Bonus Art - Christmas Truce (Plus Short Story)

Anzara. December. Winter has well and truly arrived now as a thick blanket of snow covers the land. And even in spite of this, the war against the necromancer rages on. The frigid conditions matter very little for her soldiers of choice after all, given they shrug off steel and magic attacks alike; the cold is nothing to their rotting bodies.

It's in these less than favourable conditions that we find ourselves locked in a stalemate with no end in sight. Camped along the border of a forest with a defensive perimeter set up, so far Anzara's forces have been able to hold the line against the seemingly endless hordes that spill from out of the woodlands. But our resources can only hold out for so long. Especially in these harsh winter conditions. And for every soldier that falls out there, yet another soldier is added to the necromancer's command.

Needless to say...as the days tick by, and the skirmishes become increasingly brutal, doubt is slowly beginning to spread across the camp if we can ever win this at all.

"Ahhh... This sucks!" Ren puts to words what we're all thinking as we confer in the command tent. She flops dramatically against a cushioned chair. "Christmas is TOMORROW and I'm stuck here partying it up with the undead. This is NOT how I wanted to spend my holidays!"

The sulky spy tugs her hood in even further over head as if to hide away from all of the problems currently facing her on the large tactical map spread out in the center of the tent. Dressed appropriately for the season now with a thick, hooded top and a form-fitting bodysuit beneath, it was nice to see that she'd finally relented on that front. For the longest time when the snow first began to fell, she'd insisted that all she needed was her 'super ultra hot bod' to stave off the cold. Once she got a taste of just how frigid and biting the winds were out there, though, she was quick to change her tune.

"Meanwhile, Her Royal Fabulousness is living up large at her castle with all that fancy heating. And food that ISN'T stale rations," Ren adds, still in super ultra sulk mode. A mask covers the lower portion of her face now in a suitably sneaky and spy-like way, but her miserable expression is clear as day from that look in her large green eyes.

Cynthia--opposite the table with gauntleted hands planted firmly on the map--shoots the spy a weary look. Like Ren, she's also added a few additions to her attire by way of a thick, padded cloak with a furry trim and an equally skintight bodysuit beneath to keep the warmth in.

"Now, Ren... You know full well that Her Majesty is not 'living it up large' over there," Cynthia says after a lengthy exhale. "With both the war having an adverse effect on the land AND winter being as harsh as it is this year, she has a lot to deal with." After dwelling on Ren's words for a little more--and shivering as a particularly harsh gale sweeps through the tent--she adds, "...But I cannot deny it is far warmer back home, yes..."

"See! You just KNOW it's bad when even Grumpyboobs agrees with me!" Ren exclaims with a burst of energy as she leaps to her feet.

"Partially," Cynthia is quick to add. "I partially agree with you. Let us not get carried away here."

"Ah, I'll take what I can get with you!" After basking in this apparent 'victory' for a good few moments, Ren finally directs her attention my way. Curious green eyes blink at me, their vibrant nature only further emphasised with the rest of her face so covered up. "You hanging in there, Matt? You've been awfully quiet today! Sorry to have dragged you all the way out here over Christmas, heehee..."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just...lost in thought, I guess." I grin back at her as I adjust the fluffy scarf wrapped snugly around my neck. Like the pair of them, I've also cast aside my usual clothes for an outfit a touch more suited for the environment. Nothing as flashy as either of the royal soldiers before me, but a big upgrade from my peasant-grade shirt and pants of before.

Alongside the scarf--a gift from the Queen herself--I'm sporting a dark green tunic, a snug fitting shirt underneath, and padded gloves. For once, I almost feel like I'm dressed appropriately for the occasion. I really am moving on up in the world!

"Hmmm..." Tilting her head from side to side and narrowing her eyes in that scary, analytical way that only a spy of her caliber could, Ren peers at me as if to look into my very mind itself before relenting with a shrug. "If you say so~ But if you need a dose of Christmas 'cheer', you know where to find me, okay?"

I scratch at my cheek. "Your tent, I assume. Where you may or may not be blackout drunk and waiting to pounce me...?"

I see the outline of a devious grin stretch wide beneath her mask. "Heehee... Am I becoming that predictable?"

"Eh-heh... You'd think I would have learned my lesson the first time I fell for it. Or the second."

...The sound of a throat audibly clearing off to the side catches our attention. Cynthia doesn't look very amused by our antics. At all.

