Jack brought the tree home on a cold sixteenth of December.
It was a small, scruffy thing, barely taller than Nimue herself, bound tightly with rough twine that bit into the bark. Dry brown needles scattered across the wooden stairs as he lugged it up to the fourth floor, leaving a fragrant trail behind him. He set it firmly in a heavy metal bucket of water near the sitting room window, where the pale winter light could reach its wilting needles.
"What is that?" Nimue asked, tilting her head as she watched the branches begin to settle and droop.
"A Christmas tree," Jack said, wiping sticky sap from his palms.
She stepped closer to look at the tree, sniffing the sharp resinous scent of pine. The branches were uneven, some long and some stubby, and many needles had already turned a brittle sickly brown. "We don't have this at the manor."
"No," Jane said, joining them with her hands tucked into her sleeves. "At home, we celebrate Yule. This is something different, une tradition différente (a different tradition)."
Nimue reached out and touched a lower branch, the sharp stiff needles pricking her fingertip. "Why are we having it here?"
"Because Paris celebrates Christmas," Saoirse said, leaning against the doorframe. Her black hair was messy, the white streak glowing in the light. "There are lights in every window, markets on every corner, and shop displays filled with moving dolls. You really should see it, Nimue."
Nimue looked at her mother. Jane was already busy, her white hair catching the grey light as she hung a small glass ball on one of the sturdier lower branches. The ornament was a deep, vibrant red that caught the weak sun and held it like a glowing ember.
"What is Christmas?"
Jane sat on the floor and pulled Nimue down beside her on the rug. "It's a holiday," she explained, her voice low and melodic. "It comes from a religion. The people who follow it believe a baby was born a long time ago, and they celebrate his birthday."
Nimue considered this, her green eyes fixed on the red ornament. "Is it like Yule?"
"Yule is older," Jane said. She reached out and touched the red glass ball, starting a gentle rhythmic sway. "It comes from the land and the turning of the year. It's about the longest night and the return of the sun. Christmas came much later, and some of the old traditions were mixed in with the new ones. The trees, the lights, and the giving of gifts. They all found a place there."
Nimue watched the red ball swing back and forth, reflecting the room in its curved surface. "But we don't celebrate it."
"No," Jane replied. "We aren't Christian. Christmas is for people who believe in that god, but not everyone who celebrates it still holds those beliefs. For many, it's become something else entirely. It's a time for family, for warmth, and for being together when the days are at their shortest and darkest."
Jack glanced up from the string of tangled lights he was trying to straighten. The thin wire was wound stubbornly between his fingers like a knot. "Our family follows the old ways. The wheel of the year. Samhain, Yule, Imbolc. We look to the solstices and the equinoxes for our timing."
"But we are here now," Nimue said, her tone matter of fact.
"We are," Jane agreed, smoothing Nimue's white hair. "And when you are visiting somewhere else, you can learn about what other people do. You don't have to believe it yourself to watch and understand."
Nimue looked back at the tree. The branches remained uneven and the needles were still brown at the edges, but it felt less like a stranger in the room now. "Can we put more balls on it?"
Jane smiled, her green eyes crinkling. "Yes, we can."
. . .
The department store windows stopped Nimue mid-step later that afternoon.
They were standing before the Galeries Lafayette, a mountain of pale limestone topped with a grand dome of glass and iron that loomed over the crowded street. But Nimue didn't care about the building's architecture. Her entire world had narrowed down to the magical displays behind the thick glass panes.
They were moving. Porcelain dolls dressed in fine velvet and lace spun atop winding music boxes, and tiny toy trains whistled as they circled a miniature village with snow-capped roofs. A clockwork bear in a red coat lifted its hat in a polite, repetitive greeting, while thousands of tiny lights blinked in a frantic, festive rhythm. Fake snow fell softly inside the glass, swirling in a constant loop without ever melting.
Nimue pressed her face to the cold pane, her breath fogging the glass in a white circle. She wiped it away with her sleeve, not wanting to miss a second of the mechanical dance. "How?"
"Magic," Jane said. "But not our kind. It's mechanical, a matter of gears, springs, and electricity."
