Archive of Our Own

On the twelfth day of Christmas, you asked your daddy for a very special favour.

It was the snow that did it. You’d never seen snow outside of old movies and kid’s picture books. Ashy sleet, at times, but that was as dangerous to breathe as the acid rain and left the world covered in a layer of grime. But this was real snow. It was pristine and crystalline and fell like a fleece blanket, begging for hot chocolate and a cozy fireplace to watch it as the wind howled.

So your daddy compiled it all - with a special request to a hab-fitter - and soon you were cuddled up just as you dreamed, clutching a steaming mug with marshmallows bobbing and chocolatey froth on your lip before the hearth. You nuzzled into his vines, secure and safe, and that was when you asked.

Christmas was magical, once. Even under the Accord, it held a tiny bit of that enchantment. You knew that was only to keep you, the masses docile, but when that was all you had, you did what you could to hold on to it. You baked synth-slice cookies, you bought the overpriced decorations, and you wrapped up presents for your friends and loved ones. Less and less, smaller and smaller each year, of course. But it’s the thought that counts, right?

Things are different now, though. You know the Affini are magical, or might as well be. And if anyone can fulfill your request, it’s your daddy. So, gazing up at his crimson eyes and nuzzling his scratchy chest…

“Daddy?”

“Yes, flower?”

You explain. How when you were small, Christmas was a time of wonder. How little by little, the Accord and the inevitable ticking of the clock year by year sucked the magic away. How dearly you want it back, just for a little while.

Your daddy smiled so wide, and you knew he would make your Christmas wish come true.

On the first day, you played in that snow, that precious artifact of the distant past brought back. That people used to see this every year! It’s cold, and soft, and somehow hard at the same time, crunching between your fingers and under the boots he compiles. In fact, he compiles you an entire snowsuit, all patterned with his bright pink blossoms, and you love the swish-swish sound it makes as you run and laugh and play.

You make snow-angels, and he makes snow-stars. You build walls and have a proper snowball fight, and though you know he could pelt you from half a block away, he plays fair, so you take your win with glee. You even make a Snowffini with daddy’s help, waving merrily with one of his grafted branches as a hand. 

You’re wet despite the snowsuit, dripping and sniffling, thrilling in the ice-water droplets snaking down your cheeks and back, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. It makes it all the more delicious when you huddle back inside, drinking more hot chocolate. You doze off there, and know this is just the beginning.

The second day, you go skating. The pond seems to have sprung up overnight, but you’ve already come to accept the Affini’s power for this kind of magic, so you don’t bother to question it. Instead, you just beam and ask daddy to help you tie your skates.

Together you glide over the ice, almost flying. You make pretty criss-cross patterns in it, and all around are other skaters laughing, twirling, clutching each other. Twinkling music plays over the speakers, and even for the few times you fall, you don’t mind, because daddy is always there to catch you. By the end of the songs you’re panting for laughter, and you don’t mind in the least when daddy has to carry you back off the pond.

On the third day, you visit the Christmas Market. There’s so much to do, after all! You need decorations for outside and inside, and wrapping paper, and ribbons, and tags, and a tree! You know it could all come from a compiler, but you’re happy to wander the market, instead. It brings back that magic you missed, the feeling of abundance when scarcity was all you knew. 

It smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and ginger, offerings of baked goods in glossy-wrapped packets or patterned tin canisters. It glitters in gold and red and green and silver, and soon your cart is glittering, too. There’s music, but better still is the natural sounds - the laughter and quiet chatter from other marketgoers, the chime of bells and rustle of wreaths. The gentle ‘tink’ of ornaments so fine you know you would have spent a small fortune to afford even one, back in the old days.

The old days are gone, though. You take one of those ornaments with eyes sparkling, a glass-blown bulb with an angel inside, and the glassblower even gives you a wink before returning to her craft for the next in line. 

The fourth day is spent at home, putting up all those wonderful decorations you collected the day before. Daddy lets you help, too. He takes care of the high-up lights, of course, circling them along the banisters and over the nearby trees, but you get to decorate everything you can reach! That means snowflake stickers on the windows, pretty candles on the tables, sweater-wearing bears all over the furniture.

And when it comes to the tree, oh! It’s lush and thick and green - not as big as daddy, of course, but still beautiful, and it smells just like a time you never got to know, crisp and evergreen. It makes your eyes sting with happy tears, knowing what you nearly lost forever, knowing how grateful you are to have it now. Especially as daddy kisses your cheek and lifts you to the very top, so you can place a glittering star. 

The fifth day you return to the markets, but this time you aren’t looking for your home. No, you have a whole list that daddy helped you pen, names and ideas for each. Your friends, florets and independents and Affini alike, and each one is going to know just how much you appreciate them!

For your teacher you pick out a beautiful golden apple on a chain. You don’t know if Affini wear jewelry, but you know she’ll love it, anyway. For your dear friend Gregory, a pair of special slippers that look like dragons, and even warm up, for all the times he’s mentioned his feet getting cold. For your neighbour a special new gnome for her garden collection, rosy-cheeked and holding up a spade…

But what for daddy? That’s the hardest, because it has to be the most, most special. Thankfully, daddy lets you browse alone just for a little while, and what can only be a Christmas elffini approaches you, twitching their ears, eyes bright. They have the best suggestion, a special coupon-book of floret hugs and kisses and playtime, all covered in stickers and hearts. They even offer to help you, so together you create the perfect daddy-gift and get it wrapped and hidden before he comes back. He tries to poke, but you’re too clever to fall for that, aren’t you? 