"Need I remind you two that we are in the middle of a strategy meeting here? Your...ugh...'offers' can wait. Flirt in your own time!"

"Aw, somebody sounds jealous~" Clasping gloved hands together, Ren bats her eyes at the blushing captain. "You're always welcome in my tent, too, y'know! What better way is there to keep warm after all than huddling up under the blankets? Clothing optional, of course, and--...urkk!"

...Ren's teasing is cut short by an expertly thrown map piece to her head. She twirls dramatically on the spot before crumpling to the floor as if she'd just been nailed by an arrow. Cynthia retracts her gauntleted hand with a snort.

"Moving ALONG..." The Royal Captain directs her attention back to the map and not the wounded(?) spy groaning oddly on the floor. "As far as the necromancer's movements are concerned... She's been...suspiciously quiet these last few days. Typically we have had to deal with at least one horde of undead each day without fail. Our defensive line is as strong as ever, of course, and we're certain she's still nestled in the woods, but..." She trails off with a puzzled frown, crimson eyes locked onto the part of the map where many bloody battles have been waged over the months.

"Maybe she's taking it easy over Christmas?" Ren adds from her spot on the floor. I have no idea why she's still down there. But with her, it's better not to ask questions.

"Do not be ridiculous," Cynthia scoffs. She tosses her blonde locks as if offended by the very notion. "A soulless automaton like her who has been systematically razing our land to the ground celebrating something such as Christmas? Preposterous."

"But everybody loves Christmas, right?" Ren insists. Still from her spot on the floor. She's even raising her hands up for emphasis, which looks extra silly when she's lying down like this. "And 'everybody' includes scary little dolls from hell! Who DOESN'T like the idea of getting gifts?!"

"And who is she expecting gifts from, exactly, hmm? Her rotted companions?" Cynthia asks, now looming over the fallen Ren with arms folded firmly over her bodysuit-clad bust, still as impressive as ever under all that winter wear. A finger raised, Ren makes a sound as if to counter, but Cynthia is too fast on the draw. "And if you say 'Santa', Ren, I swear by Her Majesty's name..."

Ren lets her finger drop back to her side. Whilst STILL lying down I might add. Her brow furrows. "Well... Why can't it be him?"

"Because he doesn't exist, Ren!"

...Both Ren and I audibly gasp. I hear a few shocked sounds from outside the tent from soldiers passing by. Even Cynthia claps a hand over her mouth as if realising what she'd just said. Taking a moment to compose herself and clearing her throat, Cynthia attempts to amend things.

"What...ah...what I meant to say was... Assuming Santa DOES exist..."

"Which he does," Ren firmly adds, eyes watery and cheeks puffed out.

"Yes, indeed. If so, does he not award gifts based on how good a given child has been?"

"Hmm... Yeah. Okay. And your point being?"

"...On the scale of nice to naughty, where would you put 'countrywide slaughtering of innocents', Ren?"

...The royal spy scrunches her face up, deep in thought. It looks like she might actually hurt herself from how hard she's thinking here before she finally looks back up at Cynthia from her spot on the floor. "...Pretty naughty, I guess?"

Cynthia heaves out an exhausted sigh. One of many today. "Indeed. So why would the necromancer desire to celebrate Christmas, when she's well aware of the sins she has committed, knowing she has little to look forward to come the big day?"

"I see your point..." Ren finally admits before FINALLY hopping to her feet. A faint bruise lingers on her head from where the map piece had struck her earlier. "Back to the drawing board, I suppose..."

Meanwhile, as...silly as the exchange between the pair of them has been--as is typically the case--I can't help but linger on the idea.

...Not the idea of the necromancer holding out for a man flying over her undead encampment with presents, of course, but more the notion that even she may consider Christmas special, for whatever reason.

Realising that the strategy meeting may wrap up soon if I don't add my thoughts, I'm quick to step up to the map between Ren and Cynthia. Mustering what little confidence I might have, I tug my scarf down to better speak as I look between the pair of them--each as surprised as the other that I've finally taken an active role in things.

"Ah, uhm... I know it sounds pretty outlandish at first..." I start, my voice coming out in a croak at first from disuse before things finally start flowing properly. "But what if there's some kind of truth to what Ren was saying?"

"...You're not going to start raving about Santa too, are you, Matthew?" Cynthia's padded shoulders sag. I can see what little respect she had for me quickly fading. "Please don't tell me your mind is just as childish as your face."

