Heavenly | H.S

87 | Snowdrop

20 years ago.
December 24th.

No perspective.

The Christmas tree shimmered softly in the corner of the living room, draped in ivory lights that glowed like tiny stars hidden in its branches. Glass ornaments resembling angels, snowflakes, reindeer all swayed gently whenever someone passed too close. Above the fireplace hung three white, fluffy stockings, ready to be filled with presents by the morning, each hand embroidered with a silver thread. Mummy. Daddy. Elsie.

The fire was alive, a kind of comforting crackle that filled the entire room with its warmth. Outside, snow fell thickly, blanketing the garden until it looked like something out of a fairytale. Out there, a snowman stood tall beside three snow angels, all close together. The snow angel in the middle was the smallest, so tiny like the girl who'd made it, with her parents on either side. Her protectors. As the snow began to fall again, the shapes blurred and softened, fading until they were nothing but memories.

The family didn't mind. They'd disappeared inside for a hot chocolate, loaded with marshmallows and whipped cream. They'd make more snow angels tomorrow once Santa had been.

Elsie was curled on the rug in her pink snowman pyjamas, her cheeks flushed in excitement, her blonde hair was half braided and tied with a bow that kept slipping loose. Her parents sat together on the sofa, hands touching, their hearts so full of love. Cathrine leaned against Thomas's shoulder, watching their daughter with the tender kind of love that ached, a moment that they wanted to capture and freeze forever. They'd let her open a few presents early, a few from the growing pile beneath the tree. A pile of gifts from friends and family that all wanted to shower such a pure little girl with gifts to let her know how well loved she was.

The tag on the gift in her read, in her mother's elegant handwriting: To our beautiful girl, with all our love, Mummy and Daddy. Santa would be coming in a few hours for her, his sleigh filled with toys and games and stories to be read at bedtime by her father's gentle voice. But for tonight, these few gifts were from them—a mother and father who wanted their little Elsie to know, even before Santa arrived, just how deeply she was loved.

She tore the paper with eager little hands, giggling as she picked the tape holding the reindeer-covered paper. After a few minutes and a little bit of help from her parents, she opened the gift from them. Her parents sat grinding widely at their bundle of joy in front of them. There was truly nothing better in the world than seeing their girl smile.

When Elsie saw what was inside, her breath caught. Nestled in the torn paper was a pink bunny, with floppy ears. Its fur was soft and fluffy, with little bows tied neatly around each ear. She lifted it up in both hands, her eyes wide in awe. Then she pulled it to her chest, hugging it so tightly her small fingers disappeared into the fur.

Elsie didn't put the bunny down for the rest of the evening. She brought it to the window to show it the snow, offered it a sip of her hot chocolate, and tucked it beside her when she finally curled up on the sofa, eyelids drooping, the tree lights reflecting in her sleepy eyes.

The fire burned, the snow fell heavier outside, and her parents watched her drift off to sleep with her new bunny nestled under her chin.

The soft murmur of voices pulled Elsie from her sleep. She blinked in the half-dark, the fire now little more than a glow in the grate. Her parents were talking to the man who sometimes came to visit—the one Daddy said was a family friend, there to keep them safe.

He was kind. He'd let her sit on his knee and would show her magic tricks with his playing cards. He'd tell her silly stories that made her laugh all the time.