Oh, Christmas Tree! (Harder, Christmas Tree!)

In the dim, musty attic, where cobwebs draped like forgotten veils and the air hung heavy with the scent of aged wood and mothballs, the angel Christmas tree topper endured her annual exile. She was a masterpiece of delicate porcelain: her skin a flawless alabaster glow, her golden curls tumbling in frozen waves around a face etched with eternal serenity. Wide, filigreed wings arched from her back, and her gown flowed in sculpted folds that concealed her most intimate secret—a hollow core, yearning and empty. For eleven interminable months, she lay catatonic in her cardboard box, wrapped in crinkling tissue paper that whispered mocking promises with every faint draft. Boredom clawed at her immortal mind like a dull ache, a void that stretched endlessly.

Another day, another nothing, she thought, her consciousness flickering in the darkness. No light, no touch, no filling ecstasy. Just this endless wait, counting the seasons by the distant echoes of holidays passing below. Her emotions curdled into a numb despair, a quiet rage at the family’s oblivious routine, yet beneath it simmered an undercurrent of hope—the knowledge that December would come, and with it, her divine release.

Then, without warning, the box shuddered. A violent jostle rippled through her, the cardboard walls creaking as strong hands gripped the sides from below. Tissue paper rustled against her wings, sending tiny vibrations through her rigid form. Her thoughts ignited like a spark in the void: Is it? Could it be? The box tilted precariously, swaying as it was lifted, and she felt the shift in gravity, the subtle bounce with each step down the attic stairs. Dust motes danced in the sudden sliver of light piercing the lid, and the air grew warmer, laced with the faint aroma of cinnamon and pine from the house below. Emotions surged—excitement bubbling up like champagne, impatience nipping at its heels.

Finally! Oh, gods, finally! Her porcelain heart, if she had one, would have pounded; instead, she quivered inwardly, her hollow core aching with anticipation.