[Penner's House]

Charles awoke late the next morning, squinting in the snowy glare that
pierced even the thick curtains. The room was cold, and he pulled the blanket with
him as he stumbled across to the small washbasin. Freezing water shocked
the sleep from his system, and he peered at his hazy image in the small
mirror, willing it back into focus. He couldn't believe the face that
stared back at him.

An old man looked out at him - long bedraggled grey hair reached to his
shoulders, and the skin was wrinkled, sagging around his jaw. Charles
raised his fists to his eyes, rubbing them furiously before looking again.
The same face still stared out. The eyes were a paler blue than his, he
noticed, with bloodshot edges. He stared down at his hands, looking in
horror at the skin. It was stretched thin over the joints, which moved
stiffly as he flexed his fingers.

"This can't be.."

Even his voice sounded, well - old. And he was what - approaching mid
thirties? He looked more like a great-grandfather. A soft ticking brought
him back from his thoughts, and he withdrew the pocketwatch and opened the
case again. Had he been asleep for... no, that wasn't possible. The watch
still ticked, and so he reasoned, he could not have slept more than a couple
of days at the most. Certainly not long enough to...

He looked at the watch, the hands now indicating a quarter past five. Five?
Charles looked at the window, the light streaming in. He shook his head,
lifting the watch to his ear. It ticked in perfect rythym, counting off the
seconds one by one. There was none of the irregularity that suggested it
might have stopped during the night and he frowned. Yesterday his
reflection had gleamed at him from the face of the watch, while today it
merely had the dull shine of burnished metal.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Thump.

Tick.

Thump.

Thump.

He became aware of a pounding in his ears, perfectly matched to the
mechanism of the pocketwatch. As the movement drove the hands around the
face of the watch, so his heart pumped the blood through his veins.

Thump.

Tock.

He looked at the watch again, his eyes following the second hand as it
darted around the dial. Backwards, the watch was ticking off time
backwards... Suddenly, Charles' heart raced, and he gasped as he saw the
watch hand spinning around, dizzily fast. The minute hand crept around, the
movement clearly visible - far faster than normal. He forced himself to
breathe deeply, calming his pounding heart, focusing on slowing the racing
hands of the watch. Eventually they slowed, returning to the normal tick
ticking of counting the seconds off.

"What sort of sick joke is this," he muttered, flipping the watch over again
and looking for the adjustment mechanism. He could see nothing to indicate
any method of winding the watch - nor to adjust the time it told. Come to
think of it, he saw none of the usual securing pins that held the watch
together. It appeared to be seamless fashioned - as if from a solid piece
of gold - but no-one could craft a watch so expertly.


---


[Montfort]

An elf sneaked around the corner of the house, furtively skulking behind the
bushes. His feet left tiny prints in the snow, and he scowled as he heard
the laughter drift from within the home. Further and further he crept past
the big window, almost there...

He relaxed as he crept into the alleyway that led toward the next street,
then yelped as a hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed him around the
face, pulling him back out of sight.

"So, what have we here," the voice hissed, bending down to the elf's pointy
ear.

"Bright clothes, a jingly bell on a hat... My, that reminds me of something.
Let me think..."

The arm tightened around the elf's neck, squeezing briefly as he struggled.

"Oh yes, it all comes back to me now... A festive elf. Spreading good
cheer and seasonal spirit around Montfort."

The elf managed a vague nodding motion.

"Except, I've heard there's been little in the way of kindness and
generosity this year. In fact, I happen to know that there's been a change
of management, shall we say..."

The slim body went rigid, the sharp point of a blade pressing gently but
insistently into the elf's side.

"Now, I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth, and you aren't going
to scream, or shout. Do we understand each other?"

Another nod, and the hand released - slowly - hovering ready to clamp back
down if necessary.

"What's it to you anyway," the small elf snarled.

"Let's just say I'm a little concerned about things. And you are going to
help me clear the confusion up. We'll start by walking away from here,
quietly."

"And what if I don't want to," the elf retorted, his face screwing up in
fury.

Stars spun suddenly in front of his eyes as something very solid connected
with the back of his head. Darkness followed the dancing specks of light
with great rapidity, and the elf slumped unconscious to the ground.