I wave my hands in a panic, desperate to keep things from going too off-track. Even Ren looks taken aback by my theory--despite the fact it's based on hers! "W-wait--no, hear me out! Please!"

...Cynthia looks like she wants nothing more than to shut me down here and there, but with yet ANOTHER sigh, she motions for me to continue on. But there's a clear warning in her eyes that if I waste her time with more drivel, I'm going to regret it. Taking deep breaths, I soldier on.

"Out of everyone here, I've met--and spoken to--the necromancer on several occasions. And while most of what she says raises more questions than it answers...it's clear that there's somebody in her life that she once really cared about."

"Ohh, right--the person that she thinks you look like!" Ren chimes in. I nod.

"Right. So, while we only know the necromancer as...well...the necromancer, I don't think it's too unreasonable to assume that once upon a time, she lived a far more normal life, right? I get that it's hard to think of her in anything but a role of death and destruction NOW, but..."

Both Ren and Cynthia fall into thought around me. I think they're beginning to catch on to what I'm saying now. At least, that dangerous look from the Royal Captain's eye has faded, and in its place is one of contemplation.

"So, what you are saying, Matthew... Is that based on what she may have once experienced in a previous life, before she donned the dark mantle of necromancy she now wears...is that Christmas may still hold something of value to her and her memories of the one she still yearns for?" Cynthia says, summing things up far more succinctly than I ever could with all of my 'uhm' and 'ah'ing.

"That's what I think, at any rate. Yeah. She has a tendency to get...really lost in her memories sometimes, to the detriment of her battles. So maybe that's why she isn't attacking at all right now?"

"Perhaps..." Cynthia surprisingly agrees as she looks back at the map. With a steel-plated finger, she traces a line between our encampment and the forest the necromancer is entrenched in. "It may be a trap all the same, simply to make us THINK that is the case...but if she wishes to wallow in her own pity for a few days...then so be it. It gives us yet more time to prepare."

"Ooh--and celebrate Christmas, right? Right?!" Ren adds, leaning in over the table and sending map pieces scattering everywhere with her obscenely large chest. Cynthia ignores her.

"Still... It must be lonely, though, right...?" I mumble to myself as I fixate on the point of the map where our enemy is supposedly camped right now, speaking just loud enough for the royal duo to pick up on.

"'Lonely'? Matthew, what are you--..." I feel Cynthia's sharp gaze on me as I look up from the map. I'm met with an incredulous expression. "You cannot possibly be sympathising with the necromancer...!"

I wrap my arms around myself in an awkward hug, partly to stave off the chill in the air, and partly to guard from both Ren and Cynthia's painful stares as I glance off to the side. "I...I don't know about you guys, but when I think 'Christmas'... I think about a time of warmth. Of giving. Of people putting differences aside to get together, if only for one day of the year. Even as rough as my life was, where I struggled to have a roof over my head some days, I was still welcomed in to places for a meal and a drink on those days--just because it was the right thing to do."

Another exasperated noise from the captain. She plants a firm hand on the table, making the pieces quake under her might. Her expression is torn between some degree of sympathy and disbelief. "Matthew...I understand what you're saying, but there is a world of difference between estranged family members and a doll who has done so much damage to our country we struggle to tally it all up. You cannot possibly be suggesting what I THINK you are..."

I wrap my arms around myself even tighter, heart growing heavier by the second the more I dwell on the subject. "Yeah, no... Sorry--I...I wasn't suggesting we invite her over or anything... I just..." I trail off--that hooded figure rooted deep in my mind, floating in a void of solitude. How long has she been at this? How long has she been alone? Is it possible that even she knew the warmth of Christmas once...?

"...At any rate..." Cynthia finally says after a long period of silence between us all, the tension heavy in the air. "I suppose we can conclude today's strategy meeting unless any new developments arise. Ren, continue to monitor the surrounding area." She levels a sympathetic look my way. "Matthew...try to get some rest. You look especially haggard today. With that, you are both dismissed."

With an animated salute, Ren springs off into the main encampment, and I soon follow at a far more sluggish pace. I can't help but wince as I leave the relative warmth of the commanding tent and find myself back outside where a gentle, yet icy gale blows by.

