//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Miracle's Ghost // Story: A Hearth's Warming Carol // by Nocturnal Reverie //------------------------------// I will start off this story with one simple fact of truth you all must accept: Miracle is dead. Her sudden, unexpected demise came about some seven years ago on the very night of Hearth's Warming Eve; and came in the form of momentary carelessness that left her slipping on a particularly smooth piece of icy road, and coming face-to-tread with her own caravan wheel. Her certificate was official in every sense of the term, and was signed by the coroner, the undertaker, and her primary—and only—mourner. Yes, even Snowfall Frost herself signed the solemn document, which in turn may have by itself officiated it, as Snowfall Frost only deemed such things important enough to sign when they were as official as the death of her work partner. I will not bore you with the details of the funeral, small and few as they may have been. Dead pieces of wood held together by dead pieces of metal working together to hold a dead pony as she was lowered into a dead patch of earth. The only one in attendance—other than the priest—was Snowfall Frost herself. The mare was the closest thing to a friend Miss Miracle had, and even then one could not find much of a friendly word between the two. But, Snowfall Frost was her sole partner, and sole administrator, and sole beneficiary, and sole...everything else. To Snowfall Frost, Miracle was likewise the same, though that would not matter any longer, as Miracle was now dead seven years. In the act of saving both my time and your patience, with the intention of getting on to what you all came here for, I will move along from making any reference, direct or obscure, to other classical works that may or may not contain a nudge of foreshadowing. That is, assuming we can all agree, and that it is made very clear to you, dear audience, that Miracle is, in fact, dead. Snowfall Frost knows this, all who reside in their little town know this, and now you, dear reader, are in on the secret as well. Though she had been dead these seven years, Snowfall Frost never covered up Miracle's name, nor did she change the name of their shared alchemy business. Some may have given her enough benefit of the doubt to assume she simply didn't have the heart to do so. In actuality, she was simply too tight-pocketed to bother with something that had been the same for years on end, and was now seven years older than it needed to remain. Snowfall, likewise, had not changed in the seven years after Miracle's passing; but remained as tightly wound as her coinpurse. Not a hair was out of place in her purple and teal mane, and it always maintained the same length and curl throughout the year, with her bangs parted perfectly on either side of her horn. Her spectacles were always perfectly polished, her tophat perfectly centered, perfectly matching her perfectly-fitted, burgundy waistcoat. Without fail, she exuded a seriousness that not even the magical snowfallen holiday of Hearth's Warming could pierce. No, she did not even give the slightest chuckle when foals ran past her on the snowy streets, and instead opted to scowl at the snow that had been stirred onto her orchid fur. "Pah," she would spit, shaking her hoof before continuing on her way. The ponies around her would always tense as she walked by, most even avoiding her usual route to work during the times where she would be going and coming. Not that she minded, and actually preferred it—especially during such an accursed holiday like Hearth's Warming. Alas, to her, this was not such a day, as she was stopped about a stone's throw away from her establishment by a unicorn as white as the surrounding snow, save for her sapphire blue eyes and mane of deep purple. "Good morning, auntie!" Snowfall's niece called joyously, momentarily adjusting the scarf that hung over her hoof-made dress. "And what a wonderful Hearth's Warming Eve it is, isn't it?" "Pah!" Snowfall Frost spat, turning up her nose. Her niece scoffed, "Is that really all you have to say?! 'Pah!'?" Snowfall groaned in sigh. "Why are you troubling me this morning, Merry?" "Oh, come now," she chuckled, "is it not my right to wish my aunt a Happy Hearth's Warming?" "What reason do you have to go flitting about wishing everypony Happy Hearth's Warming? Why are you so cheerful, what with how poor you are?" "I would surely like to say the same of you," Merry rebutted. "What reason do you have to be so cross, with how wealthy you are?" To her credit, Merry’s words actually made her aunt hesitate. Unable to come up with a retort of her own, Snowfall simply gave another "Pah!" before continuing on her way. "Oh, honestly," Snowfall's niece continued, trotting along beside her aunt. "I really don't see how somepony could be so grumpy during the most wonderful part of the year." Snowfall huffed an annoyed sigh. "And I don't see how one could be so caught up in another's personal business. I don't stick my nose into anypony’s personal dealings during the holidays, so I certainly don't see why everypony feels the need to stick their nose into mine. I celebrate in my own way, you in yours, though I must say I don't see why