In celebration of the holiday season, a bit from the opening of
The Clockwyrm (which takes place between the winter solstice and Twelfth Night, more or less).
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Despite
Sylvie's protests that there needn't be any greens hung for Winter's
End, she emerged from the cellar to find the main hall glistening
with freshly cut magnolia branches and Michaelmas perched atop a
ladder to string a cranberry garland from the central chandelier.
“Evening,
Miss Sylvie.”
“Didn't
I say all this was unnecessary?”
“Yes,
Miss Sylvie.”
“And
if you felt the need to decorate you should limit the... festiveness
to a wreath on the front door?”
“I did
that first, Miss Sylvie.”
She
shook her head. Michaelmas was a fine butler, but a creation of habit
and that meant there would be decorations for Winter's End whether
she told him no or not, because Master Redden had been fond of
hanging the greens. She could hope that as the years passed – much
like Redden had – Michaelmas would move on to new traditions. As
likely as a true end to winter at Winter's End.
“I don't suppose you had time to fix...”
“Dinner is in the study, as usual, Miss Sylvie.”
“Ah. Thank you.” She said it sharper than she meant, guilty over
doubting him. Guiltier still for taking it out on him.
“You are welcome, Miss Sylvie.” His tone, she noted, was the same
as always, unperturbed by her petty feelings. It came with the
territory of being clockwork. He would continue to hang the greens
before Solstice E'en until the end of time. He would never notice her
sarcasm or anger or bitterness based merely on the pitch of her
voice. And he would serve dinner just after sundown forever and ever
or until she ceased to exist, whichever came first.
Sylvie pushed an unruly curl of hair back from her face and strode
into the study. It was not that she hated the winter celebrations, by
all remembrance she was indifferent to the magical holidays and
always had been. But her body, though governed more completely by her
will than when she was living, maintained patterns more closely
associated with daylight and darkness. In the winter, when the days
were short and the nights dragged on, she would rise at dusk cranky
from too little rest and remain uncompromisingly awake until the sun
crept above the horizon in the morning.
