A Touch of Home

Silvanus had never been very good at carrying a tune, so he didn’t quite hum to himself as he laid out sprigs of freshly-cut holly, small pine branches, and other assorted decorations on a table. He did make vaguely musical noises to fill the silence though, and that was just as good to him. He and his pets were going to be the only ones to hear it, and his pets didn’t judge, as far as he could tell. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and a few lit candles let the smell of cinnamon and vanilla fill the air of his small cottage, mingling with the woodsmoke and the subtler scents of the wreath supplies.

Of all the holiday traditions that cherubuns had long observed, this one had always been one of Silvanus’s favorites. Making a wreath could be a collaborative activity, but it was done just as well as a quiet, contemplative task. It brought him a similar zen to gardening; one thing to focus on, step by step, until it was done. Seeing wreaths pop up all over Burrowgatory in recent days felt like a collective sigh of relief after the last few weeks’ upheaval and uncertainty.

It had been… interesting, to say the least, for vampires of all things to pop up so soon after Silvanus himself had first made the decision to leave the Heavenly Meadow. He hadn’t known what to make of it, whether it was some sort of massive prank, or if strange things like that happened all the time in Burrowgatory. Apparently they didn’t, and for that he was grateful, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what to think of the vampires themselves. That was a problem for another time though, if ever.

Rather, if no vampires chose to make themselves a problem in Silvanus’s life, then he wasn’t going to treat them as a problem. He had other things to worry about. Such as this wreath project, right now. It was much easier to focus his mind on the tangible things he could hold in his hands.

Once he actually set to work, his humming gradually slowed and then stopped, replaced by the silence of careful concentration. He started with the thin pine branches he’d picked out, rather than the holly itself. The branches would be woven together to form a sturdy base for the wreath which the holly could then be wrapped around, and the berries and so forth would come last. Given the time and effort put into making a wreath, he preferred it to last a good, long while.

The imps and virtues that he had collected (or perhaps more accurately, that had chosen to gather around his home and then opted to stay because he kept feeding them) regarded the construction of the wreath with curiosity. Lachesis had taken a liking to resting on his head or shoulder when he wasn’t doing anything too strenuous, and it did so now, nestling on top of his head and following his hands as he expertly wove the branches together. It flapped one of its wings when he reached for the next sprig, and he curiously handed the bit of pine up to it instead. It didn’t seem to know what it actually wanted to do with the stick, so it simply held onto it and settled back down to continue watching.

Smiling slightly, Silvanus paused only to relocate Atropos, his candyl, when it strayed too close to the flammable supplies, before resuming his work. Atropos’s flame sputtered in what he interpreted to be a sulky way, but it obligingly stayed put in the chair he moved it to. That was a relief; Silvanus wasn’t actually sure if candyl’s flame could catch any stray material on fire, but he didn’t want to find out via burning his house down.

Little by little, the wreath began to take on a fuller, more proper, shape. With the pine branches as a base, the holly leaves could be threaded in securely, giving the wreath an almost fluffy appearance in alternating white and green. Some of the holly sprigs had berries on them already, but Silvanus had found other varieties in addition to the small golden ones that holy holly sprouted. The holly that grew natively in Burrowgatory grew red berries instead, and he’d selected some of those to add to the wreath alongside the holy holly. Not only did the colors compliment each other nicely, but it also felt like a bit of a statement to mix them together.

I’m okay with this, Silvanus imagined the wreath saying. I’m taking the best of both worlds. I’m making something good with what they both have to offer.

Something along those lines. It would have been a tad embarrassing to say aloud to anyone else, but the words felt nice inside his head.

He secured some of the berries and holly leaves with small pins, so that they wouldn’t fall off or get blown away in a breeze. When he was satisfied with the arrangement of the holly, he picked up the filmy gold ribbon he’d been saving for last. This he wrapped in loose loops around the wreath, careful not to crush any of the plants. He tied the ribbon off at the bottom of the wreath in a large bow, letting the edges dangle. 

“What do you think?” He asked the imps and virtues rhetorically, holding the wreath up to examine it. It was complete, but it still felt like it was missing… something.

He frowned over it for a few moments before an idea struck him, and he set the wreath back on the table to go find a marker. Once he had, he returned to the wreath and wrote carefully on one of the ribbon’s trailing ends.

First Cherubmas.

He added the year in smaller script beneath, and then held the wreath up once more. Perfect.

Securing the wreath to his front door was a little easier said than done, with Lachesis still resting on his head and refusing to move. Additionally, he could hear his other pets still inside the cottage, and it sounded like they were getting into the leftover wreath supplies. He couldn’t rush hanging up the wreath, though, or it would be lopsided and inevitably fall off the door.

Sighing (more fond than exasperated, really), Silvanus took his time nailing the wreath up. Lachesis finally had enough of that and flew away with its precious stick still firmly in tow, but by that point he was more or less finished anyway. Carefully, he mounted the wreath on the nail and stepped back to survey it.

This may have been the first time his little house here actually felt truly like a home. That thought struck him harder than expected and left him feeling oddly choked up.

For better or worse, the moment was short-lived. Something inside rustled and then clattered to the floor, followed by the telltale scampering of guilty imps fleeing the scene of their crime. Sighing again, Silvanus shook himself out of his thoughts and went back inside to survey the mess. 

That, too, made it feel like a home. It was full of life, and all its ups and downs.