A Winter's Tale - Book I

"Winter, will you grab the ledger from my desk? It's in a black folder. I believe I left it open."

"Yes, momma."

Down a short hallway, I found myself in a quaint little office backed by a wall of glass. As I stepped behind a mahogany desk at the center of the room, my focus moved through the window. It's always cold, but as the wind lifted piles of snow right in front of me, I felt a shiver run up my spine.

Even as I reached for the folder mother had asked for, that she needed in a rush, something outside seemed to pin me to the spot. A thick metal clock hung like a pendulum of fate over the door, ticking away as I squinted into the void of blinding whiteness.

"Winter! Honey, did you find it?"

"Yes, sorry."

Rushing out the door, I handed the paperwork to my mother. Mrs. Claus, wife to Ole Saint Nick and mother of ten, the woman looked not a day over forty. Draped in a long, thick red gown, she never left home without her heeled boots. There was no old woman in glasses with a plump figure and a plate of cookies in sight, though she does enjoy baking.

"Are you feeling alright dear?"

As the back of a soft hand touched my forehead I couldn't help but wave off her concern. What was I thinking adding to her already chaotic workload?

"Oh stop, I haven't got a fever. My mind is just busier than usual, that's all."

"Busier?"

An elegant brow rose on her face as she immediately lost interest in the papers. If one of her children needed her time, nothing else rose above them. Work could wait a moment or two, I know my mother just as she knows me.

"Want to talk about it?"

I am the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company made from the blood, sweat, and tears of the very woman concerned for me. I'm the daughter of legends, and yet? What was my plan? Complain with a golden spoon in my mouth? Besides, it wasn't like I could put into words how I was feeling lately.

If anyone should be cursing up a storm it should be mother. She had been running herself ragged lately catching up on paperwork. After hours of ink and conference calls, she still found time to cook everyone dinner and bake way too many goodies for our neighbors. If her energy could be bottled it would instantly sell out.

"I just wish I could be more helpful."

Setting the folder on a table nearby, standing beside a row of still machines, mother turned to fully face me. I was in for it, that look of deep concern shooting straight into my soul.

"What do you mean?"

Sighing, I tucked a loose black curl behind my ear.

"You've been working day and night to make sure dad's trip goes well. If I knew what to do here to help, wouldn't that be better for everyone? You could stress less."

Directive Santa; a company founded by Mr. and Mrs. Claus that works to keep the spirit of Christmas alive worldwide. Even before they had children my parents swore to make sure their immortality was used in a way that would help, not hinder. It was an oath as old as time.

Some call it magic, some call it heresy or a myth. The season of giving, of family, and of miracles is something we see as a legacy. My parent's call it their duty and as such it is mine as well. I know how lucky I am, but sometimes it feels like I'm living the same day over and over again. Sometimes it's great, other times I feel lost.

The machines sleeping around us were built with the support of wealthy benefactors, people I've never met. For all I know they don't even exist. It felt like I was doing so much, yet so little, in the shadow of my parents.

"I've gotten plenty of rest. There's no reason for you to worry over me so much, hm?"

"Will you ever trust me enough to let me help? Really help?"

Looking around us, raising her arms and hands up, mother smiled in disbelief.

"My child, was it not you who designed this factory of wonder? Was it not you who meticulously planned out every machine to bring the toys in your father's imagination to life? You created something that we could've never dreamed of. In your head you expanded our world and made this miracle a reality. It is because of you that we are able to rest half of the year, to truly have time for our family."

Opening my mouth, I was about to argue, only for her to lift a hand to hush me.

"You were writing up fiscal plans before you turned twelve, Winter. My brilliant daughter, I could never ask for more from you. It's impossible, because you already do just as much as I do. Shouldering the weight of a family is meant for the parents, yet you have stepped into your strengths beautifully. However, the stress you believe I am carrying, is it not your own? Are you worried for me, because you believe I must be feeling how you feel?"

Those all-knowing eyes cut right through me. I felt the pin prick of tears threatening to cloud my vision. That wasn't true. I wasn't stressed out. What was she talking about?

"Don't go turning things around on me now. I know this time of year is busy for everyone. I just want to make sure you are taking care of yourself."

Pulling her daughter into a gentle, warm hug, Mrs. Claus smiled.

"My sweet baby girl, I'm so grateful to have you."

She says I will know every secret in the business one day, when I need to. We all know that will never happen. Maybe that's the point. If a good parent can protect their child from hardships, won't they?

