Chapter Text
The sky was alight, sunset hues fading into a deep blue. Snow fell gently onto the ground, dancing in the cool, winter breeze. Wispy clouds adorned the air, accompanying the snow in a magical way. Stars were starting to show, like freckles in the abyss of night.
Below, the village was alive. It was market season, and there was stall after stall lined along the street, every one displaying its own sign board, every one uniquely decorated, luring in villagers and tourists. Shops emitted a warm light from inside, the pubs alive with chatter and laughter.
At the centre, there was a large pine. But it was no ordinary pine. The tree had been transformed, its usually bare body adorned with twinkling lights and colourful tinsel. From every branch hung a bauble, shades of red and green sparkling in the light. Atop the tree was a star. It shone brightly, casting a shadow of gold over the village square as it stood proud, a guardian to all the people there, locals or not.
He smiled as he looked up at it, its sparkling glory a sight to behold. After stopping to think for a little too long, he continued his journey, ambling gently through the freshly fallen snow, the shouting from nearby stalls music to his ears. He adjusted his hat, a wooly cap that framed his soft curls. Wrapping his coat tighter around him, he took in everything around him, the market, the aromas, the chatter, but also the people. Everyone was happy, any worries they had temporarily forgotten about. He let out a soft laugh himself. Christmas spirit was a powerful thing.
He dug his hands further into his pockets, letting out a melancholy smile as his fingertips came into contact with a familiar, cool metal. He pulled the watch out of his pocket, draping the chain over the edge of his hand, running his thumb over the grooves in its body. Its originally gold coating had faded in areas, patches of silver showing through. It wasn’t large, around half of his palm, but it felt heavy in his hand, a weight he hadn’t quite overcome.
He flicked it open.
The hands had stopped ticking months ago, frozen in the quarter to ten position. The face of the clock was pristine, no sign of age, as if it was brand new. In the lid was a small piece of card. He let out a sad laugh, flipping the card over.
In the photo there were two people. Teenagers, no older than 17, uniform fresh out of the packet. They each wore a helmet slightly too big, cam cream too streaky, rifles held incorrectly. They were only children. Yet they were going to war. Despite this, they were happy, large, goofy smiles plastered across their faces.
Looking at this, he couldn’t help a smile, its contagious nature spreading beyond the photo. He ran his thumb across the edge of the card, its sides blunted from age. It wasn’t the most perfect picture out there, but he didn’t care.
That and the watch was all he had left.