𝒜 𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝑀𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟣

AN: I will be using German words and phrases throughout the novella. Since I do not speak German, I have relied on internet sources. If my German is not accurate, please let me know.

Whoosh! I flawlessly glided across the frozen-solid pond with my younger brother Fritz close behind me.

"Isn't this great, Fritz?" I asked, enjoying the feel of the winter air against my cheeks.

He rolled his eyes. "Clara, you always love the cold. I bet you'd do great in Antarctica." He skated past me.

He wasn't wrong. I did love the cold. The ice skating had been my idea, after all. We'd finished delivering presents to everyone in our neighborhood, and I realized that we'd had some time to kill before our annual Christmas party. Oh, and it was Christmas Eve. So, we returned home, grabbed our skates, and headed over to our "rink", a pond in front of our house.

Fritz rolled his eyes again. "It's literally freezing out here, and you expect me to have fun? No thanks. I'd rather be inside."

"Oh, come on! Which do you prefer: staying inside and doing absolutely nothing or going outside and skating?"

That silenced him rather quickly.

"Well, if we're gonna freeze to death, why don't we race?"

"Okay, I'm on. Let's line up next to the stump on the bank and complete a lap. I'll count it off. Whoever completes the lap first wins," I agreed.

We lined up by the old oak stump, and I counted down to three before yelling, "Go!"

I've never been a pro at speed skating. Probably never will be. Naturally, he sped ahead of me and completed the agreed-upon lap a good deal before I did. All I received for my troubles were a bruised knee and a sore rump. Hooray.

"Clara! Fritz!" a female voice called. It was Mama. "It's time to come inside now. You need to get ready for the party."

"Coming, Mama!" we both yelled back. Unlacing our skates, we pulled on our boots and ran towards the house. The Stahlbaum's—my family's—annual Christmas party was a rather large affair, to say the least. We always invited all our friends, family, and neighbors over. This year, Papa was expecting over fifty families. I don't mean to brag or anything, but Papa was—and still is—a successful software engineer.

"Gee, it's rather nice in here compared to outside," I remarked as I ran to my room to change. Jeans, a warm t-shirt, several jackets, and a messy ponytail were certainly not suitable attire for a formal party.

A few moments later, I emerged wearing a sleeveless chiffon dress in my favorite color, navy blue, and silver dress flats. The dress was below the knee in the front and nearly floor-length in the back. I'd been saving it for this occasion.

When Mama saw it, she gasped. "Oh, Clara, you look so grown up in that dress. And it fits perfectly, too! Here, let me curl and style your hair—it'll suit you much better than what you have right now."

I usually didn't do much with my long, dark brown hair, but it was Christmas Eve. Plus, I wanted to look older than twelve.

"Is Uncle Drosselmeyer going to be here?" I asked. Despite my calling him "uncle", he was my godfather and my closest friend.

"Why, yes." Mama set down another perfectly curled lock. "I hear he's bringing a couple of new surprises this evening."

Despite being a year away from turning thirteen, I still loved toys. Yet again, when your godfather was a toymaker, it was a bit hard not to be excited about his latest creations. Uncle Drosselmeyer was no ordinary toymaker, however. He made mechanical toys. One year, he built my brother and me a whole mechanical castle with all sorts of figures and weapons. Needless to say, we both were impressed.

"I do wonder what he'll bring. The suspense is killing me!"

Mama laughed. "You'll find out soon enough. There!" She stepped back to admire her curling handiwork. "It looks perfect. Now I'll just pull it back in a half-up, half-down with that white satin ribbon you received for your birthday."

Once she finished, I raced out to the living room, where Papa and Fritz were putting some final touches on the Christmas tree.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I wanted to help somehow.

Papa smiled. "Of course, Liebling. Why don't you place the angel on top of the tree?"

I loved it when Papa called me liebling, or sweetheart. Even though we lived in New York, he had never given up speaking German. He even taught us his native tongue, sometimes calling us German nicknames.

"Thank you, Papa!" I squealed.

For what must've been the tenth time that day, Fritz rolled his eyes. "How come she gets to do it?"

"Because she asked to help." Papa had switched to his don't-cross-me voice.

My little brother could be a pain sometimes. I ignored his complaint, mounted the stepstool, and placed our tree topper, an angel figurine, on the very top of the evergreen. I beamed proudly, inhaling the aroma of the needles.

"Good. Now, I need you to be on your very best behavior. The guests will be arriving soon," Papa warned.

Fritz and I hurried to our post by the door and waited. It seemed like every other year, but we would find out that we were both highly mistaken.