A wooden reindeer pulled a golden sleigh across the window, its jointed legs moving in a steady trot and its nose glowing a bright, artificial red. Nimue watched it complete its circuit three times before she let herself move to the next window. This one featured a castle made of shimmering ice with crystal spires and a ballerina spinning on the surface of a frozen lake.
"It isn't real," she said, her nose still touching the glass.
"It isn't," Jane confirmed.
"But it looks real."
Jane didn't answer. She was too busy watching the wonder on her daughter's face.
They stood there for twenty minutes while Saoirse bought a paper cone of roasted chestnuts from a nearby cart. The steam was warm and smelled of woodsmoke on their faces. Nimue ate the salty, earthy nuts while she watched a mechanical owl slowly turn its head and blink its glass eyes.
The next window was even more elaborate. It showed a castle made entirely of white icing, with tiny people skating on a frozen pond and a sleigh pulled by a horse that had a real, shimmering feather in its bridle.
Saoirse pressed her own face to the glass, looking like a child. "I want that castle."
"You are thirty-eight years old," Jack pointed out, his voice dry.
"I still want it. Look at the tiny little windows."
Nimue moved to the third window. This one didn't seem to have a story at all; it was just light. Thousands of tiny bulbs in white, blue, and gold hung from the ceiling of the display like a captured galaxy. They blinked on and off in a complex pattern, and Nimue watched until her eyes began to water.
Printemps was only two streets away and offered even more windows and bright lights. There was a carousel of flying horses, each a different vibrant colour, and a miniature train that disappeared into a dark tunnel only to emerge on the other side with a puff of steam. There was even a Ferris wheel made entirely of glittering glass ornaments.
Nimue didn't want to leave. Jack lifted her away from the final window, her boots dangling in the air.
"Tomorrow," he promised as he set her down. "We will go to the markets."
. . .
The Christmas market stood at the end of a wide avenue where the ancient trees were wrapped in thousands of white fairy lights. Small wooden chalets lined both sides of the path, their peaked roofs dusted with fake snow. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of roasted nuts, cinnamon, and hot, spiced wine.
Nimue walked between Jack and Jane while Saoirse followed close behind, her red scarf bright against the grey pavement. Cinder had stayed at the apartment, curled on the sofa, as the market was far too crowded for a fox to navigate safely.
People pushed past them in a blur of winter coats: a man with a long red scarf, a woman carrying a heavy bag of glass ornaments, and a child clutching a candy cane whose red stripes were already melting onto his sticky fingers.
Nimue took everything in with wide eyes: the wooden toys, the glass balls painted with silver stars, and the stacks of woollen scarves and mittens. A carousel stood at the end of the row, with white and gold wooden horses and a gleaming brass pole in the centre. Festive music played from hidden speakers, the same jaunty tinny song repeating over and over.
"Can I?" Nimue asked, looking up at Jack and then the horses.
Jane paid the man at the gate, and he lifted Nimue onto a sturdy wooden horse. The leather saddle felt cold through her trousers, and she gripped the brass pole tightly with both gloved hands. The carousel began to turn with a mechanical groan, and the horses moved up and down in a slow, rhythmic gallop. The lights of the market blurred past her in a dizzying smear of red, green, and gold.
She didn't laugh, but she watched the blurred world with quiet curiosity. When the ride stopped, the man reached up and lifted her back down to the ground. Her legs felt a bit wobbly and strange from the motion.
"Encore?" he asked with a kind smile.
Nimue shook her head, her white hair falling back onto her shoulders. She had seen enough of the wooden horses.
They continued through the rest of the market stalls. Jane bought a small glass star that shimmered like ice. Jack purchased another bag of warm chestnuts. Saoirse found a soft woollen scarf in wine red that she immediately wrapped twice around her neck.
The crowd began to thin as they reached the far end of the avenue. The lights remained bright overhead, and the distant music of the carousel echoed faint and hollow in the air.
Nimue stopped.
She didn't know why she had stopped. A girl was standing at a stall just across the path, her back partially turned. She was looking intently at something on the table, a necklace or perhaps a delicate bracelet. Nimue didn't even see the object.
Her mind went blank. The music faded, the bright lights blurred, and the crowd vanished from her perception.
She couldn't move her legs.
She couldn't find her voice.
She couldn't look away.