HighQueenKaty
Member
This is my Christmas story, Eve Clause! It's about Santa's sixteen-year-old daughter, Evangeline--Eve--and her life as the Princess of the North Pole. But there's one twist--Eve doesn't want to be the Princess of the North Pole. So, one day, she goes on a little trip in Santa's Sleigh and finds herself in New York City... what will happen next?
One
The Christmas Dress
It was just an ordinary day. I was swinging on the beautiful swing my father had carved from cassawood, a kind of tree only found in the North Pole. The ropes holding it up were entwined with flowers, rare flowers, flowers only found at home. I sailed over the snow banks on my flying carpet, my dazzling swing made of cassawood, in my own world. It was twilight, the skies a striking, flawless shade of deep, deep blue. Even though there was snow falling I couldn’t feel it, I didn’t care. This was my world, not my parent’s… I could go where I pleased. I swung over Saudi Arabia, and it’s warm breeze caught me and brought me down into the sand, where I lay, wishing I lived here instead of the artic tundra. Wishing I didn’t have to be Santa Clause’s daughter. Wishing I were someone else—an Egyptian princess instead of a North Pole princess. A German girl, with long, blonde hair instead of a mountain girl, whose hair was brown and ugly. How I wished I were someone else.
But I’m not. I’m Evangeline Clause, Santa Clause’s daughter. His last child. I have three older brothers, Nicholas, Christopher and Todd. I don’t really have any friends—all the elves just call me Princess Eve and treat me like a princess, no ‘want to go shopping, Eve?’ They’re not allowed to do that, because I’m a Princess and they’re elves. But that’s who I am, The Princess of The North Pole, Her Highness, Evangeline Noel Clause. I’ll probably never get to become queen, seeing as that’s my mother’s place—her forever place. Mother and Father will never die, as long as the Spirit of Christmas still rules in the children’s hearts.
“Evie!” My mother—many know her as Mrs. Clause, but to everyone around here, she’s the queen bee, Nana Clause—called me. “Evangeline Clause, where are you?” Mother’s real name is Elizabeth, but nobody calls her that anymore. She’s just Nana or Mother now.
“Here, Mother,” I called, jumping from my swing, sailing out of the snowapple tree and into the snowbank, landing light as a newly fallen snowflake.
“Yes, you are here. Eve, how many time must I tell you—“
“Not to swing after dark, I know, Mother,” I rolled my eyes, “It’s not that dark, it’s only twilight—“
“You know those stories,” she said in a hushed tone, looking around cautiously as she grabbed my arm, “Pretty, young princesses, getting snatched up by goons!”
“Mother, it’s just—“ she glared at me, “It’s just the courtyard, Mother, nobody’s going to come kidnap me.” Mother was sometimes overprotective and annoying, but that’s only because she’s my Mother and I’m her last child. Mother and I walked through the palace—yes, Santa lives in a palace, it’s not a giant, fancy palace, but it’s a palace all the same—and bumped into my eldest brother, Nicholas.
“Evan,” he said, looking at me, noticing my coat and damp brown hair, “I see you’ve been disobeying Mother’s orders to keep you inside after dark.”
“Not that you’ve never gone outside at twilight,” I retorted. Nicholas, with his red hair and small bit of stubble—he was trying to be the next Father. He was a straight-up goody-two-shoes, and he always made you feel stupid if you weren’t as good as he was. He was only twenty-three; he wasn’t that big of a deal—but Mother and Father still treated him like the Prince he was. The heir to the throne, Prince Nicholas.
“Eve, Nicholas, be nice to each other—“ Mother rolled her eyes, dragging me away from my snotty brother and into the toyshop. The toyshop was our living room—it was in the center of our house. The elves were working quickly around us, trying to fix up the last odds and ends of toys before Christmas Eve—in five days. When they saw us, they bowed.
“Your majesties,” they would say as they looked at the ground before standing again and returning to their work.
When I was little, it was really something to be called a Princess. Many young girls wish they were princesses, but I was one. I didn’t have to wish—it was already my life. I loved going around to all the elves and seeing what they were working on; Rowan was working on a dolly for Sally, Jingle was making a toy truck for James… My favorite part of the toy-making station was getting to play with the toys. I tested out thousands of toy trains and rocking horses, made sure that the chestnut-haired baby doll for Margaret was crying properly, and the small stuffed elephant for Ryan wasn’t going to fall over.