you would. It never gave you anything other than more bills on your counter and fewer bits in your pockets." "So what if it has?" Merry retorted. "To me, such things don't matter. I, for one, have never forgotten the history of this holiday, and it is for that reason that I will always celebrate it in the same way as our ancestors. It is the one time of year where true generosity abounds, and all ponies—more fortunate or otherwise—treat each other as equals. So even if it doesn't do me any material good, I always have and always will hold things of the heart far more valuable than those of the world; and for that, I will always say God bless it!" "You said it, Merry!" cried an exuberant voice from above. The two unicorns gave the sky their eyes, one greeting the voice with a smile; the other, a scowl. A mare of cyan fur and rainbow mane hovered a few feet over the two, waving to Snowfall's niece, who returned it gladly. "Get to your post," Snowfall ordered the pegasus, who happened to be her clerk heading into work—a pegasus by the name of Snowdash. At once, the mare blurred through the front door of Snowfall's establishment, and began to light the fire. "As for you," Snowfall growled to her niece. "If you're so keen on making great speeches, why did you become a tailor?" "Because it is a job I love," Merry declared. "Love? For a job?" Snowfall Frost scoffed. "What good is a job you love if it keeps you poor?" "It pays the bills, and keeps Carol Belle and myself fed," she returned, though Snowfall didn't see her eyes drift in a flash of forlornness to the door wherein the clerk disappeared. "That’s the most I could possibly ask for." Snowfall huffed out a "Feh!" as she stepped up to her door and pushed it open. "Good day, Merry." "Oh, just one more thing!" Snowfall's niece chirped, following her aunt into the slowly-warming space. "The girls and I are going to the party being had in Town Hall tomorrow night. Would you join us there?" "I don't believe I will," Snowfall answered. "You do recall I spend the holidays in my own way, don't you?" "Yes, I do, but why must your 'own way' constantly be alone?" "Because that's how I like it!" exclaimed Snowfall. "Now do be on your way, and leave me be!" Merry flinched as if her aunt had slapped her, smile failing her momentarily before she nodded resolutely. "Well now, if that is how it must be." She turned herself around, pulled her smile on once again, and headed for the door, bidding Snowdash a Happy Hearth's Warming before once again braving the cold. "Happy Hearth's Warming! See you tomorrow night!" Snowdash returned heartily, before dodging left and right about the little office, no doubt hoping to complete her tasks early that day. 'And she's no better,' Snowfall Frost brooded to herself as she watched her clerk. 'Happy as a fool putting on a show, and only paid 15 bits a week, raising a younger sister of her own.' The pegasus momentarily took to the air to grab a scroll or two from the highest shelf, wings straining slightly against a tweed work suit that was two sizes too small and appeared four years too old. Her hair, as per Snowfall's request, was cut short, parted down the middle on either side of her forehead, splitting the orange hue of her mane in half. The colder colors of her neck—that is: green, blue, and purple—were combed down into place, neatly tucked into her collar. As Snowfall Frost took her seat and began her daily writing and studying, the bell above her door gave its little jingle, signaling the door had been opened. Wondering who had once again disturbed her peace, her eyes peaked over her spectacles to find a purple unicorn entering her shop, carrying a clipboard in her likewise purple aura and a purple baby dragon on her back. "Good day!" The unicorn spoke in a kind voice. "This is Snowfall 'n Miracle's, correct?" The unicorn asked, pronouncing the establishment as 'Snowfallen Miracles'—a common mistake made by those of seemingly lesser intelligence, though Snowfall could not for the life of her figure out why. "Snowfall's and Miracle's," Snowfall Frost corrected coldly. "What brings you here?" The purple unicorn answered, "Ah! Am I speaking to Miss Snowfall or Miss Miracle?" "Miracle has been dead for seven years this very day," Snowfall deadpanned. "And to whom am I speaking?" "Starlight Shimmer," the unicorn answered politely, pulling a wayward strand of purple-themed mane out of her face. She gestured to the baby dragon on her back, who was scribbling away at a piece of parchment. "And this is Seafood Dinner. We are representatives of the Elements of Harmony, and was wondering if you'd like to make a donation on behalf of your company." Snowfall Frost narrowed her eyes. Every year, another representative of the same blasted charity came around begging the ponies of the town for donations for this or that. Though her answer was already decided, Snowfall Frost decided to humor the mare. If she had decided to waste Snowfall's time, why shouldn't she waste Starlight Shimmer's? "And where will the proceeds go this year?" Snowfall inquired. "To the poor and needy," Starlight Shimmer answered in a smile. "We would like to gain enough money to give a proper meal and shelter to many of the homeless in the