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Written on December 25, 2020 (♑)

Author's Notes: The one drabble I wrote over the Christmas season of 2020 that I felt deserved to go somewhere other than scraps.


"We didn't keep birthdays as some do," Meliadoul said softly, turning over a piece of sea-glass in her palm. "Father said it was self-idolatry to puff oneself up when credit for your birth went to the Gods.'"

Agrias blushed; Agrias had blushed a lot today. "I suppose you're also a little uncertain then as to how to handle presents?"

"On the contrary--children are all expert idolaters--and liberal as crows when it comes to baubles." She looked upward, breathing steadily as one does when they decide they shall not cry. "I fear this will be one of my first years without."


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