Chapter 9
NEO
From my point of view, building the snowman feels like stitching magic into the bones of winter.
I kneel in the snow, my gloves damp and my breath curling into the cold air.
I watch Nox and the elf bicker over the placement of the coal buttons.
It is ridiculous—Nox insists we form a smirk; the elf demands symmetry—but it makes me smile.
These two are so different, yet they fit together like a pair of stockings hung side by side.
The snow is perfect. Crisp, cold and just soft enough to mold. I pack the base with quiet focus, my fingers moving with practiced ease, shaping each sphere with a whisper of magic. The magic between me and Nox pulses gently, a reminder of the bond we share every time we look at each other.
Nox is all charm and chaos, tossing twigs like they are daggers and humming a carol that sounds vaguely threatening. But when he looks at me, really looks, there is a softness in his eyes. A kind of reverence, like he sees me not just as a mage, but as if I’m the center of his world.
The elf, whose name I still don’t know, although tense with nerves, is trying.
He hands me the carrot nose from the other snowman, muttering about their etiquette and Frost Council regulations.
His cheeks are flushed, his scarf askew, and he keeps glancing at me like he doesn’t believe I’m real or still thinks I’m haunted.
I feel it all… the cold, the laughter, the quiet magic humming beneath the surface.
I am not just building a snowman. They don’t know it yet, but I am building a memory.
A moment stitched together with frost and friendship.
With two people who make me laugh and who are just a little crazy. Though in the best way.
The snowman stands nearly complete and slightly lopsided in the center of Christmas Town, but something is missing.
I sculpted the body with quiet magic, the elf had nervously arranged the coal buttons, and Nox added two twig arms that looked vaguely threatening.
But the top? Bare. Unfinished. Unacceptable.
Bald. The damn thing is bald. Nox walks away.
A kid—probably seven, possibly feral—is waddling past in a puffball coat, wearing a hat so perfect it practically begs to be put on top of the snowman.
Nox moves like a shadow dipped in charm. He crouches and whispers, "Hey kid. I will trade you this cursed candy cane for your hat."
The kid blinks. "Is it really cursed?"
"It made me a vampire," Nox says solemnly.
The kid gasps, hands over the hat and runs off humming dramatically. Nox returns to the snowman and places the hat atop its head. The snowman starts to twitch.
I raise an eyebrow. "You bribed a child."
"I inspired a child," Nox corrects me, "He can be a vampire today. And our snowman has style now."
The elf sighs. "We’re going to get reported to the Frost Council."
When the snowman finally stands tall, coal eyes gleaming and scarf fluttering in the wind, I realize: this is my kind of holiday.
It’s twisted, magical and full of heart.
His body is sculpted from crisp, glittering snow—laughter rather than precision has built three perfectly rounded spheres stacked with just a hint of wobble.
His coal eyes sparkle mischievously, they’re slightly uneven, so he looks like he is raising a brow, judging your life choices.
The carrot nose is crooked, not because of poor placement, but from personality.
It gives him a roguish tilt, like he might wink at passing reindeer.
His twig arms are bent at the elbows, one raised in a permanent wave, the other clutches a tiny candy cane that looks like a festive sword.
When he moves (because yes, he moves), it is with a jiggly bounce, like a marshmallow trying to dance. He doesn’t speak right away, but he giggles… it’s a soft, jingly sound that makes nearby elves chuckle and blush.
I watch him with quiet pride. The snowman tips his hat, does a little twirl and strikes a pose so dramatic it makes the wreath faint.
It’s funny, cute, magical and slightly haunted because of me.
Perfect for our Creepmas in Mournton. So, I am taking him with us.
Now we have to find a sleigh to take us to Santa’s house.
***
The sleigh creaks to a halt just beyond the peppermint gates, its runners gliding over snow that shimmers like sugar crystals under the northern lights.
The four of us step out into the hush of Santa’s domain—where the air smells like cinnamon and old magic, and the silence feels thick with anticipation.
Santa’s house looms ahead, cozy and grand, nestled between two towering trees.
The trees are bent slightly inward, like they’re bowing in welcome.
The roof is frosted with snow so perfect, it looks piped on by a celestial baker.
Golden light spills from the windows in warm, flickering waves.
The chimney puffs out gentle swirls of gingerbread-scented smoke, and the front door—round and red with a brass bell—seems to hum with enchantment.
The elf steps forward first, boots crunching in the snow, his breath curling in the cold. Nox follows, his coat dusted with frost, eyes scanning the house like he expects it to attack us. I trail behind, holding the snowman's hand.
Before we can knock, the door creaks open.
Inside stands another elf—not the jolly mall version, but a real one. Tall, timeless, with eyes like polished ice and a face like a storm cloud dipped in moonlight. He looks at us, then at Nox, and he smiles.
"Ice, my friend. You brought a new Santa," he says, voice deep and warm. "And guests. Come in. The cocoa’s hot, the fire’s begging for more wood and the season’s waiting."
Nox turns to the elf. "Your name is Ice?"
"Icewick Snowstride. It was not nice to meet you." His gaze flickers to Nox, who stares at him just long enough to make it clear he isn’t impressed. "He is the one who thinks snowmen don’t melt and she is haunted," he tells the other elf.
Nox grins, unbothered. "But we made it work, didn’t we?"
Icewick sniffs, his nose wrinkles like he’d just smelled melted authority. "Barely."
I step between them, the magic between me and Nox pulsing gently, trying to keep the peace.
Icewick sighs and mutters under his breath. "I’ll show you your rooms. We can talk about everything tomorrow."
"Room!" Nox corrects him and intertwines his fingers with mine.