And eating all the Christmas delicacies—that was the best! I got to eat candy canes as a snack every day, and I had hot chocolate in the mornings and before going to bed—I loved mine with a little candy cane in it, or cinnamon, or marshmallows—I’d tried every variation to hot chocolate, but my favorite had to be with the candy cane. It just gave it that cozy Christmas feel. But hot cocoa wasn’t the best part—my brother Todd and I ate figgy pudding every day when he was eight and I was seven.
Todd was my favorite brother. Nicholas was the perfect one; Christopher was the crazy one, and Todd was the mix of both of them. He could be quiet and rambunctious—though not at the same time. Plus, he was only a year older than me, so it made it easier to know where he was coming from. Nicholas and I are five years apart, and Christopher and I are three, so they’re just my brothers. But Todd is my friend. He’s seventeen and still acts like he did when he was eight—just yesterday he got in trouble for planting a fruitcake in the middle of the Elf’s Workshop and making five elves trip. Father was pretty mad. He’s the son of Santa who would most likely screw up Christmas, and he’s come close, but Father caught him just in time.
Now I don’t really like being called a Princess. Now I’m not eager to help the elves test toys. Sure, I still have hot chocolate when I wake up and right before I go to bed, but it’s not as exciting anymore.
One thing that hasn’t changed is Todd is still my friend. While Mother and I were walking into the house, he rode by on a tricycle Bridget the Elf made.
“Todd Clause!” Mother called when he stopped her while riding by, “Be careful!”
“Sorry Mother!” Todd shouted, driving by again. Mother rolled her eyes and continued walking, and I followed. Mother led me to the kitchen, where Merry the Elf was working cautiously to make the best pumpkin pie for dessert. We watched her through the window for a few minutes before moving on. She climbed the stairs and I tagged along after her, and she deposited me in front of my bedroom door. There was a plaque on the top of the dark red-colored door that read, “EVANGELINE CLAUSE.”
“Now,” she said, stopping me, “Jangles made you a new Christmas dress. I want you to try it on and show me—but only if it fits.” She said this because one time, Christopher was trying on his Christmas suit, which was too small, but he still came downstairs to show Mother. There were a lot of elves going to counseling after that—they’d never imagined they’d see the prince half naked, running through their workshop calling for his mother.
“Yes, Mother.” I said, going inside my room. It was dark and smelled like chocolate—Father had made it that way. He wanted my room to be a candy dream. Sometimes it would smell like chocolate, sometimes peppermint, sometimes butterscotch. On the crimson walls above me was a saying painted in silver ink: Have The Courage to Believe, and anything can happen. My room was a square, with warm brown wooden floors and red everywhere else. The comforter on my bed was red, the carpet on the floor was red, the curtains in my window were red, and my closet doors were red. Sitting in front of my closet doors was a beautiful, sparkling red gown. It was a long gown, not my normally short dress—probably because Mother thought sixteen-year-olds shouldn’t wear short dresses. I have to be more like her now.
The dress was glittery and red in the bosom, and on the back of the bosom was ribbon to tighten it against your back—a corset. The skirt was also glittery and red, with silk and velvet. It was a gorgeous dress—Jangles had put some serious time on it. I put it on and it fit perfectly—I looked at myself in the mirror. Mother and thirty five thousand elves were going to say I looked beautiful, as they always do, and I did.
Wait a minute. The dress was missing something—snow. You’re probably wondering if I, being Santa’s daughter, have any special powers. The answer is yes, I do. I have the ability to take water in my hands and blow it into snow. It’s one of the coolest Christmas powers there is.
I cupped my left hand and poured some water out of a glass, then cupped my right hand next to my left and blew the water all over my dress. It morphed into snowflakes and fell gently onto my dress. Now it was perfect. I went to go find Mother.
My power is more than just turning a handful of water into snow—I can freeze over lakes, too. If I ever met a penguin that was sad because there was no ice to slide on, I could find a lake and freeze it for him. My power was incredible and special.
“Oh, Evie, you look magnificent,” said Mother, who made me twirl around. Nicholas was standing beside her, when I had finally found Mother in the maze of elves; she was conversing with her son.
“She used her power, Mother,” Nicholas observed, “There’s snowflakes on the dress.”