Immortal parents go on to create immortal children. Ten kids, to be exact. When you're forever young it doesn't take much to raise another baby. Without the fear of disease or death, my family looks like perfect dolls playing house in a broken hourglass.

As the oldest, I started off spoiled rotten and turned independent quickly after the third child was welcomed into our world. I won't claim to be the wisest, or the most patient. I was simply the first to want to help my mother with the finances. Watching my parents work drove me to want to do the same.

What if I could help them and make their lives easier? That's what I thought even as a child. Father tried to coddle me, playing games by the fireplace, but I snuck out more and more over the years to follow in mother's snow prints.

When I drew the blueprints for the warehouse, I wanted mom to have a good place to work. One of my worst fears was the thought of her being caught in a storm, buried under snowdrifts. With fortified doors and weatherproofed walls, I couldn't wait to show my parent's. They were in awe, showering me in praise.

After that came ideas for houses. With my mother and father's help, and funding from the shadows, we created a city worth protecting. The North Pole was no longer uninhabitable, and my fears lessened.

We welcome all who wander into the bounds of our little village. The misfits, as one of my brothers calls them, wounded creatures looking for sanctuary, and animals of all kinds. Beings rejected by the world and their own this place seems to call to them.

Over the decades many have stayed, building families and a community that I never thought I would be able to experience. As a kid I thought I would end up stuck in this blizzardly hellscape void of life. Thankfully, I was wrong.

Like I said before, I am the oldest. After eleven years of being the only child, my mother brought my brother Nicholas into the world. Then came Noel, Yukio, Jack, Ember, Eirwen, Holly, Douglas, and Whittaker. The house was always lively.

We fight like most siblings, but we never leave without saying I love you. My parents taught us early on that our family is immortal and therefore we will always have one another by our sides. However, we can die. It has never happened, but it can, or so father warns us.

Is it truth or a lie meant to keep us from fighting constantly? I don't think I care to know, honestly. Living life on the edge isn't my thing, so even if we can't die, I don't think it would change much.

I have decades of life I could speak about. How I grew up watching my father shift from whittling out wooden toys to crafting glass and metal. How he knows the ins and outs of all electronics as if it's second nature now. The infinite memory that man has is more impressive than anything I've created.

I could talk about my father forever. Growing up he'd tell us stories of his travels, before mother tamed him, as he says. Creatures of stories lost to time, miracles unknown by mankind, and events lived purely in hope of a better day to come.

Maybe another time I could tell you about how he met my mother and his fight with a Yeti. Or how mother made him apologize to said Yeti and now they're best of friends. Mother still bakes his favorite pie every year on his birthday.

I can remember father making ice roses for Mother, teaching me to no avail. He would plan cute little dates for them, involving all of us kids. As we all got older the plans got more elaborate, but hiding things isn't always easy. Mother just knows, as if she's got eyes on the back of her head and ears everywhere.

Still, she acts excited and smiles ear to ear every time. I'm proud of the way he makes sure she's well taken care of. He's never set his eyes on anyone but her. I know there aren't a lot of women at the North Pole, but he travels the world.

Mother, she's no different. She's always doting on father, spoiling the man as if they're perpetually in the honeymoon phase. Hot cocoa by the fire and a thick blanket at night, cuddles and giggles that signal for all of kids to head off to our own homes. She sews his clothes, mends his shoes, and they always go to bed happy.

A love for the ages. An immortal tale of loyalty and heart. A huge reason for my long-lasting singlehood. I've seen all the romance movies and read the books, but nothing could ever live up to the everlasting fairytale that is my parent's relationship. In a way it's set us all up for failure.

My siblings seem to be in the same boat. For decades now they have learned everything they could from mother and father, taken on roles to help the family, and done it all alone. Together as siblings, as a family, but alone.

We always eat dinner together and share our daily joys and woes. When one of us isn't sure of something they have an endless supply of love and support to work through their issues. I shouldn't complain. None of us should. It is the way our family functions, no problem too great for the Claus's.

Still, we're lonely. Ten grown adults, all with our own personalities. There are wants and desires we wish to share with another person. I'm sure our parents can see our falling spirits as well, their words more cautious as of late.

In truth, they were very lucky to find one another. Two immortals meeting up in this place, in a time when nothing was around, is honestly very hard to believe. It was fate's plan, I suppose. Without my mother, my father may not have had the spirit to do what he does so well.

Fate, a force of nature, or maybe a deity? A breeze lifting one kindred soul toward another. Whatever you believe it to be, just know it is real. It is what starts my story, in the cold snow of the North Pole.