country. We, as I'm sure you, are well aware that need becomes more apparent around the holiday; and we also know this is the time when generosity and kindness abound in the hearts of many. Therefore, we believe this mission will be a successful one, one you can be a part of, if you so wish." Snowfall gave a conniving smile, eyes squinting. "I don't," she answered simply. The purple unicorn's face faltered in surprise. "Y...you don't? Don't what?" "Wish to be a part of it," Snowfall answered curtly. "But," Starlight Shimmer protested, "without the donations of ponies like you, many may not get the shelter they'll need to stay warm. Some may even die." "And? It's none of my business if they do," Snowfall Frost replied. "Why should I trouble myself in the affairs of those who are incapable of keeping themselves alive?" As soon as Snowfall spoke those words, her clerk stopped in her sweeping, staring up at her employer. Snowfall, however, did not notice, and was therefore incapable of bearing any mind to the spark of shock and heartbreak that lit up behind the mare’s crimson eyes. A moment of silence passed for her clerk, before she forced herself to keep sweeping, burying all of her inner thoughts for the sake of staying both quiet and on the side of Snowfall's potential good graces, should any at all remain today. "Good day," Snowfall finished, returning her eyes to her papers, cutting off whatever attention she had left to give the representative and her dragon. Starlight Shimmer's mouth floundered a moment, the mare grappling for her thoughts, before she gave a curt nod and exited the building, passing Snowdash, both of them wishing the other a Happy Hearth's Warming. And so, the day continued on. The cloudy sky allowed the occasional beam of sunlight to grace the town, though its rays did little to warm the area. A light wind picked up, the weather-working pegasi moving the clouds into position to prepare for a snowfall later the next day, as per their orders. Ponies went about their business up and down the streets, making final preparations for whatever plans the evening entailed. Many passed by Snowfall's warehouse, though none came in. Not even the carolers entered the shop, though they chanced a stop. They soon changed their mind when they promptly received a glare from Snowfall that they collectively agreed was far colder than the winter in which they walked. Noon came and went, the ponies in the street thinning away as the day wore on. Finally, around two in the afternoon, Snowdash approached her employer’s desk. “Snowfall,” she said, “I finished everything you wanted me to do today.” Snowfall Frost peered at her clerk over her spectacles. “Have you sorted the inventory and their corresponding files?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Have you copied those letters?” “Each dot and cross, ma’am.” “Have you cleaned your station?” “Twice, ma’am.” Snowfall raised an eyebrow. One good thing about Hearth’s Warming, she had to admit, was that it made her clerk work harder and faster. Even if it was so she could go home early. “Then I suppose you wish to have tomorrow off as a reward?” Snowfall inquired. “Yes, ma’am, please.” Snowfall Frost gave a huff through her nose. “Fine, if you must. But you better not be late the day after.” “Sweet!” Snowdash exclaimed, her wings fluttering in excitement, before she caught herself and continued in a much more professional timbre, “Uh, I mean, of course, ma’am.” With that, the pegasus pulled on her worn down coat and rushed out the door. Throwing herself down the sidewalk, she let her hooves touch down, sliding along the ice-covered stone to the cheers and laughter of foals before taking to the air again and shooting off toward the schoolhouse. Snowfall Frost finished her day alone, in the waning light of evening. As she locked her door, the street lighters began lighting their lamps, the streets’' growing, soft glow lazily combating the spreading darkness as evening fell into night. The alchemist stopped by her usual tavern for her usual meal, then traveled her usual way home. The only thing unusual about it was the overabundance of mingling ponies, all of which stepped out of Snowfall's way—which was usual—lest they catch whatever cold had frozen over the mare’s heart. I believe a digression is in order to speak briefly about Snowfall’s place of residence. A dreary two-story abode, it had once belonged to Miracle, the unicorn having it moreso as a permanent place to stay when not traveling and selling their alchemical wares. Snowfall Frost, who for the majority of her professional life split the massive house with her partner, was now its sole inhabitant. She knew every part of the house like the back of her hoof. The floor, chandelier, stairwell, every nook and cranny and speck of dust was not unknown to Snowfall Frost. So, one cannot help but feel surprised when even Snowfall Frost herself found herself confounded by a strange abnormality she found in her door knocker. She first noticed from afar, at the entrance to her yard. A soft, blue glow appeared to shine from the knocker, which in turn had appeared to change shape. What used to be a very obvious likeness of a griffin, now held a more equine facade. As Snowfall