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Published by arianddriogir, 2020-11-25 19:53:51

12 Dances of Christmas

12 Dances of Christmas

12 Dances of Christmas

Snow blanketed the earth as the Princess looked on at
the villagers in the square. There was a festive cheer in the air that
Clara longed to feel in her heart. But she knew that this year for
Christmas love may not be the gift she finds under the tree.

A small knock came at the door of the study.

“Come in,” Clara said.

The King and Queen’s—now Clara’s—royal advisor
entered. “Princess, it’s only two weeks before Christmas and as
you know the annual twelve dances of Christmas must take
place.”

Clara did not look at the advisor as she spoke. “I do not
know how it could take place still, not after my parents’ death that
happened only months ago.”

“I understand, Princess,” he said, “but we cannot
disappoint the people. The dances must go on.”

“And the Christmas displays?” she said, turning to him.
“What of that? My parents always kept that a secret to both the
people of our kingdom and to me. I don’t know how I’m
supposed to organise the displays.”

“Don’t worry about that. We would throw the twelve
Christmas dances but not have the displays this year. I’m sure
the people will understand. I shall go inform the staff, if that’s all
right.”

Clara nodded. “You may go now.”

Later that night, Clara roamed the palace halls
for her mind could not settle for her to rest. Her feet took
her to the portrait gallery.

A young palace guard was at his post in the
room. “Good night,” he told her.

“Good night,” she replied softly and walked
further into the room. She sat on a small pouffe in front of
a painting of her parents.

Her voice was shaky as she said, “Mother, the
first of the twelve Christmas dances is tomorrow night.
There will be no display this year and it breaks my heart.
The displays were entirely you and Father, and I fear the
Christmas dances just won’t be the same without it—
without you.” Her breath caught in her throat, and silent
tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her pretty pink
cheeks.

The hours of the night ticked on with Clara
sitting in front of her parents’ portrait. When she could no
longer hear the scuffling of the palace servants doing
their nightly duties Clara decided it was late enough and
she should try to steal a few hours sleep before the ball.

The night of the first Christmas dance fell upon
the Royal Palace. Clara sat by her dressing table as her
maid worked her hair into an elaborate style. Her mind
kept thinking about how different the dances would be
without her parents’ displays, and her heart broke
knowing that there was very little she could do.

When the maid was finished with her hair, Clara
left her chambers in pursuit of the ballroom.

Tonight’s dance was themed ‘Winter Starlight’ and
it was just that. Every wall of the room looked to be made of
glistening ice and thousands of strands of twinkling
Christmas lights fell from the ceiling and adorned the wire
frame trees which stood at the edges of the room.

Clara’s eyes fell upon a young gent clad in white
dancing with a young woman who wore a red gown of rose
petals. Clara smiled, thinking that the pair looked so much
like Christmas with clothes of winter white and cranberry
red.

She continued to make her way through the
dancers and further into the ballroom when she noticed a
crowd of people gathering at the entrance near the
gardens.

The gardens were the place where her parents would
usually set up the grand Christmas displays for the guests to
enjoy. She wondered why there was such a crowd when there was
no display this year. Clara took a deep breath to steel her
emotions before walking to the gardens.

The crowd of onlookers parted to let their Princess pass.
Clara’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld the sight before
her.

A giant snow globe stood at the centre of the garden
with a life-sized ballerina princess and her prince dancing. Clara
couldn’t believe it. There it was—a Christmas display like what her
parents always did. Except her parents didn’t do this and nor did
she.

She spotted a maid near the door that lead
back into the ballroom.

“Who did this?” Clara asked the maid.

“No one knows. When we came to decorate
the ballroom this morning, the snow globe was
simply there, like a…”

“Like a Christmas miracle, surely! Nothing
short of it,” Clara said as tears glistened her eyes.

When the first dance of Christmas came to
an end Clara returned to her room. She fell asleep
wondering what would be awaiting her for the
following Christmas dances, what miracle would
take place next.

