Two children walked through the snow, their little boots sinking into the powder. The girl breathed out, watching her breath form frostbitten clouds in the air before them. The boy, her brother, shivered, putting his hands into his coat pockets.
Lacie stumbled forward to catch up with him, holding onto the crook of his arm.
The town square was quiet, the snow creating an atmosphere of dormancy—though the few people who were there in the little place wore smiles, red noses, and cheerful laughs. They saw some kids putting ornaments on the trees, or throwing snowballs at each other, and though there was longing in the sibling's eyes, neither felt the urge to join them.
As they passed an old church, notes to a song fluttered out into the winter air, as they often do for lonely children on Christmas Eves.
It took a moment for Oswald to realize his sister wasn't following him. He turned to see her staring up at the church's big oak doors, as if tied there by the song.
"Lacie?" he asked, running up beside her.
She stared, her red eyes shimmering like the snow itself, a smile tickling her lips.
Without warning, she grabbed his hand, and dragged him up the steps. But when she reached out towards the doors to open them, Oswald pulled her back.
"Let's go in!" Lacie smiled, joining his game of tug of war.
"We can't!"
"Why not, silly?"
Oswald paused, looking up at the the stones and symbols, thinking hard.
"Well I'm going inside," determination set in to her expression, "If you want to sit outside like a loser you can," she stuck her tongue out, then grinned and waved, heaving open the doors with all her might.
Music spilled out of the cracks.
She was right; it was beautiful, tempting, almost intoxicating.
As long as he could remember, she had always been enchanting by music.
And in truth, when she herself sang her lullabies and songs, he found them, her voice, quite lovely.
"Wait!" he called as she left him out in the cold.
She didn't wait.
The door closed with a large bang, sending puffs of loose flakes his way.
He stood there for a moment. Then, his brows set, his arms crossed, Oswald plopped down on the stone steps, back to the doors, incensed by her recklessness, and disregard for his on wishes. There was nothing wrong with sitting and listening to a choir singing, but there were times for such things, time they surely didn't have. They had to keep going.
She always did things like this; running off without his say-so.
Inside, the world was a dream in white and gold. The glass sent colorful stained patterns onto the floorboards, wreaths and evergreen boughs lined the pews and pedestals, candles shone from the chandeliers and there were even some in an advent wreath at the front. The pretty music was coming from a small circle of women at the front of the church; the notes fluttered like butterflies let loose into the vaulted ceiling of the place, coming down to land on her ears. Lacie's eyes widened, a smile breaking out across her face.
There were a few other people there, praying, alone, together, a pastor studying the scriptures, another kid, trying to get some relief from the cold.
"Hello little one!" a man's voice came from her side. He was wearing long white robes that told her he worked at the church. "And what might you be doing here?"
"I just heard the pretty music and thought I'd stop by to listen!" she beamed.
"Well we're happy to have you." He smiled back. "Would you care to sit?"
Lacie nodded, shimmying into a pew at the back.
The man went about his own business, as she sat there for a little while, watching the music float by. She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there—(Oswald still shivered in the cold outside, but refused to enter on principal)—but someone who was sitting a few pews up stood to leave. Upon passing her, he turned, the gentle smile, transforming into something akin to fear, or disgust.
"Hello sir!" Lacie kicked her feet back and forth.
Without response, he sped his pace, hurrying out.
I wonder what his problem is, Lacie mused, returning to the music.
Soon enough, as the light outside continued to fade, another person turned to leave, and when she saw her, her expression morphed too.
This time the man who had spoke to Lacie earlier came up beside her.
"Excuse me, but may I ask whatever the matter is?"
"A…" her voice was quiet, shaking, but passionate enough to hear, "A child of Ill-Omen!"
She pointed an accusing finger and Lacie, as if her existence was a crime.
The proclamation ran its course through the space, and set an end to all the pretty music.
Oh. This again.
Everyone turned upon the girl in the last pew; standing on their tiptoes to get a good look at her, recoiling, or trying to exit unnoticed.
She hopped up off the pew, standing tall, that defiance reappearing later in the show.
"My name's Lacie," she put a hand on her chest. "And I'd thank you to call me by it."
Outside, Oswald saw the first person leave in a hurry, then as others filed out, he heard them mutter with icy breath A Child of Ill-Omen.
He stood up quickly, looking back in horror towards the church. All grievance forgotten.
What if they were hurting her? What if they tried to take her away from him? What if…What if…
He burst through the doors, his eyes darting across the room until he found his sister standing at the back, the rest maintaining a healthy distance from her, whispering things about misfortune, ill omen, eyes, and the color red.
He marched up to his sister—"Come on, Lacie"—took her hand in his, in the same way she had before, and tried to pull her away from the place.
"But Nii-sama…" she protested softly.
She always thought she could change their minds. That people like that wouldn't always be filled with hate, with fear.
"We're leaving." His voice may have been a child's, but his tone held the finality of an adult's.
They continued to whisper.
He hated to hear those cursed words.
