Jack brought the tree home on a cold December sixteenth.
It was a small, scruffy thing, barely taller than Nimue herself, bound tightly with rough twine that pressed into its bark.
Dry brown needles scattered across the wooden stairs as he hauled it up to the fourth floor, leaving a fragrant trail behind him. He set it securely in a heavy metal bucket of water near the sitting room window, where the pale winter light could reach its drooping branches.
"What is that?" Nimue asked, tilting her head as she watched the branches slowly settle.
"A Christmas tree," Jack replied, wiping sticky sap from his palms.
She stepped closer and sniffed its sharp, resinous scent. The branches were uneven, some long and others stubby, and many of the needles had already turned a brittle, sickly brown.
"We don't have this at the manor."
"No," Jane said, joining them with her hands tucked into her sleeves. "At home, we celebrate Yule. This is something different, une tradition différente (a different tradition)."
Nimue reached out and touched a lower branch. Its stiff, sharp needles pricked her fingertip.
"Why are we having it here?"
"Because Paris celebrates Christmas," Saoirse said, leaning against the doorframe. Her black hair was messy, and the white streak caught the light. "There are lights in every window, markets on every corner, and shop displays filled with moving dolls. You really should see them, Nimue."
Nimue looked at her mother. Jane was already busy hanging a small glass ball on one of the sturdier lower branches. Her white hair caught the gray light as she worked. The ornament was a deep, vibrant red, catching the weak sunlight like a glowing ember.
"What is Christmas?"
Jane sat on the floor and drew Nimue down beside her onto the rug.
"It's a holiday," she explained, her voice low and melodic. "It comes from a religion. The people who follow it believe a baby was born a very long time ago, and they celebrate his birthday."
Nimue considered this, her green eyes fixed on the red ornament.
"Is it like Yule?"
"Yule is older," Jane said. She reached out and touched the glass ball, setting it swaying gently. "It comes from the land and the turning of the year. It's about the longest night and the return of the sun. Christmas came much later, and some of the old traditions became part of the new celebration. The trees, the lights, and the giving of gifts. They all found a place there."
Nimue watched the red ball swing back and forth, its curved surface reflecting the room.
"But we don't celebrate it."
"No," Jane replied. "We aren't Christian. Christmas is a religious holiday for people who believe in that god, but not everyone who celebrates it still holds those beliefs. For many, it has become something else entirely. A time for family, for warmth, and for being together when the days are at their shortest and darkest."
Jack glanced up from the string of tangled lights he was trying to straighten. The thin wire had stubbornly wound itself around his fingers.
"Our family follows the old ways. The wheel of the year. Samhain, Yule, Imbolc. We look to the solstices and equinoxes to mark the seasons."
"But we are here now," Nimue pointed out matter-of-factly.
"We are," Jane agreed, smoothing Nimue's white hair. "And when you visit somewhere else, you can learn about what the people there do. You don't have to believe in something yourself to observe and understand it."
Nimue looked back at the tree. Its branches were still uneven, and the needles remained brown at the edges, but it no longer felt quite so strange in the room.
"Can we put more balls on it?"
Jane smiled, her green eyes crinkling. "Yes, we can."
. . .
The department store windows brought Nimue to an abrupt stop later that afternoon.
They were standing in front of Galeries Lafayette, a grand building of pale limestone topped by an enormous glass-and-iron dome that loomed over the crowded street. But Nimue paid little attention to the architecture. Her entire world had narrowed to the magical displays behind the thick glass windows.
They were moving.
Porcelain dolls dressed in fine velvet and lace spun atop winding music boxes. Tiny toy trains whistled as they circled a miniature village with snow-covered roofs. A clockwork bear in a red coat repeatedly lifted its hat in a polite greeting, while thousands of tiny lights blinked in a lively, festive rhythm. Fake snow fell softly inside the displays, swirling endlessly without ever melting.
Nimue pressed her face against the cold glass, her breath fogging the pane in a white circle. She wiped it away with her sleeve, unwilling to miss a moment of the mechanical show.
"How?"
"Magic," Jane said. "But not our kind. It's mechanical, a matter of gears, springs, and electricity."
