Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Marisol
I sit by the fire in the Hearth & Hoof Tavern, sipping on Thad's spiced cider, and find myself watching him as he moves through the room. A satyr—an Otherkin—I’m both intrigued and in awe. His kind eyes and merry demeanor seem to brighten every corner of the bustling tavern. For a brief moment, I forget the heavy ache of my grief. He has a way about him, a steady warmth that feels both grounding and uplifting, as if the world is somehow safer in his presence.
Maybe that’s why, as I flip through the brochures Valiana gave me earlier, I find myself considering the Winter Solstice Festival. I glance at the vivid illustrations of glowing lights, joyful crowds, and whimsical creatures. These would make wonderful additions to my journal. A small smile tugs at my lips as I imagine my dad here. He would already have known everyone’s name, laughing and swapping stories with the Otherkin like they were old friends. He always said they reminded him of Filipinos—the way they value community and family above all else.
The thought of my father sends a sharp pang of grief through me, like a sudden winter wind cutting deep. Tears prick my eyes, but I manage to breathe through the pain, letting the tears fall softly before wiping them away.
After walking a quick loop around the main square and follow the trail back to the Lakeside Manor. The heavy languor of sleep calls to me. The bed warm and inviting, pulling me into its gravity. I long for a nap, but I'd slept an entire day already, and I no longer wanted to waste another opportunity.
I can nap for as long as I want when I'm back to my own apartment, stale and empty as it is. My gaze falls onto the brochures once more, the colorful images already captured in perfectly clipped squares and rectangles to frame into my journal. The words Attend the Festival written in my script taunts me.
My father would have wanted to be here but can't.
Resolved, I march to the bathroom to get ready for the festival.
The festival is breathtaking. Strings of enchanted lanterns float above the cobblestone streets, casting warm, golden light over the stalls brimming with handmade ornaments and steaming cups of cider. The air hums with laughter and the faint tinkling of sleighbells. It feels like stepping into a snow globe.
I’m studying a delicate, hand-carved snowflake ornament when I hear a familiar voice. “Soli! Didn’t think I’d see you out here.” I turn to see Thad approaching, his satyr features illuminated by the soft glow of the festival lights. His curved horns gleam like polished mahogany, and his rugged yet approachable face carries an ever-present grin that somehow manages to ease the tension I didn’t even realize I was holding. There’s a warmth to him, a kind of effortless charm in the way he moves, his hooves making a steady rhythm against the cobblestones. For a brief moment, the merry twinkle in his golden-brown eyes makes me forget the heavy ache in my chest, as though his joy is something tangible that could be shared.
“Valiana convinced me,” I say, shrugging.
“Smart woman, that Valiana,” he says, and then nods toward a group of festival-goers gathered around a ring of glowing hoops. “Fancy a little friendly competition?”
I hesitate, but his enthusiasm is contagious. Before long, I’m laughing as we toss enchanted snowballs through the spinning hoops. I’m terrible at it, of course, but Thad’s teasing encouragement makes the sting of missed shots feel like part of the fun.
When the game ends, he gestures toward a sleigh waiting at the edge of the square. The reindeer—if you can call them that, with their crystalline antlers and glowing hooves—paw the ground impatiently. “How about a ride? The lights are best seen from the woods.”
I nod, and soon we’re gliding through the snowy forest, the sleighbells jingling softly with every step. The woods are bathed in moonlight, the snow sparkling like diamonds. For the first time in months, I feel... lighter. Alive.
When the ride ends, Thad leaps from the sleigh and immediately pelts me with a snowball. I gasp, grabbing a handful of snow and flinging it back at him. What starts as a playful skirmish turns into a full-blown battle, and I’m laughing so hard my sides ache. The sound surprises me—a joy I hadn’t realized I was missing until now.
“You’ve got a good arm,” Thad says, brushing snow from his curls.
“I’ve got a good teacher,” I reply, catching my breath. For a moment, we just smile at each other, the world around us quiet except for the distant jingle of sleighbells and the soft rustle of snow falling from the trees. The laughter lingers in the frosty air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I catch myself believing that this season might hold something more than grief—something worth holding on to.