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When it came to the Holidays, Rudy had always been the warmer half, and Carol the colder half.
Where Rudy was welcoming and kind, Carol was hostile and distant—she expected nothing but the best from those around her, where Rudy was willing to give others room to grow.
Carol’s kids were no exception—Dess had always been a rebellious girl, and it drove Carol nuts. Between the late night shows, her style, and her obsession with oddities, Carol was constantly frustrated with her.
Of course, no amount of scolding could stop Dess from doing what she wanted—she’d go out with Asriel, little Kris and Noelle, doing these wild adventures and promising many more nights of them, no matter how hard Carol tried to mould her.
Dess’ determination never faded. Her stubborn perseverance always shone brighter than her mother’s efforts to control her—though, Carol’s strictness was not out of malice, more so protectiveness. Regardless of her hostility, she did care deeply for her two daughters.
So when Dess had disappeared, she only became worse.
She became even more overbearing than she had been before, and only a few days after Dess had disappeared, Carol sat beside a little Noelle, on the edge of her bed.
Noelle had always seen her mother as though she were a queen made of ice, with cold eyes and a stiff posture—even when she smiled, although Noelle found it comforting, it still wasn’t exactly warm. She thought her mother’s piercing gaze, while sometimes frightening, was like that of a queen’s. But tonight, when she looked at her mother’s face, there was something different.
The room was unbearably silent—a pin could drop and it’s be heard—and Carol had turned to face Noelle, whose little eyes gazed up at her mother with an uncertain look. She looked almost uncomfortable, stiffening when her mother placed her hands on her shoulders. Carol didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and the silence stretched, almost like a fraying thread. Noelle didn’t dare break it—her mother’s face was too intense for her to find her voice, though it wasn’t intense anger that Noelle faced, no.
It was intense fear.
Carol had tried to mask such a vulnerable expression, had tried to wait until morning to come and do this, but the clawing at her chest had become unbearable to the point where if she felt like she didn’t do this it’d be the greatest mistake of her life. It was such an intense, overwhelming fear that even as she tried to level her expression and posture like she usually did, it bled through the cracks—such as the way Carol looked over Noelle so intently, as if checking for something.
With a deep sigh, Carol tilted her head down to match Noelle’s gaze better—she noticed Noelle’s eyes flick away almost anxiously, and a hint of her usual frustration flashed in her eyes, though it faded quickly.
Her cold voice, soft, but stern, broke the silence.
“Noelle, look at me.”
The little one’s eyes met her mother’s again—she watched as her mother took another breath, as if steadying herself. The raw fear became visible in Carol’s eyes, making Noelle shrink.
“You can never be determined. Never.”
Noelle didn’t say anything, just looked up in uncertainty as her mother’s usually stoic frame began to tremble slightly. When tears began to fall from her mother’s eyes, her own widened in shock. She tried to open her mouth, to say something to comfort her despite not understanding why her mother was upset, but nothing would come up.
Her mother sniffled, and suddenly, she leaned down to hug Noelle tightly, her grip almost crushing as her tears began to drip onto Noelle’s pajamas. Noelle felt as though she were frozen in place, unable to move, struck with shock and a deep unease she didn’t understand.
“You have to promise me, Noelle, please promise me. Promise me you’ll never be determined for as long as you live.”
Noelle could hear her mother’s voice shiver with unrestrained fear, it poured out in suffocating waves as Carol continued to cry, but was careful enough to stay at a volume where Rudy wouldn’t hear her. When Noelle didn’t respond, Carol pressed again—her voice teetered on desperate, or at the very least urgent. It was unlike anything Noelle had ever seen from her.
“I can’t lose you too, Noelle. Please. Promise me.”
A few more seconds go by. The mention of loss makes Noelle’s stomach twist into a knot.
“Noelle. Angel. Please.”
Noelle had never heard her mother call her that—it seemed like something that was her mother’s secret, that she, like Noelle’s father, also called her “angel”. Noelle’s heart twisted painfully at how badly she longed for that kind of warmth from her mother, ever since she was small enough to remember her mother’s face.
And that warmth made her falter.
“Ok mom. I promise.”
Carol sighed, eventually relinquishing her grip after lingering for a few more seconds. She looked at her daughter with relief, and offered a small smile that felt uncharacteristically loving—vulnerable, nothing like the Carol Holiday she was known to be—though as much as it comforted her, it didn’t distill the dread that still bloomed throughout Noelle’s chest.
“Thank you.”
Then Carol lifted her up and tucked her into bed, something she hadn’t done in so long that Noelle couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done it—the last time her mother had even held her at all before the ice had settled between them.
Noelle watched her mother compose herself, intently, the way she wiped her eyes, stood up, everything she did before kissing Noelle on the forehead like she was the most precious jewel in the world.
But when she was out of sight, Noelle couldn’t ignore the dread that only seemed to accentuate when her mother softly shut the door behind her as she left. The silence of her room was too loud, her thoughts were too loud, her mind wouldn’t stop replaying it all and questioning what her mother truly meant by all of that.
So she turned on the console after a few moments, letting its soft glow illuminate her room and letting the music fill her ears, pulling her away from the fears that flooded her heart and head.
And still even now, with her mother stricter and her father sick in the hospital, her console seemed to be the one thing that could truly comfort her.
Now, one odd night, she’d done the same thing she had years ago—turned it on when she couldn’t shut her eyes.
But now, instead of her mother’s words, she dwelled on Queen’s instead, her words of Noelle’s potential hanging heavy in Noelle’s mind.
Where her mother had said she should never be determined, Queen had said she had the potential to do more than she could ever hope to do. Even if Noelle thought it was a dream, she couldn’t ignore the spark that had begun to flicker deep within her heart. A hope, one locked away for so long she’d almost forgotten it was there.
It made her less scared, it made her almost curious.
It left her asking questions, and thinking of possibilities.
It left her dreaming of what he could do even as her worries eased under the clicking of her controller.
It left her wanting more.
Just like December, so long ago.