“It makes it look all the more perfect,” said Mother, and I nodded proudly at Nicholas, who scowled. “If only Father could see,” she said, hands clasped on the right side of her cheek. She was smiling. “Twirl around again, Evie.” Nicholas left, defeated.
One
The Christmas Dress
It was just an ordinary day. I was swinging on the beautiful swing my father had carved from cassawood, a kind of tree only found in the North Pole. The ropes holding it up were entwined with flowers, rare flowers, flowers only found at home. I sailed over the snow banks on my flying carpet, my dazzling swing made of cassawood, in my own world. It was twilight, the skies a striking, flawless shade of deep, deep blue. Even though there was snow falling I couldn’t feel it, I didn’t care. This was my world, not my parent’s… I could go where I pleased. I swung over Saudi Arabia, and it’s warm breeze caught me and brought me down into the sand, where I lay, wishing I lived here instead of the artic tundra. Wishing I didn’t have to be Santa Clause’s daughter. Wishing I were someone else—an Egyptian princess instead of a North Pole princess. A German girl, with long, blonde hair instead of a mountain girl, whose hair was brown and ugly. How I wished I were someone else.
But I’m not. I’m Evangeline Clause, Santa Clause’s daughter. His last child. I have three older brothers, Nicholas, Christopher and Todd. I don’t really have any friends—all the elves just call me Princess Eve and treat me like a princess, no ‘want to go shopping, Eve?’ They’re not allowed to do that, because I’m a Princess and they’re elves. But that’s who I am, The Princess of The North Pole, Her Highness, Evangeline Noel Clause. I’ll probably never get to become queen, seeing as that’s my mother’s place—her forever place. Mother and Father will never die, as long as the Spirit of Christmas still rules in the children’s hearts.
“Evie!” My mother—many know her as Mrs. Clause, but to everyone around here, she’s the queen bee, Nana Clause—called me. “Evangeline Clause, where are you?” Mother’s real name is Elizabeth, but nobody calls her that anymore. She’s just Nana or Mother now.
“Here, Mother,” I called, jumping from my swing, sailing out of the snowapple tree and into the snowbank, landing light as a newly fallen snowflake.
“Yes, you are here. Eve, how many time must I tell you—“
“Not to swing after dark, I know, Mother,” I rolled my eyes, “It’s not that dark, it’s only twilight—“
“You know those stories,” she said in a hushed tone, looking around cautiously as she grabbed my arm, “Pretty, young princesses, getting snatched up by goons!”
“Mother, it’s just—“ she glared at me, “It’s just the courtyard, Mother, nobody’s going to come kidnap me.” Mother was sometimes overprotective and annoying, but that’s only because she’s my Mother and I’m her last child. Mother and I walked through the palace—yes, Santa lives in a palace, it’s not a giant, fancy palace, but it’s a palace all the same—and bumped into my eldest brother, Nicholas.
“Evan,” he said, looking at me, noticing my coat and damp brown hair, “I see you’ve been disobeying Mother’s orders to keep you inside after dark.”
“Not that you’ve never gone outside at twilight,” I retorted. Nicholas, with his red hair and small bit of stubble—he was trying to be the next Father. He was a straight-up goody-two-shoes, and he always made you feel stupid if you weren’t as good as he was. He was only twenty-three; he wasn’t that big of a deal—but Mother and Father still treated him like the Prince he was. The heir to the throne, Prince Nicholas.
“Eve, Nicholas, be nice to each other—“ Mother rolled her eyes, dragging me away from my snotty brother and into the toyshop. The toyshop was our living room—it was in the center of our house. The elves were working quickly around us, trying to fix up the last odds and ends of toys before Christmas Eve—in five days. When they saw us, they bowed.
“Your majesties,” they would say as they looked at the ground before standing again and returning to their work.
When I was little, it was really something to be called a Princess. Many young girls wish they were princesses, but I was one. I didn’t have to wish—it was already my life. I loved going around to all the elves and seeing what they were working on; Rowan was working on a dolly for Sally, Jingle was making a toy truck for James… My favorite part of the toy-making station was getting to play with the toys. I tested out thousands of toy trains and rocking horses, made sure that the chestnut-haired baby doll for Margaret was crying properly, and the small stuffed elephant for Ryan wasn’t going to fall over.
