Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Marisol
The morning sun casts a golden glow over Avalon Vale as Thad invites me to explore the second day of the festival. Compared to last night’s dreamy enchantment, the town now brims with vibrant energy. Families crowd the cobblestone streets, their laughter blending with the joyful shouts of children engaging in snowball fights and sled races. The air smells of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, mingling with the faint hint of pine from the Solstice Tree.
As we walk, Thad points out the landmarks. “That’s the town square up ahead,” he says, gesturing toward an open space dominated by the Solstice Tree. The towering pine is like something out of a dream, its branches glittering with glowing ornaments that seem to hum softly in the crisp air. “Each ornament carries a wish,” Thad explains, his voice low and reverent. The energy around the tree feels almost alive, making me wonder if the magic here is more than just legend.
The market stalls bustle with activity, offering everything from enchanted scarves that never let you feel cold to candied fruits that sparkle like gemstones. Children dart through the crowd, laughing as snow sprites flit around them, adding a touch of playful chaos to the scene. I catch a glimpse of a wulver shopkeeper carving intricate patterns into a wooden box, his claws surprisingly delicate against the fine grain of the wood.
The market stalls bustle with activity, offering everything from enchanted scarves that never let you feel cold to candied fruits that sparkle like gemstones. Children dart through the crowd, laughing as snow sprites flit around them, adding a touch of playful chaos to the scene. I catch a glimpse of a wulver shopkeeper carving intricate patterns into a wooden box, his claws surprisingly delicate against the fine grain of the wood.
“Do you have a favorite spot here?” I ask, glancing at Thad as he leads me toward the edge of the square.
His grin widens. “I do, but it’s not in the town. Come on.”
During our second sleighbell ride, I can’t help but marvel at how the world transforms as we move deeper into the snowy woods. The sleigh glides effortlessly over the powdery snow, the soft jingle of the bells creating a melody that blends perfectly with the whisper of the wind through the trees. The woods are magical in their own right—tall pines dusted with snow, their branches arching gracefully as if bowing to the moonlight.
Thad pulls the sleigh to a stop in a hidden glade, where bioluminescent flowers bloom in delicate shades of blue and gold. The petals seem to pulse with light, as if breathing in harmony with the world around them. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m overwhelmed by a sense of wonder.
“This place,” I whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquility. “It’s... magical.”
Thad grins, his eyes sparkling in the soft glow. “You’ve got a good eye for it. Most folks just see the woods and snow.”
I’m not sure if it’s the setting or Thad’s presence, but I begin to open up. I tell him about my father—how much he loved finding beauty in the simplest things, how the holidays were always his favorite. My voice trembles as I admit how lonely it feels without him.
As I talk, images of my dad fill my mind. He would have loved this place—the glowing lights, the bustling markets, the sense of community that wraps around Avalon Vale like a cozy quilt. My father had a knack for making connections with anyone, human or Otherkin. He always said the Otherkin reminded him of Filipinos, with their deep sense of family and community ties. I smile softly, thinking about how he would already know everyone’s name and probably have a plate of cookies waiting for him at every corner.
But then, the sharp sting of grief slices through me again, catching me off guard. My chest tightens as I remember the past few months: the endless hospital visits, the whispered goodbyes, the weight of finality pressing down. I hadn’t even been able to speak about him without sobbing—not to the life insurance claims representative who had no idea what to do with me as I blubbered through my dad’s policy number, and certainly not to the pastor who gently guided me through the funeral arrangements. Yet, here I am now, sharing these memories with Thad, and for the first time, the words flow freely, unburdened by the storm of tears.
It’s a strange kind of peace I feel—a flicker of warmth in a cold season I thought would last forever. The tears still come, soft and quiet, but I breathe through them, letting the grief settle into something more manageable. Thad listens with a kindness that makes me feel lighter, and for the first time in weeks, I find a tiny, fragile comfort in simply remembering my dad as he was: joyful, present, and always ready to embrace the magic in the world around him.
“Loneliness has a way of tricking us into thinking it’s forever,” Thad says quietly. “But it’s not. Not if you let yourself see the magic around you.”
When we return to the Solstice Tree, he hands me an ornament. “Make a wish,” he says, his voice gentle. I hesitate, the weight of grief holding me back, but the earnestness in his expression makes me want to try. Hanging the ornament on a low branch, I close my eyes and let the hum of the tree carry my unspoken wish into the night.