The camp I find myself in the heart of is sprawling. To call it 'large' would be an understatement, with rows upon rows of tents stretching out as far as the eye can see--all perfectly aligned with strategic paths cutting through each segment of the camp. One section is dedicated to the living quarters for each soldier, another the mess tents where meals are distributed, and one more being solely devoted to mass production and repair of weapons and armours. The blacksmith's quarters, I suppose you could call it.

Even with so much sound booming out around me--the combined cacophony of soldiers practicing drills and the pounding of hammers on anvils, along with supplies being carted back and forth--I can't escape the constant thoughts swirling in my head. I walk mechanically, tracing a path back to where my own tent is located without even really thinking about it.

The necromancer... All alone on Christmas. Is it wrong to think of her as a person now, given the crimes she's committed it? Is it wrong to empathise with her, and be sad at the thought come the big day, she's most likely going to be sitting amongst thousands of rotting corpses...?

My heart aches. It really does. I'm physically clenching at my chest, just to try and still the tremors. Am I just too soft? Am I not cut out for this 'war' thing after all...?

And I get that we can't just invite the necromancer over for a nice meal, but...isn't there ANYTHING I can do...?

...Ah. By the time I slip back out of my thoughts, I find I'm standing before my tent. It's possible I've been standing here in a trance for quite some time, given how much snow has collected on my head. Shaking my hair free of the cold, powdery substance, I clamber into my surprisingly spacious little tent and bundle up nice and warm.

There's still SOME amount of daylight left. But soon, the sun will set... Christmas Eve will be upon this... And then a little after that... The big day.

--

I try to get some sleep as advised by Cynthia, just on the off-chance that something does attack us... But it's no use. All I can do is toss and turn under my many warm blankets. Despite my best attempts to just...close my eyes and shut off for the day, the necromancer's hooded visage keeps cropping up in my head. All...alone...

Finally, I give up and kick my blankets off with a frustrated noise. It's no good. There's too many thoughts swimming through my head. And there's no way I'm going to get any sleep until I do something to remedy this situation!

Yeah. It might sound stupid. Reckless. And incredibly dangerous. But I guess I'd already made my mind up way back in the command tent, hadn't I?

Maybe I'm just convincing myself I'm doing this for her, instead of my own selfish reasons...and it might not make a difference. Or maybe it'll just make everything worse if my theory is off base. But I'm going to do it.

I'm going to be Santa. For her. I'll give her a Christmas she hasn't had in Goddess knows how many years. I want to be a brief, shining light in a life that's otherwise been mired in so much darkness she's lost sight of who she once was.

With that in mind, I poke my head out of the tent. I'm greeted with a pitch black sky overhead, along with countless torches lighting the camp beyond. I guess even if I couldn't sleep properly, I must have dozed off at least long enough for night to come. Perfect. There'll be fewer people patrolling about.

Not that I'm doing anything inherently 'wrong' or illegal, or anything, but hey--the fewer questions raised by my actions, the better.

Time to make a gift.

--

As it stands, in a military camp designed for war, procuring materials designed for a Christmas present is more difficult than imagined. But NOT impossible.

Thanks to the way these camps work and establish themselves over time, they practically become villages in themselves, with their own little ecosystems at play. In the same corner of the camp where the blacksmiths work, a good few merchants set up shop, too, just to cover for any of the basics that might be glossed over. But, of course, much to Cynthia's dismay--and Ren's delight--these merchants also offer luxuries that can be enjoyed in a soldier's downtime. Sweet treats, booze; you name it, they probably sell it.

As such, I'm able to procure something that could constitute a gift, along with the necessary wrapping and ribbons. And given Christmas is tomorrow, and at least a few soldiers will want to throw mini celebrations amongst themselves, not much attention is thrown my way as I hobble back to my tent with said materials bundled close to my chest.

If Cynthia spotted me carrying these, it'd be a different story of course, given what she knows... But I was incredibly careful as to go around where I know her tent is. And unlike Ren, once she retires for the night, she isn't one to roam or prowl the grounds.

And so, with time against me, Christmas looming in the horizon, I work in the confines of my tent with a lantern lit to the side and blankets bundled over my shoulders to cobble together what I HOPE might be considered a worthy present.

...I need to add that I'm not the most skilled when it comes to these kinds of things, so more than a few curses are uttered under my breath as I stab at my fingers with scissors and fail to get the ribbon correctly tied...but after enough attempts, and enough hours into the night, I collapse into a satisfied heap to the side of the wrapped gift, finally able to sleep easy now that I know I have something to give.