stepped closer to the knocker, a small part of her mind made a very chilling fact known to her: She recognized the face that now resided in the knocker. The closer she drew, the more she was certain of this fact. It was not until she had reached her door, however, that she could finally put a name to the face she saw. “Miracle…?” she breathed, voice nearly failing her. Even as she said it, she could hardly believe it. But there it was, Miracle’s face in place of the knocker, perfectly recognizable to the mare who knew her best. The soft, white mane flowed as if stirred by the slightest breeze, though no wind was blowing. Her light blue coat, the color of brilliant ice in life, now held a glow of the sickliest sort in the light of its own luminescence. The sharp, light pink eyes regarded Snowfall in the way Miracle always had, giving her fellow unicorn the friendliest look that ever graced her features--which wasn’t saying much, if all honesty can be applied. As Snowfall took in each detail of this bizarre phenomenon, she felt a deep, primal fear rise up in her chest. Her mind, likewise, was unable to offer anything more than what she was seeing was wrong. As such, she could only blink at the sight, whereupon when her eyes opened once more, she was greeted with none other than the griffin that had previously occupied the knocker. Snowfall frowned at the metal, a snort escaping her nose before she set to unlocking the door, disregarding the frightening encounter as nothing more than a trick of the eye. The door’s echo reverberated throughout every crevice of the massive house, its size more akin to that of Town Hall than the surrounding houses. With a simple spell, the small mansion gained light as every other candle was suddenly alight with its own glow. And by every other candle, I mean the candles between the lit ones were shorter by a single night’s use, Snowfall having used those the night previous. She preferred the semi-darkness that came with only lighting half of her candles, and felt no need to light them all when she could see just fine with only half of them lit—not to mention the money she saved in doing so. She hung her hat and went up the stairwell, which was large enough to drive a carriage through. In fact, this night, Snowfall was sure she saw, in the flickering light of the candles, a caravan coming down the stairs toward her. None other than Miracle’s caravan, no less. Alas, this apparition was not to last, either, as by the time Snowfall stopped to ponder the strange sight, it, too, had vanished. “Pah!” she spat to herself, continuing on her way to her main chamber. Though she would not have admitted it, Snowfall Frost found herself a bit paranoid this night. She found herself glancing at every dark corner, every flickering shadow that turned out to be her own. She even considered lighting the rest of the candles, then shook off the thought as ridiculous when there was clearly nothing hiding in the wavering darkness. She checked the closet, the bathroom, under her bed, everywhere she could think, but found nothing else. Another snort escaped her, this time at her own frustration. Taking herself as simply going rather mad, she lit her measly fire and sat back in her favorite chair, watching the flames flicker, the smoke rise into the chimney, the bell above the mantle softly swing— Snowfall Frost froze at the gently swinging piece of metal. Mounted to the wall, it would have served as a signal, once upon a time, of visitors, as its string tail ended right next to the front door. Its connecting spring, likewise, would have violently shaken the bell at the slightest pull of the string at the door—Snowfall had seen it do as much, and even considered removing it due to its sheer obnoxiousness. So the way it swung now, as if somepony were moving the very bell itself, puzzled Snowfall. That is, until she startled at its sudden ringing. At the same time, her clock struck midnight, its chimes joining the solitary bell in a dire duet. As it continued, Snowfall observed, with increasing alarm, that she could hear more bells, and it struck her that every bell in her house was now ringing, the ding-dong of each strike of midnight from her clock creating a cacophonous sort of chorus the likes of which Snowfall had never heard, nor wanted to hear again. Finally, the sounds ceased, the silence leaving Snowfall’s ears ringing. Before she could take a breath to calm herself, her ear flicked, bringing her attention to her bedchamber door. A series of whinnies, followed by the shaking of chains, made itself known to her. She ignored the sounds and she returned her attention to her fireplace, doing her best to ignore both the sounds and her rising fear as she realized the noises were steadily getting closer. What she could not ignore, however, was the abrupt appearance of a pale, large horse as it reared up through her doorway--that is, it phased through her door completely. The uninvited figure was soon joined by three more, then a fifth, then a sixth, then a seventh. Snowfall clung to the forelegs of her chair in the hopes of keeping herself from falling out of it in her shock. The horses, which seemed to hold the very cold of winter within them, swirled about her door