Hello to all my fellow readers. This will be the last of my face you will probably see for awhile.

You see, family emergencies have arisen, and until things calm down at this end, I will not be updating anything whatsoever. I apologize for any grievances, but that's how the world works. And though you rarely see my face anyway, I thought I would offer up my explanation early (if you haven't checked my bio). Work is coming on the sequel to New Ties Created, don't you worry.

And now, about this story. This is a short I wrote for my English class back in May of this year (I got an A- on it). I decided to wait until Christmas Eve to publish it instead of poating it in may, as now is definitely more appropriate. Plus, I've had seven months to revise this and make it better than the one I gave to my teacher. I think you'll enjoy it.

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Valean Christmas Eve

This had to be perfect.

He wanted things just right this night. The night he was hoping to proclaim his love to a girl he had fallen deeply in love with. It was Christmas Eve, and he saw no better night than tonight to tell her the way he felt about her. What with a nice dinner, a warm, crackling fire, and the usual cheery and festive atmosphere that came with this time of year, anyway.

The two crimson candles still needed to be lit, he noticed. Walking over to the hearth, he picked up a match. If Garet were here, lighting these candles would have been no problem. But since he wasn't able to tap Fire's power as his friend Garet was able to, he needed to make do with what he had.

He struck the match, and it made that nice hissing sound as the sulfur was burnt away, and a small flame rested on the end of the stick. He held the flame to the tip of the wax-coated wick. After the small layer of wax melted away from the wick, it ignited, and a larger flame than was on the end of his match stick appeared, dancing around the top of the candle, illuminating the darkened room slightly.

He did the same to the other candle, and the room grew even brighter. The light from the candles shined on Isaac's gold, spiky, messy hair, making it seem as though his head were glowing with a flickering light. They lit up the two place settings at the old oak table whittled by his father.

The table was polished, making it appear slightly darker than it really was. The edges were rough and black, also coated with polish, giving the table the air that it had been found as is right in the outlying woods surrounding Vale. The legs were also oak, though hardly any creativity had gone into them other than rounding them to look halfway decent next to the splendid tabletop. It had been quite a task moving that table around every now and then. Oak is very heavy, and Isaac usually required Garet's help in moving it.

Tonight however, everything was fine. The tabletop was adorned with a green linen tablecloth made by his mother many, many years ago. The napkins were red, giving the table the festive look he had intended. In addition, he had put a self-constructed wreath of evergreen sprigs and needles around the candle, and set little red berries in it as well. His hope was that it would resemble holly, as he didn't have any real holly with him to use. But he thought this would work. It was creative and charming enough in its own way.

Under normal circumstances, he would be concerned that the wreath was a fire hazard right next to the candles, but he wasn't. Tonight was too important to fret over such trivial things as that when he could easily smother it with his mom's tablecloth (albeit he would have to suffer the wrath of an angry Dora if the tablecloth turned black for any reason). Nervously, Isaac focused his attention on his attire.

Instead of his usual armor, yellow scarf and tunic, he was wearing more dressy, comfortable clothing now. He was dressed in a white button dress shirt, which was a bit too short for him (the button cuffs being the only thing keeping his hands from disappearing up the sleeves) and black, semi-dressy pants. A blue bow-tie was just barely visible underneath his neck and the collar of his shirt. It tilted to the right somewhat; it was the only feature on him that seemed out of place. He wore black dress shoes as well, recently polished and glinting from the candlelight. His boots had been voted down; they didn't seem to fit with the rest of his outfit.

Dinner was just about ready. His mouth was watering slightly at the smells of the seasoned chicken, homemade bread, and garlic mashed potatoes, all of which was his own cooking. He had been preparing it for hours, dicing and boiling potatoes, sprinkling lemon juice, herbs and other seasonings over the chicken, and making and baking the bread. After all the sweat in that, Isaac really hoped it turned out decent.

His mother had helped him figure out how to make all this. He was never quite the master chef, to put it nicely, but he wanted to at least learn how to make his mother's chicken, bread, and potatoes, especially for his guest. Smiling, she had instructed him how to do everything, how to mix this and where to sprinkle that. It turned out to be a very good Thanksgiving dinner. And, if he did say so himself, tonight's smelled even better.

Resting in a small wicker basket that his mother used to put bread slices in was a bottle of red rose wine, resting in a pile of ice. His mother normally disapproved of him drinking alcohol in any form, saying that he was still too young yet. Isaac disapproved of her rationale profoundly, but less so now, seeing as she had agreed that she could make an exception for tonight.

Making sure that everything was set to go, he went into the living room to check the fire that was blazing heartily in the large, brick fireplace. Though it would have looked fine to anyone else who stepped into the room, Isaac the Nervous Perfectionist thought it looked too small. He added another large piece of wood to the fire; a shower of sparks and much crackling was heard when the log hit the already-burning, glowing embers.

