Irene's ankle had healed by today.
Or at least
there was no pain left.
It was a sunny day.
Golden light spilled across the village streets, bright and warm, as if nothing bad could exist under such a sky…. Irene sat on the grass with her basket beside her, quietly picking wildflowers one by one.
Glances.
Children watched her from afar.
From behind walls.
From around fences.
From the corners of her vision.
They followed her wherever she went.
Irene noticed it all.
And it annoyed her.
Suddenly, she turned around.
The children scattered instantly, ducking behind corners, slipping behind fences, pretending to busy themselves with anything else.
What scheme are they up to this time?
It was strange. Unsettling.
Why were they acting like this?
The way they hid, the way they watched
it made her uneasy.
Sigh
Thump!
Irene bumped into someone.
Both of them startled.
Brian.
Why are you also startled?
What are you up to this time? she wondered.
But Brian looked different today.
Restless.
In a hurry.
It didn't seem like he had come to mock her
that alone was strange.
"Ack!" Brian blurted when he noticed her staring.
He stepped back a single step, his right arm lifting defensively in front of his body.
"Back off! Witch!"
The words were the same as always.
But something was off.
What's wrong with him today?
What's wrong with everyone?
Had something happened while she was stuck indoors recovering?
Something she didn't know?
Irene decided not to find out.
She turned away and walked off, choosing to avoid trouble.
Surprisingly
Brian didn't follow.
He didn't shout.
Didn't chase.
Didn't do anything.
He just let her go.
…
The children continued to trail her from a distance, their eyes lingering from every direction. Each time Irene turned to look, they hid again, pretending innocence.
Annoyed and concerned.
Irene wrapped up early that day and headed home, the warm sunlight doing little to ease the strange feeling clinging to her back.
…
Carlo had been busy lately.
Adrian hadn't come as often.
What's going on with everyone?
Irene sat inside the shack, carefully wrapping wildflowers with thin grass fibers. One bouquet after another took shape in her hands. She set them neatly on the floor, red, yellow, white, each separated, each quiet.
Was it because winter was nearing?
Late winter always made people restless.
Winter had nothing to offer but cold.
Or at least, that was what she used to think.
I hope Carlo makes it back before it gets cold…
Before either of them caught a chill.
Before the snow arrived.
They would need to prepare.
Firewood.
A warm hearth.
Enough branches to last through the long nights.
Maybe she'd ask Carlo to gather more wood from the forest tomorrow.
With the last bouquet finished, Irene reached for the bed and picked up her sewing needle.
As she worked, a soft hum escaped her lips
"Oh winter, let it be cold so there can be warmth.
Oh winter, let it snow so there can be a snowman."
Every year, winter came the same way.
Snow fell over the land, burying flower fields beneath white blankets. Rivers froze, thin sheets of ice drifting across the surface. When sunlight touched them just right, they shimmered with faint colors, melting away later, warmed by the fire indoors.
Winter was beautiful.
Cold, but beautiful.
And what winter truly offered… was warmth.
That was what she remembered most.
….
One memory, she would never forget.
Sad, yet warm.
Before they ever had a proper shelter, when Carlo was still a street boy, he hugged her from behind on a winter night. They shared a thin blanket, barely enough to block the cold. The night was freezing, their breath visible in the dark.
And yet, wrapped together like that, they spoke of warm bread in the morning.
That thought alone had been enough to keep them going.
Irene's humming softened as her hands continued to move, needle threading cloth
holding onto warmth,
even as winter drew closer.
The streets were busy
People worked everywhere. Shoveling snow from doorways. Gathering firewood. Wrapping scarves tighter around their necks as white breath filled the air.
The flower fields were gone now, buried beneath thick blankets of snow.
The river, once gentle, was too cold to wade into, no clams, no stones, no quiet sitting by the water.
Winter had fully arrived.
Yet there was one place that shone brighter than the rest.
Day and night.
A place that caught not only Irene's attention
but every child's.
Children gathered outside its windows, pressing close, standing on tiptoes despite the cold. Inside, warm light glowed. Decorative candles flickered softly. Lanterns shifted colors, red, blue, gold, casting reflections against the glass.
Teddy bears sat neatly on shelves.
A small toy carriage rested near the front.
A miniature wooden house stood proudly, its tiny windows glowing.
The children had no money.
No gifts to give or receive.
All they could do was stand outside, staring in awe.
They watched the lanterns change color, mesmerized by the way light danced across polished wood. They imagined how soft a teddy bear might feel. How it would be to hold something warm and gentle through the long winter nights.
Irene was still just eleven.
A child who had learned to mature too early.
Still, she wanted something too.
A Christmas gift. Something to hold.
Something that would stay warm with her through the cold.
She walked closer to the toy store window, her breath fogging the glass as she gazed at the plushies inside. She listened as the other children laughed softly, pointing at toys and whispering excitedly to one another.
Then they noticed her.
Their laughter faded.
One by one, they turned away,
faces stiffening, eyes avoiding hers.
And before long, they scattered in different directions, leaving her alone.
Irene stood quietly in front of the glowing window, the warm light shining from inside
bright, unreachable,
and just out of her grasp.
The toys remained beautiful.
And winter, cold as ever, pressed on around her.
"They say if you behave, Santa brings any gift you want."
Carlo's voice came from behind her.
Irene startled slightly and turned around.
Carlo stood there with a gentle smile, snow dusting the edges of his coat.
"...Santa doesn't exist," Irene said flatly.
"And how would you know?" Carlo asked.
"I would be rich by now," Irene replied proudly, smiling up at him.
"They also say naughty kids get nothing."
"I told you Santa isn't real," Irene said again, folding her arms with confidence.
Carlo didn't respond right away.
Instead, he looked at her.
He studied her for a long moment, the way she stood, the way she spoke so surely, the way her eyes lingered for just a fraction of a second on the warm lights behind her.
Carlo exhaled softly.
"Maybe Santa doesn't bring gifts to everyone," he said quietly.
"Maybe he just makes sure they survive the winter."
Irene blinked.
"That's not how the story goes,"
Carlo smiled a little wider.
"Stories change," he replied.
Irene glanced back at the toy store window,
then down at the snow beneath her boots.
"…I don't need gifts from santa," she said after a moment.
Carlo followed her gaze.
"I know," he answered gently.
Irene took her leave.
Carlo's eyes lingered on the window just a little longer.