Blog Post 8: The Alchemy of Survival
Title: “A Christmas Memory”
The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow across the small living room. Ivy Mae was perched on the worn couch, her lap full of ribbons and lavender sprigs, tying them into sachets to hang on their scraggly tree. Jas sat cross-legged on the floor, a stack of books beside them, flipping through pages of one that caught their attention.
“What’ve you got there?” Ivy Mae asked, not looking up.
“It’s an old children’s book,” Jas replied, running a finger over the faded illustration of a doll in an attic. “It’s called The Story of Miss Flora McFlimsey. Ever heard of it?”
Ivy Mae paused, her hands stilling. “Flora McFlimsey,” she murmured, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I haven’t thought of that story in years. My sister and I used to read it together every Christmas Eve.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a forgotten doll who lives in an attic with other old toys,” Ivy Mae said, her voice growing wistful. “She feels abandoned and unloved, but then something magical happens on Christmas Eve—something that changes everything.”
Jas tilted their head. “What happens?”
Ivy Mae’s smile widened. “You’ll have to read it to find out.”
Roman, who had been sitting quietly in his chair, chuckled. “That story was already old when you and your sister were kids, Ivy. But it’s a good one.”
Jas turned the pages slowly, the illustrations bringing to life a world long past. They imagined the doll, Flora, perched in her attic among forgotten toys, waiting for the spark of something extraordinary to happen.
Later that evening, as the fire burned low, Ivy Mae shared memories of Christmases gone by. She spoke of the little gifts they’d given when times were tough—handmade treasures, small gestures of love. Jas listened, their mind wandering back to the story of Flora McFlimsey, and how even in the darkest corners, hope could flicker to life.
When bedtime came, Jas placed the book carefully on the shelf, as though they’d stumbled upon something sacred. That night, they dreamed of dolls and tiddlywinks, of Christmas magic, and of the beauty in being remembered.