Just after Isaac finished prodding the fire, a dinging sound could be heard from the kitchen, indicating that the food was done. Starting to feel like an Aussie jackrabbit, moving back and forth from room to room, he dropped the poker. Isaac hurried into the kitchen and took the seasoned chicken out from the stone oven. For decoration, earlier Isaac had picked off two additional very small sprigs of evergreen tree, which he now stuck into the center of the chicken.

Setting the chicken on top of the oven to cool next to the bread, he turned off the oven. He looked around at nothing in particular, mentally running over his list of things to do. Finally, he appeared to be satisfied. He went back into the living room and sat in the big easy chair, once used by his father, who had passed away three years ago, and now used by him.

He loved this house. It had so many quaint things about it that he still didn't know them all. The walls were made out of pine, polished by his father when he had felt bored and had nothing to do during the fall when it was pouring outside and he couldn't work. The ceiling was made of mahogany, however. His father had really cared about their home, and he had spent the better part of the year trying to make it just a little more comfortable. Embroidered blankets by Dora and other ladies of the town hung on the walls like castle tapestries, next to the various decorative vases and plants. Few photos hung on the wall; photography was expensive in Vale.

Isaac also liked that fact that it was small and cozy. It made him relax a little, especially his father's old faded leather easy chair. Lost in his thoughts, and amazingly forgetting about his nervousness for a minute, he at first failed to hear the soft rapping on his door. Brought back to reality with an undesirable jolt, he got up and slowly pulled the door open. There she stood.

Mia was of equal age as Isaac, but her body was much thinner than his. She looked hardly different then when Isaac last saw her, since she and Isaac had not had a chance to contact each other since going to their separate hometowns. Her skin was full of color and her dark, blue hair was blowing around, but that was because of the slight wind and blowing snow outside. Her face was full, perfect in Isaac's mind. But anything about her was perfect to him as well.

It actually was snowing out, something quite rare for his hometown, Vale. The surrounding mountains usually blocked most cold weather and clouds, which was why Vale had such hot summers. Isaac was happy for the change though. In fact, five or six inches of snow lay blanketed on the ground, with large, white snowflakes falling from the clouds to add to the accumulated snow. It certainly fit the occasion.

Mia was wearing a thick fur coat to block herself from the cold, and brown, thin leather gloves. Her cheeks were rosy from the wind and snow. Small earrings adorned her, sparkling in the glimmer of the fire in the background. She looked like she was quite chilly.

"I'm glad you came," was all Isaac said, smiling and taking her hand as she stepped inside.

"It smells wonderful in here," said Mia, sniffing the air and taking off her coat and gloves.

Mia, though usually seen in blue and purple garments to match her element, was wearing a red satin dress tonight and matching high-heels. Though Isaac had never seen her in any type of fancy dress in his life, let alone a red one, he thought she looked absolutely stunning in that dress. Trying not to stare too much, he turned toward the kitchen.

"I'm hoping you'll enjoy dinner tonight," said Isaac as he led her to the kitchen. He added jovially, "but we'll have to eat it now before it gets cold."

Miaa nodded. "Don't worry. I made sure not to eat all day, so I'm starving anyway."

Isaac sat her down at one end of the square table, and set the mashed potatoes, the loaf of bread, and the seasoned chicken carefully on the table. Mia gasped slightly.

"Isaac . . ." she said, stunned.

"What?" he asked, nervously.

"Where did you learn how to cook like this?" she said. "It looks almost too good to eat."

Isaac smiled. "I cheated a little."

A bemused expression came over Mia's face. "How can you 'cheat' at cooking?"

"My mom helped me."

"Do you think I was self-taught when I made us all those good dinners after we met?" asked Mia, smiling as she referred to the many times when she had bailed the guys out of not eating anything by putting something together from scratch. "Isaac, you give me more credit than I deserve. My mom and dad are very good cooks, and they've taught me everything I know."

Isaac nodded, and motioned for Mia to start taking what she wanted. She took large portions of everything, and Isaac helped himself to what was left. The bread was sliced, and he took a piece and bit into it. Plain, he thought it tasted quite good. It would probably taste better with butter. He got up and retrieved some from a cupboard above the oven, and set it on the table. Making sure of everything unnecessarily, he sat down again.

"How is it?" he asked tentatively.

"Oh Isaac!" she said, after she had tried a piece of the chicken. "It's better than I could have ever made it. Thank you so much."

Isaac nodded, not showing the rush of pride that was welling up inside him. "Would you like some wine to go with that?" he asked.

"That would be great," she said, with a mouthful of garlic mashed potatoes.

Isaac got up once again and grabbed the basket with the iced wine in it, and the two champagne glasses he had set next to it. Setting it all on the table, he uncorked the bottle of wine and poured Jenna a half full glass, and handed it to her.

