Innocent as an angel and youthful as a freshly blooming flower, Nightingale was cheery once again as the special time of the year had come, Christmas. She had been keeping her excitement all December and was ready for Santa and his jolly white beard and crimson red suit to come down the chimney. She had been sleeping in her bed covered in blankets and fluffy and colorful stuffed animals, her body molded into the bed as her slumber became awakened by the first light of Christmas morning.Â
Excited as a bunny, hopping around her home, lacking the Christmas spirit only surrounded by bleak household decorations and an awkward Christmas tree lying in the center of her living room, lacking decorations and lacking the holiday spirit. Until she had remembered the presents, shining paper surrounding gifts of miracles for her to open. She had noticed Santa had no hunger for the cookies left out for him, cold and barren as they had been freshly made, and not a crumb missing from the child decorated cookies. As Nightingale had glared down she had been stabbed in the heart as there were no shining and shimmering presents for her left by the jolly jingling man, she had checked her dusky chimney for signs of entry along with anywhere else the magical man could have gotten stuck in. Her salty, running tears had begun formulating as she ran to her parents room to express her sadness, glowing with disappointment she had noticed the door cracked open but barged in. She had seen her parents manhandling her presents, the shininess, glittering and brightness dissolving as she saw the mountain of presents unwrapped as she had realised her Christmas world had collapsed by the cruel unforgiving hands of her neglecting mother and father, as their work had stolen her Christmas once again.