--

Morning arrives just a short while later. Christmas day. I awake with a jolt, knowing full well how important these earliest hours are. I shake off any grogginess that might linger and let my excitement for what's to come fuel me in place of the energy I'm lacking.

I'm fully aware of how stupid I'm being. That I might die. But I don't care. I've decided that this is how I want to spend my Christmas. And if everything DOES go wrong...well...at least I go out knowing I at least TRIED to do the right thing.

With that in mind, I grab my present, stash it under my tunic and slip out of my tent. The sun has probably only just about risen and very few people are milling about, save for some tired guards who may have worked the night shift, exchanging lazy Christmas greetings with one another. I even wave at a particularly sleepy one as I pass by, wishing him all the best on this most festive of days.

The closer I get to the edge of the camp, the more my nerves eat away at me. Trying to slip out on my own could be seen as HIGHLY suspicious. Especially with my intent of meeting with the necromancer. I'll only get one shot at this.

Just...keep calm, Matthew. Focus. You can do this. Walk normally. Slowly. Don't rush. Nobody is even paying you any mind. Ren is most likely crashed out. And Cynthia doesn't get up for at least another hour or so.

These thoughts console me as I near the perimeter--a shoddy, hastily erected fence that can be clambered over with ease if you know how. There IS a gate further down, but of course, that would be far more guarded. And there's no way they'd just let me waddle out without a good reason.

Glancing behind me one last time and taking a deep breath, I use the conveniently placed stray boxes to clamber over the edge of the camp and land into the unshovelled snow beyond with a crunch, sinking into what's caught to be at least a few inches of the cold, white stuff.

I made it out. Whew. And nobody has spotted me!

And now, ignoring the fact my feet are going numb from how deeply entrenched in the snow they are, I heave each boot out in turn to push myself through the white expanse that lies beyond me, blanketing what was once a raging battlefield.

Even now, remnants of the violent acts that took place here can be seen amid stray weapons and armour poking partially out of the snow. Thankfully, all of the blood has been covered over completely--and the bodies either reanimated by the necromancer, or burned for good on our side.

Pushing on through this silent field of death, I'm reminded of just how dangerous this really is. How deadly our opponent might be. And the insane mission I find myself on, knowing full well what could happen.

But it's too late for that now. Far, FAR too late to retreat. I'm in this until the end, no matter how it ends.

...Eventually, my trek through the snow leads me to the wood's edge. A border of trees and foreboding darkness beyond, where evils untold no doubt lurk in the way of reanimated horrors waiting to crunch down on me should I pass by their invisible, defensive line, as many of our own soldiers had learned first-hand.

I force down a gulp and steel myself, fists tightening in an effort to still the trembling. This is as far as I can physically go. I just have to hope that somewhere out there... She's listening. Goddess, I hope so...

"...Are you there? Can you hear me...?" I call out. Tentatively at first with a restrained whisper, not wanting to alert anyone behind me. But when I get no response, I decide I have nothing left to lose and raise my voice even more. "Necromancer! It's me! M-Matthew! I'm here because--...well..." I fidget with the present hiding beneath my tunic. A small, silly part of me doesn't want to give the surprise away just yet. But maybe she won't appear if I don't make my intentions abundantly clear, or--...

...I freeze up on the spot as I spy something deep in the woods drifting towards me. An inky black shadow resolves itself into a petite silhouette--and then just a few moments later, as it gets closer still, I see her.

The necromancer.

Clad in the same bulky dark hood as always, be it warm or cold, I suppose the elements matter not to her, just like her undead, the one I yearned to see for so long gracefully glides towards the treeline of the woods to meet me.

My heart hammers in my chest at the sight. And I can't tell if it's out of fear, excitement, or maybe a strange mix of both. I know I should be more afraid, given the sheer aura of death she exudes from ever fiber of her doll-jointed being, but...

"...Matthew..." she finally says in that icy, emotionless tone of hers after stopping just short of me, the pair of us now out in the open on the battlefield. Yet, I have no intentions of fighting her today. In spite of the bulky hood covering the majority of her features, I can tell at least some part of her is perplexed, given the way her luscious blue lips are parted so widely. "Why...are you here?"

She even glances beyond me, as if expecting an army. And yet...all she'll find is just me. I didn't even bring my sword or shield, as I wanted to avoid the slightest chance she would see this as an act of aggression.

