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This story is about a young child. We won't consider this child a member of either sex. And what's more, as the story progresses, we won't be considering it human. This particular event took place a long time ago, on Christmas Eve. The child was with its family, its mother and sibling. Maybe the younger sibling was sitting in the child's home, playing on the floor. The sibling's name might have been Charlie, or Charlotte. The truth was, the child we will be talking about today had no recollection of what its sibling looked like. But it did recollect this day. It did recollect the present it got from its mother, Monica. Or was that Monique? Mona, maybe. It was presented to the child in a colorful box, wrapped in decorative paper with a red candy cane pattern. The young child remembered the bright smile on the mother's face as she presented her child with a present. She looked so happy, and kept spinning around the room, reaching her arms out to the heavens. A Christmas song played on the antique wooden radio tucked on a bookshelf just above the brick fireplace. The child remembered the sound coming from it, as it tore up the package excitedly.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…

The child caught a glimpse of a card glued on the wrapping paper. 'Merry Christmas, my dear L!' it said.

L…

The child's name started with an L. Maybe it was Lisa. It could've been Louis. It could have been Laszlo, Louise, Laura and everything in between. Something made the child forget its own name. Maybe it was from all the food mother had given it. Its mother's cooking had a strange affect on it. All those lovingly prepared dishes had a special spice sprinkled on top.

This was a spice mother used in all her dishes, from mashed potatoes and spinach to warm blueberry pies. Whenever the child asked her about the spice, she would dotingly explain that it was love in a powdered form.

Love in a powdered form…

That was funny.

Some doctors insisted on calling it Valium.

The child was under its influence even as it was opening the package. Its mother danced around the warm, glowing room. She spread her arms out and danced around the infant playing happily on the floor.

"Everything here is beautiful…" she would say, before fixing a slightly crooked golden ornament on their large Christmas tree, decorated with many glowing candles, fixed up on the branches with wax. The mother loved the flame they emitted; the fire comforted her.

She would dance around the apartment, singing happily. She was also keen on eating the spice she used to make her children's meals. She would eat a lot more than they would, though. The spice never bothered her; if anything, she was a lot calmer than before. She was a lot happier than before she moved in with her children into this cozy apartment. And, she was a lot more at ease than when her husband died in a car crash, earlier this spring.

What her eldest child saw in that box that day changed its life forever. It was the most wonderfully magical thing the child has ever laid eyes upon. It was so adorably amazing; a simple Baloonicorn. It came in a box, marked "The Municipal Ombudsman of-"

Of…

Though the child couldn't remember it now, it was of some magical fairytale land. The child rummaged through the box and found a small deflated masterpiece. Immediately, the child popped the small rubber cap open and began blowing it up, as its mother danced around the room, the small infant in her arms. The song was still playing on the radio.

With every Christmas card I write…

The Baloonicorn was inflated quickly. It floated up in the air and began flying around the child, much to its amusement. It did a spin around the Christmas tree, tussling the decorations and flying incredibly close to the candles. It flew around the child's mother, making her dress twirl. She didn't seem to notice.

Suddenly, the Baloonicorn flew over the child and looked at it. The child could see its pet clearly; the pink surface of the inflated balloon unicorn, its creamy white horn and small black eyes. It spoke to L.

"You know what? I really like those candles on the Christmas tree."

The child nodded. It really liked those, too. Without thinking, the child stood up and walked over to the green, highly flammable Christmas ornament. The Baloonicorn floated above it. The warm flames from the candles made the room look golden and gleaming.

"Those candles make the room look so pretty…"

The child grasped one warm wax candle, bringing it closer to it. L ran one finger through the rising flame but felt nothing. It was mesmerized by the beauty of fire. The fascination with it was unhealthy, unnatural, unearthly…

Almost inhuman.

"It would be a shame if only the tree looked so pretty. You know what?" Baloonicorn squealed; "If you want, this entire house could be pretty. So very pretty…"

"So very gosh darn pretty…"

It took one movement, one twitch towards the tree, and it was already ablaze. The warm, yellowish flame first attacked the base of the tree, and soon moved up to the big shining star on top. The child looked at the fire, engulfing the wood and letting out a pleasant smell of charcoal. The playful, squiggling flames soon caught the taupe curtains and spread across the room. The figure consisting of a burning Christmas tree and a pair of silk curtains looked like an angel. The child smiled happily, Baloonicorn floating by the child's side. It seemed like its mother paid no interest to what was happening.

"Everything here is beautiful!" she exclaimed once again, placing her younger child on the floor. She hugged her arms and closed her eyes, feeling comfortably warm. She didn't see the flames creeping towards the wooden radio right behind her.

May your days be merry and bright,
And may all your Christmases be white…

The soothing voice dropped down significantly as the fire feasted on the wooden base. It was spreading high and wide, capturing everything in its sight. The child stared at it, mesmerized. It never knew how powerful flames could be.

The mother's dress caught fire, but she was too numb to feel a thing. Her child didn't warn her, for it was too captivated by the flaming hot force that circled around it. It was already burning down some furniture, a television set, and the child's siblings.

Oh, that's right. There were two siblings. Charlie and Charlotte. They were the child's younger twin siblings.

They burned like wooden dolls.

The mother didn't seem to notice her children's festive clothes and innocent faces being burnt to unrecognizable ashes. She was comfortably numb, and didn't let out a sound even when the flames caught her long, flowing hair. The flames burnt her scalp, and her face melted in front of her child's very eyes.

It was eerie.

It was frightening.

It was so remarkably beautiful.

