“One moment,” said the Truth Pixie, pointing at her book. “I just have one sentence left. You can never leave a story with just one sentence left. it’s very bad luck. I once knew someone who stopped reading a story right near the end.”
“She died. I mean, it was seventeen years later. But you can’t be too careful.”
The toy shop on Mistletoe Street was crowded and noisy.
There were exactly twelve minutes left before it was supposed to close for the holidays, but people were still shuffling in through the door hoping to pick up just one last present for a special someone, or to gawp at all the jolly toys sitting smartly on the shelves and admire the enormous doll’s house in the window.
It was five days until Christmas and the snow had come. Soft and white, it covered the earth, making it shimmer and sparkle like the edges of a dream.
It was five days until Christmas and on the wide, open, snowcovered plains someone was sneaking away from the herd, their hoofs crunching lightly on the powdery ground beneath them, their fur glittering and glowing like starlight.
It was five days until Christmas and high in the frozen sky great wings unfurled and flapped and soared in the falling snow. Bright yellow eyes blinked wide open, keeping a close watch on the world below.