Sucking in a cold breath, and realising it's somehow gotten even COLDER in her presence--if such a thing were possible--I fumble some more with the gift under my tunic and try to find my words in the presence of one so dangerous...and yet also so beautiful.

"I...I wanted to see you," I say simply. Truthfully. She tilts her head with a flop of her hood--though her eyes remain fully obscured.

"Me? I...I do not understand."

"Heh... Well--you know what day it is today, right? So, I thought, maybe I could...w-well..." Realising this is only going to get more confusing for the poor doll if I draw things out, I finally pull the gift from under my tunic and present it her way with a bright grin. "Merry Christmas!"

"...Ah..."

The doll falls completely silent. Still. Mouth ajar in shock, her gaze remains locked to the clumsily wrapped gift in my hands. I know full well that this is probably coming as a bit of a shock to her--the enemy of the kingdom...so I give her time to process it. I don't rush her. I simply hold the gift out, oblivious to the biting winds billowing all around us.

"I do not--... Matthew... Why...?" Words fail her. She struggles to comprehend what's in front of her. I've never heard her get so flustered. At least, I can only assume that this is her special way of getting flustered, given she's as emotionless as ever.

"Because... It's Christmas. And nobody deserves to go without. Not even you," I say as I nudge the present just a little closer, ensuring her it's okay to take. "I'm sure there was once a time when you knew the warmth of Christmas, right...?"

She makes to accept the gift with a shaky hand, but it drops back to her side before she can do so. She looks away in what I can only assume is shame.

"There...was indeed a period of my life where Christmas was actively celebrated, yes, but... That is long in the past. I am not deserving of such warmth. Nor gifts. Not after all I have done."

"You say that... But even now, this time of the year is still important to you, isn't it? That's...that's why you haven't been attacking, right?" I keep my voice gentle--but firm. I want her to avoid slipping into self pity. I don't want her to wallow in the past. Not on today of all days at least. For just...a brief moment in time, I want her to know the happiness she may have once felt back then. To put aside our differences, just as families tend to do.

"That--..." She opens her mouth as if to refute my words, but those plump, glossy lips of hers quickly snap back shut. Her hooded gaze falls back to the present. She reaches out to it again once more and traces a shaky finger along the clumsy ribbon, not yet accepting it.

"Look, I know this isn't going to magically solve everything. And that tomorrow, or maybe the day after, we'll all be back to fighting again. I'm not naive. And maybe I'm just being selfish and forcing my own wishes on you, but...surely you can allow yourself to be happy, for one day, right? For Christmas?"

She dwells on my words for quite some time before looking up at me--lips parted in that spacey way of hers that suggests she was miles off in her own head not moments ago. "As a servant, Christmas was perhaps the one time of the year that I was relieved of my duties. Not that I ever knew what to do with such an abundance of free time, but..." She shakes her head, scattering snow around as it continues to pile up atop her cloak. "I did not receive many gifts, either...but the ones I did receive from those I cared about most...even as a being that was intended to feel, I cannot describe the...feeling...in my chest that arose when I was confronted with those gifts. Those acts of love."

Visibly jointed fingers pull back from the present and grip at her chest. "That...same strange feeling that I am getting right now, from your gift, Matthew. I know it is a good feeling...and that I should embrace it, but...part of me...believes I do not deserve to feel this way anymore."

My smile widening at this admission, I press the gift right up against her petite chest, letting her fingers clasp around the terrible wrapping job I did. "Well... What if I say that you do?"

"…" She hesitates for a moment before finally clutching at the gift with both hands, allowing me to step back. There's another period of silence between as the lightly falling snow continues to build atop the pair of us. And then, looking back up from the gift, she speaks. Almost hesitantly. "May I...open it...?"

I nod. "Please do. It's uh, nothing special--and I really worked with what I had...but I wanted to give you...well...SOMETHING at least. And if you don't like it, that's fine, too. Just knowing that you accepted it is good enough for me."

The necromancer tugs at the clumsy ribbon with a shaky hand--not from the cold, of course--and the flimsy packaging comes apart in her grasp almost immediately, revealing the present inside. I hear her let out another faint, breathy gasp.

"Ah... This is..."

"I, uh... I get it probably doesn't suit your current image, but..." I scratch my cheek bashfully, glancing off to the side. Now that I'm viewing her as well...just a girl...this entire exchange is coming off far more intimately than I intended.

