My Christmas tree is rather small. Not that I care; the smaller the tree the more of it can be slathered with lights and pretty things.


She sits on the edge of her couch, absentmindedly sipping away at her once boiling cup of tea. She has recently acquired a taste for black tea. It is somewhat settling and pleasant.

She sighs into her tea cup, her hot breath painting the sides with steam for a few mere milliseconds. Pleasant should be here. She shoves the thought away without a moment's hesitation and sips from her cup, yet again.

She frowns at the tree, for there is something missing, but she can't peg it for her life.

A few hundred years has passed and the skeleton still refuse to put up a Christmas tree with her.

A small and almost silent rapping against the door echoes. Her full red lips pull at the corners.

She sets down the tea cup on the perfectly matching saucer with a slight rattle, and then scolds herself for it. No reason to get worked up. She tells herself.

The door is pulled open and a rather large draught forces its way inside.

"Pleasant," She greets, admiring the skeleton detective.

"Hello, Valkyrie," He replies with joy and pulls a star from behind his back. A tree topped.

She almost smacks herself for not seeing something so obvious.


I can't fathom why anyone wouldn't love black tea.