He knew the night was going too well so far.

"Oops," said Isaac, cursing himself mentally as he started looking for a towel to clean the wine he spilled on the tablecloth, seeping in a fan-shaped pattern on the green linen. "I'm really sorry about this." On the plus side, he had managed to knock it over so that it spilled toward him rather Mia. "That's okay," she said, smiling at his haste to clean it up. 'I know he's in love with me,' she thought. 'I can tell by the way he acts around me. But I'm not going to tell him my feelings for him until he expresses his for me. It's his turn to ask, not mine.'

Isaac poured her a new glass, and this time managed to set it down in front of her without dropping it. Then, he carefully poured his own glass, and started to eat.

It was delicious, even from the cook's point of view. They let none of it go to waste, eating every last bit of it. The mashed potatoes were especially good; they ran out the fastest. By the time they were done, the candles were almost gone, and the lines of wax trailing down the candles were pooling into a lake at the base of the candleholder.

"Well, that crackling fire is calling to me," said Mia, smiling warmly at Isaac as she got up from the table. "Want to join me?"

"Of course," said Isaac. "I can clear things away later."

"I'll help you if you like," said Mia. "You made the meal."

"That's right, and I'll finish by doing the dishes," said Isaac firmly. "This night is for you, and you shouldn't have to do any work."

"You're too kind," she laughed.

Mia went into the living room and sat down on the couch in front of the fire. She took off her heels and rested her feet on the coffee table in front of the couch. Her legs were still slightly cold from being outside for awhile. Isaac followed and sat next to her on her right side. They sat there for a minute, just staring at the dancing, orange flames.

"Why am I here?" asked Mia.

"Pardon?" Isaac said, jerking out of a trance.

"Why am I here?" Mia repeated. "Here, at your house. Why have you invited me here?"

Isaac thought fast. "We haven't seen any of each other since we got home. Because of this, I thought I'd invite you down here for Christmas Eve and a taste of my mediocre cooking."

Mia smiled serenely. "I'm sure there's more to it than that," she said. "But I'm so glad I came." She paused. "Ever since our journey ended, and even a little before that, I thought . . . well, I could tell you things I wouldn't normally tell people about . . . and feel comfortable when doing so."

Neither said anything for a while, letting those words hang in the air. They were each enjoying the other's company. Isaac had his arm around Mia's waist, which she seemed not to mind. She was just about ready to drift off into a nap when Isaac withdrew his arm from around her and got up.

She opened her eyes sleepily and was vaguely aware of Isaac leaving the room. Thinking he was just going to go to the bathroom or something like that, she dozed off again. She was awakened soon after by Isaac walking across the living room again with something small clutched in his hand. She noticed that he was walking a little more heavily than he usually did.

Isaac looked startled when he saw that Mia was awake, and hid what was in his hand. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"What's that you have in your hand?" Mia asked curiously, though she had a hunch.

"Nothing," Isaac lied.

"I don't need Ivan around to know that you're hiding something from me," said Mia. "Tell me. Now."

"Well . . . uh . . . you see . . . um . . ." Isaac stuttered, looking at what was in his hand.

"Let me see it," she said, holding out her soft hand expectantly.

Very reluctantly, Isaac surrendered the box to her. It was a ring box. Mia held her breath as she opened the box, revealing the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. It was large and silver, and it was studded with sapphires and aquamarine, her two favorite gemstones.

"I put in a call to the craftsman of Vale," said Isaac nervously, finding his voice again. "I remember you telling me that you loved any blue gemstones, especially these ones. I happen to remember little details like that. It cost a small fortune, but for you it was worth it."

He took her hand so he could slip the ring on her finger. She watched him with a mix of excitement and . . . something else she could quite figure out. It was probably a jumble of emotions; her heart was beating a little faster than was normal.

"It's only temporary until . . ." Isaac started. "Until I can get a decent engagement ring." He swallowed nervously. "I think you know what I'm about to say next."

Mia had to have stood there looking from the ring to Isaac for about five minutes. Five long, painful minutes to Isaac, who already thought the wait from this and everything else pertaining to her was going to cut a few years off his life span.

Mia then walked up to Isaac and snaked her arms around his waist. Resting her chin on his left shoulder, she leaned against him and whispered into his ear.

"I will," she breathed.

Before Isaac could register what she had just said, she leaned forward and pulled Isaac into a deep, passionate kiss. Isaac was numb mostly, which was probably good. He returned that kiss in full; her lips felt so warm and soft compared to his dry ones. Neither cared though. It lasted quite a long time, but they didn't notice, both were too happy.

The clock struck twelve, and they pulled apart, smiling at each other.

"Merry Christmas, Isaac."

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Have a very merry holiday. I will see you sometime in the coming year. Take it easy everybody.

SirGecko