wildly, letting out whinnies and cries that chilled Snowfall to her very soul before they arranged themselves in an arch around her door. It was then she observed the seven snow-colored horses each wore a chain wrapped around its chest, the seven collective chains reaching taut behind them through to the other side of Snowfall Frost’s bedchamber door. The light purple unicorn felt her heart ready to burst out of her chest as she braced for what she might see coming through her door. Slowly, the chains slackened, and a hoof appeared, stepping through her door. A chain wrapped around its fetlock led to one horse, and a second hoof accompanying the first sported a similar chain leading to another. A face phased through her door, the horn of the appearing unicorn locked similarly in its own chain, leading to the horse situated in the middle of the group. As Snowfall once again recognized the face of the figure slowly revealing itself to her, the remaining four chains’ source made themselves known to her: two were wrapped around either back fetlock, the remaining two wrapped tightly around the waist of the apparition before her. Finally, stood at her doorway was the very same pony whose face she had seen in the knocker, and she looked upon her now-seven-years-dead partner with a shock that threatened to turn into that of barely-held sanity. Still, though Snowfall very clearly saw who was standing before her, she could not bring herself to say the name. Instead, she asked, for lack of better words at the moment, “Who...who are you? Why are you here?” The apparition’s eyes did not move from their target, the glazed-over irises reflecting an ominous glow, yet appearing to see Snowfall all the same. “Ask me...who I was…” It spoke with a voice that seemed not a part of its own body, seeming instead to carry about on an unseen breeze as cold as the horses it was chained to. Snowfall Frost swallowed hard, and attempted to snap back in the hopes of deflecting her own fear. “Who were you, then?” One of the horses snorted, a puff of wintery air escaping its nostrils before the spector replied, “When I was alive...I was your partner...Miracle the Marvelous and Magnificent.” Hearing the pretentious title once sported by her work partner coming from said partner's mouth, in said partner's voice, only solidified what Snowfall did not want to accept. Still, she tried to feign a level head, and started, "You still haven't answered my second question. Why are you here?" "We have a lot to discuss, Snowfall Frost," the ghost replied. "Not much time to do it, either." "Well you may as well get on with it," Snowfall grumbled. "Are you able to join me by the fire?" "I'm able," Miracle drawled. She stepped toward the remaining chair, the wintery horses chuffing and neighing as she moved, rearing up themselves. Such fuss caused Miracle's hooves to occasionally stop short before reaching the ground, having reached that chain's length. She stepped forward all the same, the collective movement of both herself and the horses causing her to look much like a broken marionette, her steps rising and falling, sometimes landing on the floor with plenty of slack, sometimes stopping a foot above the ground. But she managed all the same, as if she'd been doing it all her life, and sat down in the chair opposite Snowfall Frost by the fire. "Why do you doubt me…?" Miracle observed as she settled. "Can't you see that this is no form of trickery? There are no tricks up my sleeve these days, Snowfall Frost." "Yes, and you said that many a time in your life, oh Marvelous and Magnificent Miracle." Snowfall, though she tried to make it seem otherwise, felt her defenses slipping, and once more tried to outwardly explain the apparition. "You're probably some old illusion left in this house for me to find. How long did it take you to do this, hmm? Oh, don't tell me: your very death was faked all so this little trick could be pulled off this very ni—" She was silenced as a chilling force pushed her back in her chair, a terrible screech ripping through the air surrounding her. Miracle rose from the chair, lifted by the rattling chains as the phantom horses pawed at the above air, their own squeals and harsh whinnies accenting Miracle's own. Completely paralyzed, Snowfall fell to the ground, and could only cover her face as an uncontrollable shaking seized her body. Through the dying cries of the horses, Miracle’s voice boomed: "Do you believe in me or not, Snowfall Frost?!" "I-I...I do!" Snowfall stammered, unable to fight her terror and unable to deny it any longer. "But why are you here?! Why now?!" "You ask me that as if I left you alone all these seven years," came Miracle's reply, and Snowfall felt a chill of a different sort creep up her spine, and she uncovered her face out of pure curiosity rather than lack of fright. "What...what do you mean?" Snowfall Frost shook. "Everypony who dies is destined to walk among the places they built for themselves in life," Miracle explained. "In my heart, I never went beyond our alchemy workshop and this very house. As such, I cannot leave, and must look upon the world that I chose not to reach...from the very place where I kept myself all my life…" her voice shook in a harrowing cry of