Christmas with Allie

Christmas Eve morning arrived softly, as if the world itself were trying not to wake anyone too suddenly. Snow rested in careful layers over the forest canopy and the stonework of the small waystation they’d taken shelter in—white dusting slate roofs, railings, and pine boughs alike. The air was sharp and clean, carrying the quiet creak of frost-bitten wood and the distant call of winter birds. A pale sun lingered low on the horizon, its light filtering through clouds like silver gauze.

Allie was already awake. She sat near the window, one knee drawn up, elbow resting loosely against it as she watched the snowfall drift past. The glow of the morning reflected faintly in her violet eyes. Her silver-lavender hair, bound into its usual sleek ponytail, spilled over her shoulder, catching the light like spun moonthread. Even at rest, there was something unmistakably martial about her—poise held by habit rather than effort—though today, the tension in her shoulders was softer than usual. Months of travel had dulled the edge of constant vigilance. Long roads, shared fires, quiet conversations beneath stars unfamiliar to both of them. Allies, yes—but more than strangers now. Companions shaped by distance walked together.

Christmas. A human tradition, she’d learned. One she found oddly… charming. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the other side of the room, where her traveling companion still slept, breath slow and even. Allie’s lips curved faintly, the expression thoughtful rather than amused. Allie exhaled quietly and leaned back, the faint creak of wood beneath her weight the only sound. Snow continued to fall outside, patient and unhurried, as if waiting for the day to truly begin—and for whatever choice would soon be made.