Clara danced for ten nights more. She
danced and danced with princes from near and
far. She danced with knights in shining armour
and young soldiers of the war. And for ten nights
more received her Christmas miracles—a
Christmas village, Christmas trees with presents
on the branches for the guests, a candy cane
wonderland.

On the twelfth night of the Christmas
dances, Clara stood before the mirror in her room.
Her eyes wandered over to a nutcracker soldier
displayed on her fireplace’s mantle piece.

The Princess’s heart faltered a beat as her
dainty silk-slippered feet echoed softly on the
bedroom floors. She held the wooden toy between
her hands clad in ivory gloves. Clara felt the tears
prick her eyes.

The nutcracker soldier had arrived on her bed on
the night of the fifth Christmas ball. On that day the
village received a spectacle of an automaton guard of
life-sized soldiers marching around the glass gazebo. But
that night, resting on her pillow lay the silent nutcracker
soldier carved of cherry wood and maple.

The details on the toy was immaculate. It was
finely crafted and was a splendour far more superior than
a simple trinket made for a child’s game of make-believe.
It was her gift.

Clara blinked the fresh tears away, stealing
herself before making her way to this year’s final
Christmas ball.

Tonight the Christmas ball’s theme was ‘The Nutcracker’s
Ballet’. The decorations were beautiful but it did not help to ease
Clara’s melancholic state that the final dance was almost a tribute
to the person who left the displays—her nutcracker soldier.

She wended her way through the dancers to the gardens’
entrance. Like all nights, there in the Royal Garden was the
Christmas display for the twelfth Christmas dance. This display was
unlike any of the others.

Two carriages wrought in silver iron—that very much
looked akin to icicles—each drawn by a single steed, their coats
and manes the colour of snow, stood at either side of a theatre’s
stage.

It was nothing short of majestic. Clara
thought it was a fairy tale come to life before her
eyes. She walked onto the silver and gilt stage, her
heart thrumming a measure of adoration. She
looked on at the crowd of guests, her guests. There
she was, their Princess. But where was her Prince?
Where was the person who did all of this for her
people, the person who did all of this for her?

Surely he must be here. Clara felt an ache in
her to thank her nutcracker soldier for all he’d done.
She longed to meet him, to see him—if only for a
moment.

Her eyes roamed over every face in the crowd,
hoping, wishing that one could be the one for whom she
searched. And as she did so, she did not hear the light
footsteps echoing softly behind her over the thrum of her
thundering heart. She did not feel that the hand of a
young man was gently placed on the curve of her waist.

But then, she heard as the quiet whisper of his
voice said her name in a lilting melody.

Only then was she aware of a presence other than
her own with her on the stage. Only then did her eyes
stop roaming over the smiling faces of the crowd, as she
closed them. Clara turned around, eyes still shut tight,
afraid that if she were to open them she would realise that
no one stood behind her and the voice which said her
name so sweetly was one existing only in her mind.

Clara drew in a breath of icy winter air and felt
as it burnt against her throat and in lungs. She let her
eyes flutter open. Kind eyes and a handsome face with
the strong body of a young man stood before her. She
took him in; every detail of him. Her nutcracker soldier.

But she knew him. The palace guard who had
bid her farewell one winter night before the first day of
the Christmas ball.

“Why did you do it? Why go through all this
trouble?” She asked the guard.

“That night in the portrait gallery, I heard you
talking out loud to the painting of the King and Queen.
I saw how broken you were, and I knew I had to do
something for my Princess.” He smiled a smile of
melancholy and joy which reflected on her lips too.

She looked up at him, tears welled up in her
eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He bowed his head and smiled. “Princess
Clara, will you do me the honour and share a dance
with me?”

“Yes.”

She took his hand in hers, and that night the
Nutcracker danced a ballet with his Sugar Plum
Fairy.

The End


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