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As she gently cleaned away the blood, strange words leapt up in her throat. She whispered them as they came, but knew them not. Deep, languid tones, tied ’round with gutteral clips, the words sprang up from a place Laurel could not name, from somewhere deep in her forgotten past. As the words found flight, a strange tingle buzzed in Laurel’s fingertips. She felt warmth radiating from them into the wound upon the girl’s cheek. Laurel looked on in as the wound began to dimish and fade. In only moments, what had once been ragged and angry, was replaced with only a very faint scar. ‘There…’ said Queen Laurel gently. ‘All is well… come see… it is not nearly so bad.’ She stood, holding out her hand to Violet, who warily took it, allowing herself to be led through the curtained archway. Laurel stood her before the looking glass. ‘There… you see,’ she said. Violet looked at her face very closely in the glass. Her fingertips traced the outline of the scar, fat tears welling up in her eyes.. The anticipation was energizing asshe resumed her work on an obscenely complex enchantment, humming carolsagain to pass the hours until dawn.Dawn slowly came and with it the first clear light of Christmas morningwhich played on the snow and bathed everything in a sparkling silverglow that even a master artist would find difficult to reproduce. InsideWill's house something finally stirred and he groggily awoke to a lessthan joyous Christmas morning with little thought spared for the winterwonderland outside, his injuries yesterday had sapped much of hisremaining Christmas spirit and as he plodded to his bathroom his moodwas decidedly fixed on this just being another day on the calendar. Hismood did improve when he got a chance to look in the mirror, surprisedto note that his bruises were still tender but all but faded. Nowfeeling just a hint of welcome for the new day he marched towards hiskitchen and coffee pot.Will had just started to cross his living room when his mind realizedthat.
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