After all the excitement of searching for gifts, you’re happy to spend the sixth day snug at home with the oven humming. You bake, and you bake, and you bake until your hab smells just like the Christmas market. You make triple chocolate chip, and strawberry-jam thumbprint and of course sugar cookies by the plateful, and while daddy has to handle the oven, he lets you decorate each and every one. 

Of course, your favourite part of baking and decorating is the gingerbread house! That makes the hab smell even better, warm and cozy and spiced like eggnog. You get to help daddy pipe the icing that keeps the walls together, and you even get to shingle candies on the roof. Tiny, delicate sugar-pane windows slot in, and of course there’s lots of extra green icing for piping bushes and vines and greenery everywhere you could want. 

The last recipe, though, is something extra-special that even daddy won’t let you help with! It’s a surprise, he tells you cheekily, shooing you back to the table with glitter and sprinkles. You pout, but you can’t really be unhappy, because you love surprises.

Besides, you don’t have to wait very long. On the seventh day daddy buckles you into a carseat - you’re still a little embarrassed, but it’s a nice kind of embarrassment, fluttery and tickling. He explains that you’re going on a longer drive today, outside the city, but it’ll be worth the wait.

And isn’t it? Because when at last you arrive you see them - real, true reindeer! They hurry to the edge of the fence when you approach, and now you understand what it was daddy made that night. Though it’s chilly, you slide off your gloves so that you can hand-feed the reindeer their treats. Their noses are wet and cold, nuzzling into your palm with hot huffs of breath that make you gasp and giggle. You get to pet one before he shies away, feeling the velvety nubs of his antlers. 

You even enjoy the long drive back home. It’s a bit silly, but you feel so safe, the way daddy buckles you in and kisses your forehead. He even makes sure you have a sippy-cup of hot chocolate and a colouring book, so you can swing your feet and drink and make pretty pictures of winter scenes, all the way home.

On the eighth day, daddy bundles you up again, but this time you’re taking a big train. You’re not alone, either - lots of Affini and florets are here, all excited for this special train ride. This isn’t a normal day, or a normal trip, or even a normal train! 

You stare out the window and squeal in delight, because as the train chugga-chuggas along, you know you have to be in Santa’s workshop, you have to be! Where else could there be so many toys!? Rocking horses and dollhouses, trucks and animals, dollies and games, and in the middle of it all…

You know he’s not real, don’t you? Except you knew a lot of things in the Accord that the Compact has taught you was wrong. The Compact has taught you that you’re beautiful, and worth love, and deserving of everything they can give you. And now, they’re teaching you that Santa is real, because there he is on his special chair, bouncing some lucky floret on his knee.

Maybe some part of you knew Santa was an Affini. Who else could be so generous, so giving, so full of laughter? He even has that big, round belly, a beard of pine needles and bright eyes, and when your turn comes his lap is just as cozy as you knew it would be. You whisper to him the secret of daddy’s present, and he reassures you that your gift is just what he wants. Then you tell him what you want, too, and he says that such a good little floret should get exactly what she asks for. 

Santa is real, and you’re a good floret. By the end of that day, you know these things are true. 

You’re a little tired after the big trip, so on the ninth day you decide to stay home and wrap presents. After all, there’s a lot of wrapping to do! You have lots of gifts for lots of friends, and daddy helps to make sure every package has neat corners and twirly bows on top. He helps spell some of the trickier Affini names, too.

He’s doing his own wrapping, of course, but some of it he does in secret, again shooing you away when you get too close. When he’s done he piles them around the tree, and you get special permission to sit and shake every box with your name on it. One is a new companion dress, you’re sure, and another you think is that paint set you asked for. But the rest? Wonderful surprises, all wrapped in pretty patterns and shining ribbons. 

On the tenth day, you get to rescue a tradition that vanished long ago. ‘Carolling’, it’s called, and it’s the most fun you’ve had going door to door! You love all your neighbours, but it’s so good to know they love you, too. And you know they do, because every last one welcomes your singing, tells you how good you are and invites you in for a drink, or something good to eat.

You don’t know the meaning of all the songs, but you like how they feel on your tongue, how they sparkle and dance. You sing about snowy days and silent nights, and even if you don’t remember why they were written, you know how they make you feel now, warm and snug inside.

On the eleventh day there’s a storm, bigger than even the first. You worry, but daddy promises Santa will still come, and you trust daddy. So you snuggle up indoors, and you get to watch all sorts of movies about Christmas. Some of them are older, and talk about things you don’t know, but some of them are floret-cuts and these ones have you laughing, giggling along with the jokes. You share a big bowl of popcorn, too.

Just before bedtime, when daddy comes to tuck you in, he reminds you that good florets need to be sleeping for Santa to come and asks if you need a little help. Then, when you say yes, he kisses you with one of his special flowers, and you sleep sound and deep until…

“Flower?”

You open your eyes, first blearily, then snapping awake all at once. “It’s Christmas!” 

And for the first time in many years, it is. It really, really is.