"Everything here is beautiful!" she said in a mild tone, just before she hit the ground, clutching the burnt remains of her cheeks. Her face seemed to melt, seep down her neck and uncover the tender crimson muscle and charred tissue of her once beautiful face. Her eyes were red, bitten by the dense smoke whipping through the room. The child stared.

The child smiled.

Just ten minutes later, the child found itself sitting on the cold snowy pavement. It held its deflated Baloonicorn in its small, charred arms. It couldn't go back to its burned apartment, so it was forced to stay on the cold pavement until morning. Fire was remarkable, but it would soon evaporate and only leave ashes behind. The cold would stay longer.

And how very cold it was. The child would never forget it.

Fire had a comfortable warmth, a friendly color that made the child jump for joy. There was nothing beautiful or fascinating about the freezing cold grayish sludge the child was sitting on. It failed to see how people might enjoy seeing this repulsive festive slush every year. The child shivered and wringed its charred hands to keep warm. It wanted fire; it needed fire. Even though the flames that caught it left their marks, the child wanted them back. The child was shivering on the cold pavement. A group of carolers came up to it, and soon fled in terror, seeing its disfigured face. The young child didn't care about them. It desperately needed something to keep it warm.

A car whooshed past the child, across a small puddle of sludge and melt snow. The icy cold water splashed the child. It screamed painfully. The water was burning it, weighing its clothes down. It restrained the child. The evil, evil water wasn't as free and liberating as the colorful, joyous fire was. The child sobbed quietly. Its mouth arched downwards, and its small eyes filled themselves with tears. The salty, burning water ran down its cheeks, and the child found this more sickening than anything. The mere thought of having water drip out of its eyes…

Why was it able to create something it hated so much?

Not even its beloved Baloonicorn's pleasant smile could comfort the child. The already grotesque grimace was now turning blue with frostbite. The child sat there for hours, not moving an inch. It wanted to leave, but had nowhere to go.

The child couldn't have a home without fire, but in the end, it was fire that took away its home.

At the break of dawn, a Good Samaritan couple found the child laying in the sludge, its clothes soaking wet and a deflated balloon grasped tightly in its frostbitten hands. Its face was bloated and blue, as if it had been whipped by the unforgiving snow. They cared not for the child's appearance; they only cared for its safety. They took it home with them, dragging its cold, stiff body through the heavily decorated streets. Through the foggy unconsciousness, the child could hear Christmas carols. They mocked it.

When it finally woke up, the child found itself in a small, cozy home. It was heated, and the child immediately felt better. The warmth was coming from the couple's brick fireplace. The child observed the squiggly, happy flames before it came up to the fire. It put its inflatable toy by its side and brought its palms closer to the flames. It didn't care whether this was his true home or not.

Home was where the fire was.

After the Pyro had told its tale, only disturbing to it because of the cold it had to endure, the group was left slightly nervous.

"Holy. Shit!" said the Scout after a couple of seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"Sorry I asked."

"Eye knew the wee firebug woz disturbed, but I dinnoe 'ow mooch," the Demoman exclaimed and hastily opened another bottle of Scrumpy.

The Pyro shrugged and sat on the floor, gazing into the distance. The RED team members listened to the deafening silence of their base, occasionally looking through the window. The surface of the desert was dry and lifeless.

Almost as if it had been scorched.

"Ah got you fellers a story," said the Engineer, half anxious to break the silence and half excited to tell his tale. The group looked over to the Texan, feeling relieved that this day wouldn't end on that ghastly story they had just heard.

"Please tell," Heavy said, looking at the firebug scoot over to the Texan. In all honesty, he didn't want that… thing near him.

"Wot's it about?" Sniper asked from the comfort of his seat.

"Well, I reckon a fine fam'ly story might bring the mood up a bit. There's also a bit about me almost clobberin' mah son-in-law to death," the Texan said with a smile.

"As long as it's cheery," Scout said, sitting up straight. They all turned their heads to the one person always skeptical of listening to these tales. The Spy didn't let out a snappy this time. He fidgeted around his cigarette case, flicking the small silver lighter with his thumb. He noticed his teammates looking at him.

"Well? Any comment, crouton?" Soldier sneered.

"As long as eet gets my mind off the 'orrors I 'ave 'eard, I'm fine with ze laborer's story." With that, the Spy took a long drag on his cigarette, which seemed to calm his jittery nerves. As he let out a small puff, he found himself in a seeming state of relaxation. But this time it was different. The tale he had just heard made more of an impact on him then he thought. As he was exhaling, letting out a grey gust of nicotine and tar, he heard something in the distance, which might have been relaxing, if the Spy knew where the sound was coming from. The noise was familiar, hair-raisingly so.

Pré-Far... beyond the fields... get him in the back next time... go on now...
Make a wish, frère .

The same sentence, sounding like a cheery tune, echoed through his head. The Spy blinked heavily, and the eerie voice disappeared into nothingness. This only agitated him more, and he turned to the Engineer, eager to get his mind off the strange and confusing audile mirage. He kept his calm expression, but his heart was now beating wildly, and it didn't stop even after the Engineer cleared his throat to start his tale.

"Alrightie, then," Engineer clasped his arms together, an action he always did before telling a story to his younger daughter. "Now, this happened not too far back. Last year, when we all did get our Christmas leave, I went to visit mah family in Bee Cave. It started normally. The fam'ly came 'round, my wife was cookin' up a storm… Ya know, regular stuff." The Engineer looked down to the floor with a small, ironic smile.

"I had no idea that it would later turn into the worst Christmas of mah life."