very Lossoth-esque).
Cold feet drag along the cold ground. Cold fingers fumble with the keys, the blast of hot air from inside searing as if it were the pure fire of judgment from the Valar themselves. Boots hold feet that long lost their sense of feeling, clomping along the stairs clumsily. A door is barely pulled open and closed with a hand that has turned bright red with the warmth. Cold shoulders shrug off a robe nearly frozen stiff with the night’s snow and ice. A cold body falls into bed, the warm blankets and sheets scratching like fire against the near-frozen skin.
No dreams tonight. Only tears that were frozen inside that would eventually thaw, and an eventual slipping into the dark void of unconsciousness.
((Melodramatic? Yes. Slightly over the realm of reasonable reaction for what happened? Yes. But he’s a young, flighty poet. He overreacts a little.))