The figure bent down, and hefted the elf over one shoulder before turning to
another small elf that crept out from behind a stack of crates.

"What do you want me to do with him," the woman asked, her eyes sparkling
with amusement.

"Well, I guess we'd better take him back to Prince, he can get us to the
others, and then you can do whatever it is that you do to make him free the
other elves?" the short elf replied, a concerned look on his face. Rescuing
people wasn't in his job description, as far as he was aware, but then this
Christmas wasn't following the normal traditions either.

She shrugged, pulling her long cloak over the small body in an effort to
disguise the rather obvious shape. Walking around Montfort with an
unconscious elf on ones shoulder in broad daylight was not sensible, and she
couldn't quite remember why it was she had agreed to the whole thing anyway.
She followed the brightly dressed elf, shading her squinting eyes against
the glare of the snow with one black-skinned hand.


---


[The Church of the EverBurning Flame]

Miles rubbed his hands together, his breath steaming in the frosty air as he
waited at the door to his church. Already, people were flocking to his
church, and he rattled the donation box as another couple approached.

"Welcome, Master Felpert, welcome. And this would be?" he enquired of the
lovely lady on the gentlemans arm.

"May I introduce you to Lady Keril, my cousin. She is spending the holiday
period visiting us whilst her husband is, unfortunately, detained abroad on
urgent business. Lady Keril, this is Reverand Trent, remember I was telling
you of him only last night?"

"Charmed, I'm sure," replied Miles Trent, his long priests robes rustling as
he bent to kiss Lady Keril's offered hand.

"Greetings, Reverand," Lady Keril said, her voice pleasantly husky. A
tremor ran down Miles' spine, and he forced his thoughts back to the church.

"Please, won't you go inside, out of this bitter cold. I hope you will
enjoy the service today, and the church looks so beautiful, don't you
agree?" Miles ushered them inside, then turned back to greet the next
arrivals.

"Mrs Parmet, how delightful to see you today - why thankyou, Mrs Parmet,
that is a VERY welcome donation to the poor of Montfort... Mr Stafford, how
are you this fine day..."

Miles' voice drifted into the background, for the church was filled with
almost halfway down the rows of pews with people, and they were catching up
on news, chatting, and not a few remarked on the church's decorations.
Around the altar, the choir were quietly singing the first of what would be
many hymns, their sweet voices carrying over the background chatter with
ease.

Composed mainly of the children of the town, the choir looked stunning in
their ornate gowns. Lemon coloured, with intricate gold, orange and red
stitching, they stood out against the darker tones of the wooden panels of
the pews behind them. The effect was complimented by the dancing glimmers
of light from the decorations hung above, sending sparkles racing up and
down the threads stitched around the sleeves and hems of their gowns.

With the church almost full, Reverand Trent made his way to the front of the
church. Just off to one side of the altar, a small flight of stone steps
led up in a spiral, and he climbed them slowly, turning to look down over
his congregation below. Behind him, the voices of the choir swelled to a
creshendo, then died, the echo of their hymn hanging for a brief instant in
the silence.

Miles carefully opened the thick, leatherbound book that rested on its stand
in the pulpit. The leather, centuries old, creaked stiffly as he pressed
the pages apart, the parchement sheets within crinkling faintly.

"Friends, I welcome you to the Church of the EverBurning Flame, on this day.
Today, we celebrate the fading of the darkness, and welcome in the bright
hope of the new seasons to come."

Miles cleared his throat, looking around at the expectant faces below him
before continuing.

"I would like to thank those of you who lent a hand in decorating our church
this year. I'm sure you will all agree, it is superb, and we could not have
wished for better. An unexpected gift this year, I'm sure you have
noticed - someone amongst you has contributed a lovely collection of glass
baubles. They certainly reflect the flames of our faith, scattering the
light far and wide - as we should be scattering our beliefs and teachings.
Appropriate in many more ways than one..."

Miles smiled at two figures that slipped in the door quietly, gesturing to
them with one hand.

"And I see St Augustines have joined us today. They will see through the
winter in comfort, thanks to your generosity, my good people."

Reverand Trent continued with the sermon, settling into the task easily
enough.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


[The Fenigton Residence]

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" everyone yelled.