And eating all the Christmas delicacies—that was the best! I got to eat candy canes as a snack every day, and I had hot chocolate in the mornings and before going to bed—I loved mine with a little candy cane in it, or cinnamon, or marshmallows—I’d tried every variation to hot chocolate, but my favorite had to be with the candy cane. It just gave it that cozy Christmas feel. But hot cocoa wasn’t the best part—my brother Todd and I ate figgy pudding every day when he was eight and I was seven.
Todd was my favorite brother. Nicholas was the perfect one; Christopher was the crazy one, and Todd was the mix of both of them. He could be quiet and rambunctious—though not at the same time. Plus, he was only a year older than me, so it made it easier to know where he was coming from. Nicholas and I are five years apart, and Christopher and I are three, so they’re just my brothers. But Todd is my friend. He’s seventeen and still acts like he did when he was eight—just yesterday he got in trouble for planting a fruitcake in the middle of the Elf’s Workshop and making five elves trip. Father was pretty mad. He’s the son of Santa who would most likely screw up Christmas, and he’s come close, but Father caught him just in time.
Now I don’t really like being called a Princess. Now I’m not eager to help the elves test toys. Sure, I still have hot chocolate when I wake up and right before I go to bed, but it’s not as exciting anymore.
One thing that hasn’t changed is Todd is still my friend. While Mother and I were walking into the house, he rode by on a tricycle Bridget the Elf made.
“Todd Clause!” Mother called when he stopped her while riding by, “Be careful!”
“Sorry Mother!” Todd shouted, driving by again. Mother rolled her eyes and continued walking, and I followed. Mother led me to the kitchen, where Merry the Elf was working cautiously to make the best pumpkin pie for dessert. We watched her through the window for a few minutes before moving on. She climbed the stairs and I tagged along after her, and she deposited me in front of my bedroom door. There was a plaque on the top of the dark red-colored door that read, “EVANGELINE CLAUSE.”
“Now,” she said, stopping me, “Jangles made you a new Christmas dress. I want you to try it on and show me—but only if it fits.” She said this because one time, Christopher was trying on his Christmas suit, which was too small, but he still came downstairs to show Mother. There were a lot of elves going to counseling after that—they’d never imagined they’d see the prince half naked, running through their workshop calling for his mother.
“Yes, Mother.” I said, going inside my room. It was dark and smelled like chocolate—Father had made it that way. He wanted my room to be a candy dream. Sometimes it would smell like chocolate, sometimes peppermint, sometimes butterscotch. On the crimson walls above me was a saying painted in silver ink: Have The Courage to Believe, and anything can happen. My room was a square, with warm brown wooden floors and red everywhere else. The comforter on my bed was red, the carpet on the floor was red, the curtains in my window were red, and my closet doors were red. Sitting in front of my closet doors was a beautiful, sparkling red gown. It was a long gown, not my normally short dress—probably because Mother thought sixteen-year-olds shouldn’t wear short dresses. I have to be more like her now.
The dress was glittery and red in the bosom, and on the back of the bosom was ribbon to tighten it against your back—a corset. The skirt was also glittery and red, with silk and velvet. It was a gorgeous dress—Jangles had put some serious time on it. I put it on and it fit perfectly—I looked at myself in the mirror. Mother and thirty five thousand elves were going to say I looked beautiful, as they always do, and I did.
Wait a minute. The dress was missing something—snow. You’re probably wondering if I, being Santa’s daughter, have any special powers. The answer is yes, I do. I have the ability to take water in my hands and blow it into snow. It’s one of the coolest Christmas powers there is.
I cupped my left hand and poured some water out of a glass, then cupped my right hand next to my left and blew the water all over my dress. It morphed into snowflakes and fell gently onto my dress. Now it was perfect. I went to go find Mother.
My power is more than just turning a handful of water into snow—I can freeze over lakes, too. If I ever met a penguin that was sad because there was no ice to slide on, I could find a lake and freeze it for him. My power was incredible and special.
“Oh, Evie, you look magnificent,” said Mother, who made me twirl around. Nicholas was standing beside her, when I had finally found Mother in the maze of elves; she was conversing with her son.
“She used her power, Mother,” Nicholas observed, “There’s snowflakes on the dress.”
“It makes it look all the more perfect,” said Mother, and I nodded proudly at Nicholas, who scowled. “If only Father could see,” she said, hands clasped on the right side of her cheek. She was smiling. “Twirl around again, Evie.” Nicholas left, defeated.