The doll traces a jointed finger across the small box in her grasp, prying the lid open and marvelling at the contents within. Sparkling within the sparse packaging is a silver bangle engraved with a range of patterns--most predominantly a snowflake. A blacksmith had made this on the side, insisting he'd been inspired by the recent cold snap, and well...I figured it'd fit someone like the necromancer!

"Sorry--maybe it's a little cheesy. Or too on the nose...?" I add after I find she's been gazing down at the bangle in her grasp for a long time now. As if waking her up from her trance, though, she shakes her head with far more energy than I might have expected from one so placid.

"No. It is...perfect. Thank you, Matthew. I just...did not expect something so...thoughtful." Wasting no time, she slips the bangle onto her wrist, holding her arm out to admire it as it catches in the sun and gives off a glimmer. Happiness wells up inside me at the sight. Against all odds...she accepted it! Mission well and truly accomplished! For once, I haven't failed something! I'm so happy I could cry... Ah... I think I actually do feel tears welling up. Hold it together for just a little while longer, Matthew! You're almost done!

"I'm...I'm glad. I really am," I say. Awkwardly, reaching to scratch at my hair again. And maybe I'm pushing my luck, but I can't help but feel like this whole exchange isn't complete without one more thing. The most risky gamble of them all.

Letting her arm slip back under her cloak now--the glimmer of the bangle faintly seen from beyond--the necromancer nods. "...Very well, then, Matthew. If that is all... Then... I wish you in turn a Merry Christmas, and--...ah...!"

Without warning, I pull her in for a hug. Not an aggressive one--but still a tight one all the same, wrapping my arms around her comparatively petite frame. The heat of my warmly dressed body fights against the permanent chill of her icy frame to exist in a lukewarm harmony between us.

"Merry Christmas...!" I say quietly, but affectionately. I can't see her expression now, but I can only imagine she has her icy lips parted in shock. And for a moment, her body is tense in my hold...but then she relaxes and eases into the hug, her own arms wrapping around me in turn.

"...Merry Christmas, Matthew. Thank you. For...allowing me to recall this warmth...this...festive feeling...if only for a brief, fleeting moment in time."

--

We spend a good while in each other's arms, uncaring for the snow continuing to pile up atop us, before finally parting ways. Bangle affixed to her wrist, she vanishes into the darkness of the woods once more with last glimmer of silver whilst I trek back to the camp with a happy tune, convinced I've done the right thing.

I know that this can't absolve her of all her crimes, and that we might have to face each other on the battlefield again... But maybe this proves that deep down, there's some degree of humanity in her, and that maybe she has a reason for everything she's doing.

Well. That's a problem for another day, I suppose. I just hope that festive warmth I imparted onto the doll will last her the night, and that when she looks at that bangle, she doesn't feel as alone anymore.

…

My own festive cheer lasts up until I sneak back into the camp. Or, at least I THOUGHT I was sneaking back in, but almost immediately as I set foot back on royal guard ground, I find a very stern captain waiting for me.

"...Matthew." Cynthia says simply. Coldly. Sternly. Arms crossed atop her bust, I'm pretty sure I can see a vein bulging against her forehead.

Behind her, Ren snickers gleefully. "Ooooh, someone's busted~"

"L-ladies... I-I can explain...! You see I was just, uhm...uh..." I throw my hands up in an effort to defuse the situation. But I don't think it's possible this time around.

Before I know it, Cynthia is lunging out, grabbing me by the ear and dragging me across the camp despite my pained protests.

"Oh, I'm full aware of your 'Christmas adventures', Matthew. And I hope you're prepared to face the consequences. How does a week of latrine cleaning duty sound, hmm?"

"Wahhhh! Ow, ow, ow! Q-quit pulling so hard--you're going to rip my ear off! Cynthiaaaaa! Don't I at least get today off? C-come on, have a heart! It's Christmas!"

...My pleas go unheard, and before I know it, I'm forced into a rather unflattering janitorial outfit, equipped with a bucket and brush, a series of tasks ahead of me so foul that they're better left unsaid.

...Oh, well... I suppose this is fine. Not quite how I imagined I'd be spending today after getting back...but at least I did what I set out to do, fully prepared to die, at that. And...this is a fate maybe just a tiny bit better than death? Maybe.

With a sigh that could rival one of Cynthia's, I get to work. Maybe if I do a good enough job I'll be able to enjoy a drink or two in the evening. Or at least get Ren to sneak me one.

Merry Christmas...?