And with that hatred turning cold fingers into fists, he turned towards the crowd, cursing them in return,
"She's not an Ill-Omen. She's my sister."
"Come on, Lottie, let's make snow angels!" Lily giggled.
The older woman grinned back, and, without a moment's thought, flumped back into the snow.
The child did the same, both waving their arms and legs, creating wings for themselves out of the cold. Fang and Dug stopped and turned, shocked at the childishness of their comrades, then they smiled at each other, trying not to laugh.
"Come on, it's fun!"
"I think we'll—" Fang began, but Dug's body thudding against the ground interrupted him.
Fang rolled his eyes, laughing before he fell beside Lily.
As they lay there in the snow, laughing, watching the flakes fall from the navy sky, perfectly peaceful, perfectly happy, Lottie heard something.
"What is it?" Fang asked when he saw her sit up.
She paused, listening.
Light notes to drifted to her ears. It was a sad song, sung by a deep voice—as if he the notes themselves were trying to reach heaven, but they were pulled back to earth by the depth of his voice.
It was coming from the church on the grounds. It was a Christmas song, an old one, about bells and hope and stars and children.
She stood—careful to avoid messing up her snow creation—before rushing towards it, as if a string was connected her to the words.
"Hey, Lottie!" Lily called.
She pranced up the steps, pressing her ear to the cracked oak doors.
Could it be?
No, surely he wouldn't. Surely she wasn't hearing this, hearing him. Surely this wasn't what she thought.
It was Glen's voice.
There were rumors that their master could sing, but, ever the strong and silent type, he would never prove or deny any such allegations. Maybe he didn't think it was worth his time (as they often found was the case with him and most fun things) maybe he was embarrassed to do it front of people, especially his servants—(it was, however, hard to think of Glen embarrassed)—maybe there was some other reason, like it reminded him of something long ago, and he didn't want to talk about it…
She placed her hand on it.
Should she go in?
As long as she didn't, nothing would prove her wrong, would prove that it was him.
Because surely it wasn't him.
And if it was, he probably didn't want her coming in and interrupting him. He might yell at her, or punish her.
They never intended on telling Glen, but there were a few Christmas carols they practiced every year—more like Lily made them practice, (though they grew to quite enjoy it)—just for a little something to keep them going during the season. And the song floating through the door just so happened to be one they had practiced.
She took a deep breath.
Could it be?
Could she? Could she find the strength?
Dare she?
She let it out in the form of harmony, pouring from her own lips, the source of the music coming from both inside and out now.
A snowball fight had broken out behind her, and their shenanigans came to a halt at the sound of her voice.
The voice inside stopped too.
She should have guessed as much.
She took another breath, her heart pounding, but she didn't stop.
As she continued, somehow, the voice inside decided to continue, softer now.
If she moved forward—steps to the song, steps in the snow—what would he do? Would he run off like some scared animal? Should she stay out here for the entirety of the tune, never proving or denying her suspicions?
There was nothing left to do.
Her harmony wasn't any good out here.
On a particularly long note, she pushed open the doors, stepping in on her little red heels.
Upon seeing her, he shot up.
The singer was, in fact, Glen. All black clothes and hair, his cheeks bright red—(she'd never seen him so embarrassed before. But she probably didn't look much different).
Before they could decide to stop or continue the song, before he could bolt, or she could pull him back, Lily ran in through the door, Fang and Dug at her heels.
"Hey! Whjya stop?" she demanded.
They stared at each other, eyes wide.
Maybe he just didn't think anyone wanted to listen.
She nodded at Lily, and started at the place they had left off.
Dug came in next, his voice even deeper than Glen's, (and not nearly so melodic), still a welcome change to his usual silence. Lily was a bit unpracticed, but the high notes fell from her tongue. Fang next, admiration is his eyes as they turned to Lottie, who couldn't help but smile.
Glen looked at the ground, and didn't resume.
Lily stopped, puffing her cheeks in exasperation. She scuttled up to her master, pulling on his cloak.
"Lily!" Lottie stopped too, running up to grab her, scoop her up, and stop her (causing Fang and Dug to stop as well) "You can't talk to Glen-sama that way!" she shout-whispered.
"But he's not singing!"
"He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to."
There was a moment. Then—
"It's alright," the words were dull and held the usual lack of emotion, still they were the last thing she expected to hear.
She looked up, sure her shock was written all over her face.
Fang took Lily from her, and placed her on his shoulders as the two of them started again.
Charlotte and Dug joined quickly, but this time Glen's voice joined theirs.
It made her want to cry, to hear him singing. All of them, together, like a family, and him…but, like all moments of paradise, the song had to come to an end.
And with the last note, Glen pulled his cloak close, and marched out, leaving nothing but cold wind in his wake.
They didn't know that was a song that had once pulled Lacie, out of the cold, and that he was singing to remember her. They didn't even know if he enjoyed singing with them, or if he hated every second. They didn't know if he felt the same way they did.
But what they did know, was that it would never happen again.