The princess glided across the frozen pond, her gown flowing like spun silk, trailing behind her like wisps of mist. She was draped in white, a vision against the crystalline ice, her skates whispering as they carved delicate lines into its surface. Above her, doves circled in a slow, elegant waltz, their wings catching the golden light of the setting sun, casting fleeting shadows upon the snow-draped world.
One dove broke from the flock, descending in a measured, graceful arc. It landed upon the silver-rimmed wheel of a white and silver carriage that stood still at the edge of the pond. At its touch, the carriage stirred, shuddering as if waking from a deep slumber. The wheels creaked, the horses lifted their hooves, and the carriage began to glide forward, rolling over the icy ground as the dove lifted back into the air, returning to its kin.
Through the frost-kissed trees, the carriage moved, gliding along a glittering pathway that led to a grand castle rising against the dusky sky. Its spires gleamed with frost, and its towering doors loomed with an air of regal mystery. But as the carriage arrived at the entrance, something curious happened—out from the carriage stepped not nobility, but soldiers clad in shimmering silver and royal blue. They carried enormous platters, each laden with the most extravagant sweets and indulgences: towering sundaes, piles of frosted cupcakes, golden-fried delights, and candies wrapped in glistening paper.
More soldiers emerged, carrying yet more dishes—mountains of warm, syrup-drenched pancakes, rivers of chocolate, steaming trays of buttery popcorn, and an impossible array of treats, more than any carriage should be able to hold. One by one, they marched forward, up the polished steps to the castle doors.
With a great flourish, the grand doors swung open. On either side, resplendent butlers in crisp white gloves bowed low, their polished shoes gleaming under the candlelit chandeliers within. The soldiers filed in, carrying the impossible feast past gilded archways, velvet carpets, and gleaming banisters, deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle—
And into the bedroom of a six-year-old girl.
She lay on the floor, her legs bent at the knees, her pencil scratching furiously against a piece of paper. Around her were scattered crayon drawings of castles, skating princesses, and winged carriages.
“And dear Santa,” she whispered as she wrote, her tongue peeking out in concentration, “I want to eat as much as I want without getting a tummy ache. And I want a puppy, too. A white poodle with soft, white curls.”
She leaned back with a satisfied sigh, looking at the ceiling, already imagining the fluttering doves, the silver carriage, and the grand feast. With a smile, she folded her letter and placed it under her pillow.
Outside, in the hush of the winter night, a single dove landed on the windowsill.
The End