Sari ran in circles around the tree, unable to decide what gift to open
first. Almost everything was for her, although her mother had a few large
boxes as well.

Donald Fenigton rested in his chair and smoked his pipe.

"SERVANT GIRL!" Anya yelled. She held out her hand expectantly, and a
young servant wandered out of the kitchen and deposited a small wrapped gift
on her palm. As the servant scampered back to the kitchen, Anya handed the
gift to her husband.

"I didn't put it under the tree... I know how you are and I didn't want it
shaken."

"Ohhh!" said Donald. He watched Sari finally settle down and start
opening presents, then he opened his own.

It was a pocket watch... the casing was platinum, and the face was
bejeweled with tiny diamonds.

"It's custom made," said Anya. "I got the jewels from that odd man with
the new store... December something-or-other. And I had the watch assembled by
Penner. I know how much you liked the last one he made for you."

"I love it," said Donald. "Thank you so much." He leaned over to kiss
his wife, but she pulled back.

"Later dear. I don't want my face disturbed so early in the morning."

"Of course."

"DADDY DADDY!" Sari screamed. "Is this mine!?"

She was holding up an oddly-shaped gift wrapped in a paper that Donald
didn't recognize.

"Yes, dear," said Anya. "It's from your father."

"What?" said Donald. "What's that?"

Sari was already tearing the paper from the gift.

"What do you mean?" said Anya.

"I didn't get that gift. I don't recognize the shape or the paper."

"Well didn't you hide it in with our the our new dresses the night of the
festival?"

"Eh? No. No, I didn't. I've never seen that thing before. Maybe its
from one of the servant girls she plays with all the time."

"Ech! It's probably filthy!"

"Mommy LOOK!"

Sari held up an ornate hand-mirror, which looked to be made of solid gold.

Donald and Anya were both stunned. Certainly none of the servants could
afford something like that.

"Is that real gold?" asked Donald.

"Sari, bring that here," said Anya.

"No! It's Mine!"

"Of course it is, dear.. but BRING THE DAMNED THING HERE!"

"Yes, mother."

Sari stood and walked towards Anya. As she did, the girl turned the mirror
around and looked into it. She gazed at her own face...

... and then gasped as her face disappeared! Her head appeared to be a
perfectly smooth blank surrouned by golden tressels.

She opened her mouth to scream... only to find out that she couldn't move!

Her body was frozen... NO! NO it was worse... she didn't even HAVE a body

"DEAR GODS!" shouted Donald.

Anya watched in horror as her daughter's face vanished from her head,
leaving a blank emptiness in it's place. It was as if some artist had
simply painted over it with skin-colored oil.

Sari dropped the mirror and began jumping up and down. Her arms waved
frantically, and began clawing at the space where her face used to be.
Donald ran over to her.

"SHE CAN'T BREATHE!" he yelled. "HELLP!"

It was true... without a nose or mouth, Sari had no way to get air into her
lungs. She was choking to death! Her skin was already starting to turn
blue!

"HELLP SOMEONE HELP!"

"OH PLEASE DONALD! DO SOMETHING!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! It's the MIRROR! IT did this! WHERE IS IT!"

Anya snatched the mirror from where Sari had dropped it. She handed it to
her husband, but then she caught a glimpse of the image in the glass.

It was SARI! Her beautiful young face was trapped in the mirror! Tears of
terror streamed down her face and her mouth gaped wide with a silent scream.
Meanwhile, her faceless body was convulsing in Donald's arms.

"AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!" Anya screamed. The mirror tumbled from her
fingers and hit the floor, where the glass shattered, destroying the trapped
image in a hail of glass.

Suddenly, Sari's body went rigid... then solid... then it shattered along
with the face in the mirror. Glass flew up into Donald's tear-filled eyes,
blinding him. Several huge shards carved deep gouges in Anya's face... one
sliced her lower lip almost compltely off, and another just missed severing
her left ear.

"ARRRRGGGH!!" Donald reared back, spraying blood and tears from his
punctured eyes. "OH GODS!!!"

"EEEEEEEEE!!!" Anya screamed. "MY FACE! MY FACE! IT'S RUINED!!"

Finally the servant girls came running. Some saw the blood and fainted.
Another ran to get the guards.

But a few... a few just chuckled softly and went back to work.