A/N (AKA Obligatory Self-Criticism): This has like no conclusion; it just sort of ends. And I wish it was longer, but I like it otherwise.
Naturally, it's for Chalcy's Christmas Challenge. :D
-x-
She still puts his shoes out.
They'd discussed it fleetingly, and it was decided - no shoes this year. There were no children left in their house - God, maybe in their entire town - and what would they do come Christmas morning when they saw the shoes sitting empty in front of the door, when, inevitably, Father Christmas didn't come to fill them with sweets?
But it had seemed too much like destiny, the way the left one had tumbled out of the closet.
And it was odd, how they still smelled of him, how the laces were frayed at the ends, how big they were!
Vividly, she could remember being young herself, and tying his shoes, sending him off with Wendla Bergmann, Melchior Gabor, and Ilse Neumann, and chiding him for coming home covered in dirt, and never really meaning it.
She can remember telling him off for peeking behind the doors of the advent calendars and watching his tiny fingers carefully as he lit the advent wreath. She remembers admiring the flames reflecting in his young eyes and wondering how it was possible to love something so much.
-x-
A/N: Reviews = good karma. And who doesn't want good karma on Christmas?