'Twas the night before Christmas, and our old Labrador, Bear, wouldn't stop barking at the fireplace. We finally saw why—a soot-covered elf was stuck halfway down the flue, clutching a glittering parcel.
"Delivery for this address," he wheezed, handing me the package before shimmying back up. "The tag got smudged. You have to feel who it's for."
I held the box. It hummed softly, and a warm feeling spread through my hands. I knew. I walked to my grandfather, who'd been quiet all evening, and gave it to him. He opened it, and his eyes, which had seemed distant lately, lit up with a familiar, joyful spark. Inside wasn't an object, but a memory we all thought was lost: the sound of my grandmother's laughter on their first Christmas together, filling the room.
The magic hadn't been lost in the mail. It just needed the right hands to deliver it.
Stake ID: krasen88