14/12/2025
๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ฌ๐ ๐ ๐๐ก๐๐ช๐๐ฅ๐ #๐ญ | The Light We Carry Into Winter
There, in the corner of the forest where it was never silent, lived a spirit named Aurora, a guardian of memories of Christmas. The nature of her powers was easy to understand: she collected those small sparks of wonder that children let fly every Decemberโglimmers from their laughter, morsels from their excitement, warm smudges of hope. This was enough to light up the entire forest for centuries.
However, as time went on, a strange realization hits Aurora. The children, who used to run with their eyes aglow like sunrise into the woods, now walked with slower, longer, and quieter strides. Some of them did not show up. The sparks she gathered were different. This fire remains warm, but it has softened, dimmed, as if muffled with thought rather than with mere joy.
One evening, as Christmas drew near, Aurora ventured out from behind the trees. The village was a familiar but different world, like a tune which she knew long ago but hadnโt sung in a long, long while.
There were no cries of wild, nervous excitement.
No breathless countdowns to opening gifts.
Only soft music, lanterns swaying with the wind, and people moving in a calmness that seemed almost fragile.
She noticed a gathering of adults arranging some easy decorations. Their hands were moving with ease, but their eyes spoke of a soft ache, as if remembering a brighter time. A lady was holding a starlight lantern, smiling to herself, though her smile was flavored with a longing that only adults know.
Aurora drew near her invisibly.
โI miss the magic. but Iโm glad it happened. Iโm glad I felt it once.โ The woman whispered.
And with that, a spark flared from her chest. Not loud, not golden like a childโs but its soft, silver, steady.
But Aurora chased after many of these silver sparks flitting through the village. These were from people reliving past tales, laughing over escapades of youth, humming softly along with songs their parents used to play. These were from memories. This is a treasured, worn volume, like pages turning of their own accord.
โAnd then Aurora understood: The magic changes, but it doesnโt disappear. It simply settles deeper, like embers instead of flames."
Returning to her forest, she let all of the silver sparks she collected fly. These rose above, forming patterns among the tops of the trees. Not as spectacular as before, no flashes of hue, no glittery paths, but in their own way, they were beautiful. The forest was illuminated with a different kind of light.
One born of years, of tales, of growing up with backward glances of nostalgia, not longing.
That night, Aurora confided in the winds:
โChristmas might not be as magical as it was when we were kids, but this means that the magic wasnโt lost on us; it simply grew with us. And it stays in our memories, in small joys which remain with us, in the warm happiness that we can maintain.โ
And so, even as the world around her changed, Christmas stayed. Not as a flash of childhood enchantment, but rather as a soft, warm glow that gets warmer with each passing year.
Written by Ashley Jade Fernandez
Illustrated by Pia Lynne Dela Cruz
