Velvet Christmas
The Story

There was a level of confusion, of course, from feeling like she was replacing Teddy Ruxpin, who'd been nothing but kind to her, yet another part of her wanted to be there for Rachel, to provide the comfort her child needed to sleep at night, almost as if this were a part of being a toy.

She settled in, perched in Rachel's arm, waiting for the grandfather to start reading. Her grandfather sat on the edge of the bed as Rachel stroked the top of the little rabbit's head while the velveteen rabbit's black button eyes took in the entire world.

The book crackled as if having never been opened before, like so many of Rachel's books, as Teddy Ruxpin always told her a story at night. Yet, there was currently no Teddy Ruxpin in sight; the words of the other toys regarding the fate of Teddy Ruxpin echoed through their head, as thrown-away toys were known within the nursery as having not made it through the long journey of becoming real, of becoming alive.

"Let's see," the grandfather said, his voice warm and inviting, almost magical for some strange reason. "' There was once a velveteen rabbit," the man read, "' and in the beginning he was really splendid.'"

"Wait. You mean like my bunny?" Rachel said, her attention drawn to the story.

One of the man's white eyebrows shot up, amused as he sat there, his bones old, his body having seen the test of time. "Do you remember me telling you I had a velveteen bunny just like yours?"

Rachel shook her head, which resulted in a laugh; one felt like the fireflies the velveteen rabbit sometimes saw in the windows.

"Why don't we read and see whether this velveteen rabbit is anything like your rabbit," the old man said.

And very much was this velveteen rabbit like her, this small velveteen rabbit clutched in the little girl's arms, although there were slight differences. The velveteen rabbit in the book had a spotted brown and white coat, but the nose and whiskers were undoubtedly the same. And instead of a clockwork mouse companion, the little velveteen rabbit safe and secure in Rachel's arm was a Monchiichi.

There were also descriptions of toys that the small velveteen rabbit had never seen before. Yet, the line about looking down on others caused an uproar from the Barbies, who very much insisted they were indeed superior to the other toys. There was also a rocking horse, only for that one to be called the Skin Horse, worn out like the colorful rocking horse was here and there. And there was the wisdom being imparted of what it meant to be real.

"And to think," the rabbit thought. "The mechanical toys kept telling this other rabbit they were not real, but Teddy Rupkin never had any ill will towards the other toys. Oh, I hope Teddy Rupkin is alright."

She didn't know if, like in that story, she'd get to stay in bed with little Rachel, thinking that was too much to hope for, not to mention the Barbies protested, saying the book was biased, the book didn't know what it was talking about, that wasn't how things actually worked.

The little velveteen rabbit ignored them, instead drawn into the adventure The Boy and the other velveteen rabbits in the story were having, of being rescued and brought home, of meeting rabbits that knew they were real.

But then—

Oh, the horror.

"' And then, one day, the Boy was ill."

Rachel frowned, suddenly interrupting the next words. "I don't like this story, Grandpa."

"You don't?" the old man said. "I thought you were enjoying the book."

"Velvie doesn't want to hear any more about their child getting sick," Rachel retorted, her mouth twisted into a frown as she clutched her velveteen rabbit closer."

"Velvie?" the velveteen rabbit said. "Who's Velvie?"

"Why, you are, my dear," said the colorful rocking horse. "It's quite clear Rachel has taken a shine to you."

The Barbies, of course, protested, as did a few other toys, yet there was nothing any of the toys could do about their child's preferences which Teddy Ruxpin one said came on the wind. Children enjoyed toys in a certain way, and each child was different, each child special.

Of course, every toy wanted to be unique, and if the book was anything to go by, the toys of The Boy felt the same way. Velvie also agreed with Rachel that she didn't want to hear about something bad happening to The Boy, for which the grandfather relented, kissing Rachel on the brown and bidding her goodnight now that she had her velveteen rabbit clutched in her arms.

And soon, Velvie heard the soft snoring of her child, in the dark nursery, her eyes gazing up onto a ceiling as the moonlight from outside played across the window. The tree moved, making funny shapes against the ceiling, while Rachel pulled her closer, murmuring about keeping safe as the light in the nursery and then the hall went off.

"What about Teddy Ruxpin," Velvie thought, wondering about her good friend. "He hasn't gone away for good, has he."

And then the light came on, whispers from Rachel's parents, posing a small question about reading the book in the first place, with one of them asking if they'd ever read the book, that there was actually a happy ending to the book.

"A happy ending?" Velvie thought to herself as Rachel's parents came and kissed their little girl goodnight on the forehead, before leaving and turning on the night. "What kind of happy ending is that? And can Teddy Ruxpin get a happy ending? What does a happy ending even mean?"

And there she lay, clutched in Rachel's arms, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought about what the ending to the book could be, particularly since it seemed like the grandfather was almost through the book. "What could that ending be?"