self-loathing and pity. "But...why are you tethered to these...these monsters?" Snowfall asked with a quivering jaw. Miracle's head rose as if to observe the creatures. "They are the embodiment of the cold I held within my heart all my life. I formed them myself, nurtured them to maturity. I willingly tied them to myself. I willingly wore them, and now willingly wear them." Her glazed eyes fell back to Snowfall Frost. "Do you not recognize them? Do you not know what they are?" Snowfall Frost gulped. She had been trying to deny their title ever since she saw them, but could no longer do such a thing. "A-are they not...Windigos?" she asked tremulously. At the breathing of the name, the horses seemed to inch closer to Snowfall, as if responding to a master's call. "That indeed they are," Miracle confirmed. "Each one formed over the time of my life of shutting others out and refusing their splendid company, turning my back on those whom I could have lent an ear...a hoof...time—oh, all the times!" With a strangled gasp, her eyes snapped to Snowfall Frost. "And we were one in the same, were we not, Snowfall?" Snowfall's heart leapt at the implication. "D-do you m...mean to say…?" "Your own Windigos were this large and this many seven years ago," Miracle remarked. "You’ve nurtured and grown them since then. I have seen them for myself. I don't think you wish to fathom how large and numerous they are, Snowfall Frost…" Snowfall Frost felt a cold breeze stir her mane, and she shivered at the air that felt like a breath over her shoulder. Eyes wide with fear, she slowly glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the rest of the room behind her filled to bursting with Windigos of exuberant size, chains connecting them to her fetlocks and waist. “Miracle, please!” Snowfall begged. “Tell me you came to say more than just that!” “I did,” Miracle replied tritely. “I have kept myself busy these past seven years, Snowfall. I have traveled far and wide within the spiritual world, and have created a chance for you. A chance to avoid my fate entirely.” Snowfall’s eyes widened at the prospect. “A chance? What kind of chance?” “You will be visited by three Spirits,” Miracle promised. “Only through them will you be able to see this chance to fulfillment.” Snowfall’s face faltered. “Are...are you sure this is the only way?” “The only way,” Miracle enforced. “Now listen carefully, I don’t have much time. The first will come tomorrow morning, at the stroke of one.” “Why do they not come all at once?” questioned Snowfall. “The second,” Miracle continued, ignoring Frost's question, “will come the next night, no later than the first.” “But how long will each visit take?” Snowfall persisted. “The third will come the night after, once the bells have finished announcing midnight,” Miracle finished. “Don’t try to look for me after that, Snowfall Frost; and I hope, for your sake, that we never meet again.” As soon as she finished speaking, the Windigos began moving, surging upward as a unit and lifting Miracle with them. As they floated lazily toward the window, Miracle managed to gesture for Snowfall to follow. The unicorn did as she asked, eyeing the Windigos that seemed to get more and more restless the closer they got to the window. As she approached, the window opened on its own, and Snowfall felt her heart thunder as she heard the increasing volume of voices crying out to the night air as it swung outward. Fearfully, her steps faltered, Miracle observing her with dead eyes before she looked to the window herself, the Windigos rising and falling, sending her body into a disturbing sort of undulation. Finally, as if overcome by the cries she heard, Miracle let out her own wail, the Windigos crying out a collective whinny before rising and diving out of the window, dragging Miracle with them. Suddenly compelled, Snowfall reached after her friend, the window sill stopping her from falling and donning her own Windigos too early. She felt her heart ready to burst from her chest, and looked about wildly as she found the source of the keening. Windigos of all shapes, sizes, and numbers swirled about the area, bobbing and weaving between houses and down the streets. Each sported a chain, and each chain was connected to a pony. Many had one or two, others three or four. One pony, a stallion Snowfall felt a pull of familiarity towards, sported a chain about his neck that led to a large Windigo swirling him around a weary mare trudging across the icy street, a foal strapped to her chest. He cried out to her, lamenting his sorrow at his inability to help the mare. Just as Snowfall felt her heart ready to bleed for the phantoms, the fog suddenly converged upon them. Likewise, their physical manifestations began to thin, and Snowfall was unable to tell if the fog had swallowed them, or if they themselves had become the very fog that surrounded the town this Hearth’s Warming Eve. Slowly, then all at once, the voices ceased, leaving Snowfall Frost with nothing but her own shuddering breaths and drumming heartbeat as she stared out into the thick, murky night. Shakily, she drew the window shut, stepping toward her bed as exhaustion overcame her body unbidden. Instantly, she collapsed onto her bed, and fell asleep.