Without a word, I step beside Neo and gently wrap my gloved hand around the bag. She looks up, surprised, but doesn’t resist. She knows the look in my eyes—half mischief, half resolve.
With a fast, deliberate tilt, I empty the bag. The slush pours out with a soft, wet sigh, pooling into a glimmering puddle. The carrot nose lands with a gentlethunk, and the coal buttons scatter like forgotten memories. I raise my boot and press it into the snow. I bury the snowman, or what’s left of it, with quiet reverence. Using my foot to push snow over the puddle, covering the carrot and coal buttons, like tucking in an old friend. Each movement is precise, almost ceremonial. The snow packs down with a soft crunch, sealing the conductor's remains beneath a blanket of frost. Neo steps beside me, watching silently. The elf sniffles behind us. His breath comes in short puffs, fogging the air like frantic punctuation.
"This is bad," he mutters, voice cracking like a candy cane under pressure. "This issobad. People are staring. The conductor melted. And I think that wreath…" he points to one hanging to our left"...just told the whole city about this."
Neo lifts an eyebrow. "You’re sweating. In a blizzard."
"I run hot when I panic!" he snaps, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and holiday adrenaline. "It’s acondition! Very rare. Very festive."
I lean against a crooked lamppost. "You look like a gingerbread having a breakdown. He melted with dignity and he got buried with it."
"We can build a new one." Neo looks at the elf.
The elf groans, tugging at his scarf. "I knew I should’ve stayed in the gift vault. Nothing ever melts in the gift vault."
Chapter 9
NEO
From my point of view, building the snowman feels like stitching magic into the bones of winter.
I kneel in the snow, my gloves damp and my breath curling into the cold air. I watch Nox and the elf bicker over the placement of the coal buttons. It is ridiculous—Nox insists we form a smirk; the elf demands symmetry—but it makesme smile. These two are so different, yet they fit together like a pair of stockings hung side by side.
The snow is perfect. Crisp, cold and just soft enough to mold. I pack the base with quiet focus, my fingers moving with practiced ease, shaping each sphere with a whisper of magic. The magic between me and Nox pulses gently, a reminder of the bond we share every time we look at each other.
Nox is all charm and chaos, tossing twigs like they are daggers and humming a carol that sounds vaguely threatening. But when he looks at me, really looks, there is a softness in his eyes. A kind of reverence, like he sees me not just as a mage, but as if I’m the center of his world.
The elf, whose name I still don’t know, although tense with nerves, is trying. He hands me the carrot nose from the other snowman, muttering about their etiquette and Frost Council regulations. His cheeks are flushed, his scarf askew, and hekeeps glancing at me like he doesn’t believe I’m real or still thinks I’m haunted.
I feel it all… the cold, the laughter, the quiet magic humming beneath the surface. I am not just building a snowman. They don’t know it yet, but I am building a memory. A moment stitched together with frost and friendship. With two people who make me laugh and who are just a little crazy. Though in the best way.
The snowman stands nearly complete and slightly lopsided in the center of Christmas Town, but something is missing. I sculpted the body with quiet magic, the elf had nervously arranged the coal buttons, and Nox added two twig arms that looked vaguely threatening. But the top? Bare. Unfinished. Unacceptable. Bald.The damn thing is bald.Nox walks away. A kid—probably seven, possibly feral—is waddling past in a puffball coat, wearing a hat so perfect it practically begs to be put on top of the snowman.
Nox moves like a shadow dipped in charm. He crouches and whispers, "Hey kid. I will trade you this cursed candy cane for your hat."
The kid blinks. "Is itreallycursed?"
"It made me a vampire," Nox says solemnly.
The kid gasps, hands over the hat and runs off humming dramatically. Nox returns to the snowman and places the hat atop its head. The snowman starts to twitch.
I raise an eyebrow. "You bribed a child."
"I inspired a child," Nox corrects me, "He can be a vampire today. And our snowman hasstylenow."
The elf sighs. "We’re going to get reported to the Frost Council."
When the snowman finally stands tall, coal eyes gleaming and scarf fluttering in the wind, I realize: this is my kind of holiday. It’s twisted, magical and full of heart. His body is sculpted from crisp, glittering snow—laughter rather thanprecision has built three perfectly rounded spheres stacked with just a hint of wobble. His coal eyes sparkle mischievously, they’re slightly uneven, so he looks like he is raising a brow, judging your life choices. The carrot nose is crooked, not because of poor placement, but from personality. It gives him a roguish tilt, like he might wink at passing reindeer. His twig arms are bent at the elbows, one raised in a permanent wave, the other clutches a tiny candy cane that looks like a festive sword.
When he moves (because yes, hemoves), it is with a jiggly bounce, like a marshmallow trying to dance. He doesn’t speak right away, but he giggles… it’s a soft, jingly sound that makes nearby elves chuckle and blush.
I watch him with quiet pride. The snowman tips his hat, does a little twirl and strikes a pose so dramatic it makes the wreath faint.
It’s funny, cute, magical and slightly haunted because of me.
Perfect for our Creepmas in Mournton. So, I am taking him with us.
Now we have to find a sleigh to take us to Santa’s house.
