The reason we use clichés in media is that, more often than not, they reflect the patterns we see in our lives. Elkay was certain of this, as she was to some degree a fictional character, and she was also attempting to survive the minefield known as "Christmas with family", at present: a situation which was all too real. This Christmas was particularly harrowing, as it marked the end of an especially rough year. Not only had she lost someone very close to her, but she had revisited a relationship that she never expected to deal with again.

It wasn't so much that Elkay was against having a father, but things worked out so much better when he was absent. Her mother was overbearing at the worst of times- admittedly, her abuse could be avoided by simply ignoring her- but she was more than eager to stir up trouble whenever her husband (ex-husband, maybe) was within thirty paces. How they had ever fallen in love, if they had, was a mystery . . . not that the why of the situation mattered all that much, when the end result was a three-way feud between dragons.

There was no respite nor means of permanent escape from this hell. Perhaps Elkay had somewhat brought it upon herself by shunning the friends and family who would have been significantly less abusive, leaving her with limited options as far as invitations were concerned. Above all, she did not want to spend the holidays alone, and she knew that if she miraculously found a way to escape this situation, she wouldn't be any happier. She thought about all the people who were having a heartwarming, Hallmark-worthy Christmas and felt a kind of nonspecific jealousy, which evolved into rage. This was the one time of year that people were supposed to put aside their differences and immerse themselves in a genuine, uncynical atmosphere. Of course, Christmas had become a shallow, corporate holiday that fed into capitalist ideals under the guise of "caring", but to put it bluntly, Elkay did care. She so much wanted to partake in the stupid traditions of the season, spending time with people who would be forced to put up with her whether they wanted to or not, and she would be kind to them in turn, she knew, because she really needed an excuse to create a temporary blank slate and enjoy herself for once. She was well aware that this was the emotional equivalent of horse-blinders, but she was sick and tired of acting morally superior because she had the gall to call out what people enjoyed. It was in her nature to look for the puppet strings, and in finding them, destroy the illusion of a spectacle, but she only ended up being unhappy when she did. Her mind was perhaps enriched by this pursuit, but it leeched its power from her heart, which might be beyond recovery at this point. Still, she vowed that she would let herself be ignorant for once if it meant that she could enjoy something unconditionally, because most people were incapable of overcoming their bare emotions, and if she pretended that this was the case for her as well, she'd fit in . . . for a little while.

The only problem with her plan was that her parents had not taken the same pledge, and were tearing into each other no less aggressively than any other day. She could hear them squabbling in the next room over, and when she opened the door to see if anything had progressed, she cringed at the sheer volume of their voices.

"-COMPLETELY UNREASONABLE!"

"THIS, COMING FROM THE WOMAN WHO TRIED TO PARENT HER DAUGHTER THROUGH A CONVOLUTED PLOT!"

"YOU DID THE EXACT SAME THING! YOU MESSED HER UP EVEN MORE!"

Elkay folded her ears, visibly upset by the remark.

"I'm right here."

"Yeah, but it's not like this is news to you," her father snorted, "You said it yourself: there's something deeply wrong with you."

"Can we maybe not talk about this on Christmas Eve?" she pleaded.

Her mother rolled her eyes.

"Here she goes, playing the pity card."

"It's not the pity card. I just want to have a nice Christmas."

"Why? It's not even an Asterparan holiday. If you want to celebrate some stupid human event, go find the Jurassic Park characters."

"None of them will take me."

"Obviously. It's your own fault, you know."

"I know. There's no need to go into de-"

"I mean, you fucked up their lives pretty badly. Half of them are dinosaurs, and the other half are dead."

"Actually, more than half are dinosaurs and only a few are dead," she whispered.

Her father waved his paw dismissively.

"Doesn't matter. Your mother is right. There's a reason they don't like you."

"There's a reason why everyone doesn't like me, but on Christmas-"

"First of all, that should be 'a reason why no one likes me', and second, that's not true."

Her ears perked up.

"Really?"

"Of course. There's nothing special about Christmas."

She sighed.

"Oh. I thought maybe you'd at least try to make it special, considering I ask very little of you."

"Don't give me that shit. We owe you nothing. We raised you."

"And look how I turned out."

Her mother sneered.

"That was your own fault. You made bad choices. If you had listened to us-"

"You didn't exactly make it easy to listen, though, did you?" Elkay snapped, "All I wanted was a little support. You never made a smidgeon of effort to understand me."

"You don't even understand yourself!"

"But I try. I try to understand you, too, but I keep coming to the conclusion that you hate me. I know this isn't true, since you've told me otherwise, but why can't we be a family?"

"Maybe because you prefer living with your head buried in a useless book," her mother remarked icily, "You seem to put an awful lot of effort into writing about people who ultimately can't return your affection."

Elkay went rigid.

"You're reading too deep into things."

"What?"

She began to twitch uncontrollably.

"If you're talking about what I think you're talking about, I know it's impossible, okay? I never believed it would work, because it's not meant to be, but I can still think about him every now and then, can't I? It doesn't hurt anyone."

Her parents exchanged a look. After receiving an encouraging (violent) shove, her father folded his paws calmly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but it sounds like something I don't wanna get into."

Elkay snuffed.

"Good, because I haven't told a soul. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you two first, and I find that sad."

"So, you're going to be one of those children who keeps secrets from her parents?" her father chuckled.

"I guess you'll have to wait and see, since you clearly haven't been around long enough to know."

She slithered past him as he tried to come up with a retort. He shook his head and wheeled around, giving up on the argument.

"Where are you going?"

Elkay huffed, expelling a cloud of soot.

"Out. Merry Christmas, by the way."

And she slammed the door.

Perhaps she had been a bit harsh, but then again, her parents had been downright monsters. They may be right about many things, but in general, they were as messed up as she was. Failure was genetic, she supposed.

In order to avoid the glowing windows that warmed the night with their much happier celebrations, Elkay took off and increased her altitude greatly, sailing through a starry sky on leather wings. She slowed to a stop near a dark, unpopulated tower, which used to be the office of her granddaughter. Fluttering her wings daintily, she perched herself on the windowsill and slunk through, crossing the glass like it wasn't even there. Once inside, she opened the bottom drawer of an old desk and pulled out a snowglobe. After placing it on the table, she used her tail to set up a workspace. All she really needed was a pen and paper, but she turned on a desk lamp and pointed it at the snowglobe so that she wouldn't miss a single detail.

Trapped inside the ornament was an entire world, filled with the essences of people she knew. If there was one means of escape from this nightmarish evening, it was contained in this relic.

Wiping away a tear that had fallen on the spherical glass, she picked up her pen and began to write.