A wooden reindeer pulled a golden sleigh across one of the windows. Its jointed legs moved in a steady trot, and its nose glowed a bright, artificial red. Nimue watched it complete its circuit three times before finally moving on to the next window. This one featured a castle made of shimmering ice, with crystal spires and a ballerina spinning across the surface of a frozen lake.
"It isn't real," she said, her nose still pressed against the glass.
"It isn't," Jane confirmed.
"But it looks real."
Jane didn't answer. She was too busy watching the wonder on her daughter's face.
They stood there for twenty minutes while Saoirse bought a paper cone of roasted chestnuts from a nearby cart. The warmth and scent of woodsmoke drifted toward them. Nimue ate the salty, earthy nuts while watching a mechanical owl slowly turn its head and blink its glass eyes.
The next window was even more elaborate. It showed a castle made entirely of white icing, with tiny people skating on a frozen pond and a sleigh pulled by a horse with a real, shimmering feather in its bridle.
Saoirse pressed her own face against the glass, looking every bit as fascinated as a child.
"I want that castle."
"You are thirty-eight years old," Jack pointed out dryly.
"I still want it. Look at those tiny little windows."
Nimue moved to the third window. This one didn't seem to tell a story at all. It was simply filled with light. Thousands of tiny bulbs in white, blue, and gold hung from the ceiling of the display like a captured galaxy. They blinked on and off in a complex pattern, and Nimue watched until her eyes began to water.
Printemps was only two streets away, with even more decorated windows and bright lights. There was a carousel of flying horses, each painted a different vibrant color, and a miniature train that disappeared into a dark tunnel before emerging on the other side with a puff of steam. There was even a Ferris wheel made entirely of glittering glass ornaments.
Nimue didn't want to leave. Jack eventually lifted her away from the final window, her boots dangling above the pavement.
"Tomorrow," he promised as he set her down. "We will go to the markets."
. . .
The Christmas market stood at the end of a wide avenue, where the ancient trees were wrapped in thousands of white fairy lights. Small wooden chalets lined both sides of the path, their peaked roofs dusted with fake snow. The air was thick with the scents of roasted nuts, cinnamon, and hot, spiced wine.
Nimue walked between Jack and Jane, while Saoirse followed close behind, her red scarf bright against the gray pavement. Cinder had stayed at the apartment, curled up on the sofa. The market was far too crowded for a fox to move around safely.
People pushed past them in a blur of winter coats: a man wearing a long red scarf, a woman carrying a heavy bag of glass ornaments, and a child clutching a candy cane whose red stripes were already melting onto his sticky fingers.
Nimue took everything in with wide eyes. There were wooden toys, glass balls painted with silver stars, and stacks of woolen scarves and mittens. At the end of the row stood a carousel with white and gold wooden horses and a gleaming brass pole at its center. Festive music played from hidden speakers, the same jaunty, tinny tune repeating over and over.
"Can I?" Nimue asked, looking first at Jack and then at the horses.
Jane paid the man at the entrance, and he lifted Nimue onto a sturdy wooden horse. The leather saddle felt cold through her trousers, and she gripped the brass pole tightly with both gloved hands. The carousel began turning with a mechanical groan, and the horses moved up and down in a slow, rhythmic gallop. The market lights blurred past her in a dizzying smear of red, green, and gold.
She didn't laugh, but watched the passing world with quiet curiosity. When the ride stopped, the man reached up and lifted her back down. Her legs felt a little wobbly from the motion.
"Encore?" he asked with a kind smile.
Nimue shook her head, her white hair falling back over her shoulders. She had seen enough of the wooden horses.
They continued past the remaining stalls. Jane bought a small glass star that shimmered like ice. Jack purchased another bag of warm chestnuts, while Saoirse found a soft woolen scarf in wine red and immediately wrapped it twice around her neck.
The crowd began to thin as they reached the far end of the avenue. The lights remained bright overhead, while the distant music from the carousel echoed faintly through the cold air.
Nimue stopped.
She didn't know why. A girl stood at a stall just across the path, her back partially turned. She was looking intently at something on the table, perhaps a necklace or a delicate bracelet. Nimue barely noticed the object.
Her mind went blank. The music faded, the bright lights blurred, and the crowd disappeared from her awareness.
She couldn't move her legs.
She couldn't find her voice.
She couldn't look away.
===
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