Miracle_at_Midnight

   A movement below caught her attention. Someone
skimmed through the shadows—no, two someones.
Using the darkness as their cover, they moved carefully
through the courtyard, heading to the stockade. The
stockade wouldn’t be heavily guarded. Instead, the
soldiers manned the tall walls, to guard the village
against the Comte’s veiled threat.
    Instantly, she realized the stealthy pair’s goal. They
were to rescue the thief. Stupid, foolish men. She’d
exact a harsh price for their treachery, one that would
set an example throughout the land. She waited in the
shadows, still as a statue, the cold seeping even deeper
into her, turning her outrage into strong contempt.
Then when two became three, when hushed whispers
marked their retreat, she stepped out of the darkness.
   “Guards! Stop those men!”
   In moments, soldiers poured into the square. Amara
rushed down several flights of stairs and out to where
the three men knelt in the dirty snow, torchlight
illuminating their defeat. She stood in front of them
and felt as if her father and brother watched her,
judging her.
   Her family had ruled for a half-century, and in that
time they’d rarely shown mercy. These men, who
defied her on such a sacred day, deserved no
compassion.
   But that was exactly what one asked for. The thief,
she believed.
   “Please, Comtesse, have mercy. My children—”
   “How old are your children?” she asked.
   “My daughter is twelve, my son ten. Their mother
died long ago. Now they will be alone.” His eyes held
hope mingled with despair; tears left dirty tracks down
his face.
   But Amara felt nothing. He’d dared to steal from her
and needed to be punished. She looked up at one of
her soldiers. “Find these children. They will be sold to
pay for this man’s crimes.” She only waited for his nod
before turning away.
   “Comtesse! May you be judged as harshly as you
judge your own people!”
   Amara didn’t even break stride. The doomed thief’s
words meant nothing. She entered her chambers and
shut the door, then closed her eyes, calming all her
thoughts. No use letting some lawless man and his
stupid curses upset her. She didn’t write the laws of the
land. “Thou shalt not steal” was a commandment of
God. She only upheld it.
Is mercy not also one of God’s traits?
The soft voice startled her. Her eyes flew open, and she
looked wildly about her. “Who’s there?”
I am who you refer to as Pere Noel. I prefer Nicholas.
A man stepped out of the shadows. He wore the robes
of a priest and held an ornate staff. He was very old,
his white hair streaming over his shoulders. Somehow,
he glowed and didn’t seem solid.
   Pere Noel. Father Christmas. It couldn’t be. She had
to be dreaming.
   “Who are you really and what do you want?”
   You are very demanding. He watched her, his bright
blue gaze never wavering. I want you to answer me this
question. What is your heart made of?
   He mocked her. This apparition in her own
chambers mocked her. All the hurt and pain of her
father’s hatred, her brother’s disdain, filled her. Amara
replied, “My heart is of stone, to survive this world.”
   Pere Noel nodded, his eyes seemingly saddened. So
be it.
   He pointed his staff at her. Comtessa Amara de la
Cortese of Dupois, for your crimes against children, you
have condemned yourself by your own words to a life of
stone.
   Incredibly, the staff began to glow, and Amara felt
herself grabbed by that light, frozen into place. She
tried to cry out but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
The lights lifted her up, and she dangled, helpless.
   I will grant you a boon. His eyes snapped at each
word. Every fifty years, the same length as your family’s
despotic reign, you will be granted two days to discover
the answer to this question—what is the true meaning of
love?
   Give me the correct answer, and your life will be your
own. Give me the wrong answer and you will return to
being a statue. You will have ten chances.
   Then the light exploded, and Amara found herself
outside, in the frigid cold, but she couldn’t feel it. She
knew where she was. In front of the little church, still
under construction. And she understood several things
at once.
    She was made of stone, to match her heart.
   She’d been cursed with a task—to find the true
meaning of love.
And she’d been inscribed with the following words,
In tribute to those who have lost heart.
Then consciousness faded away.