Like a Movie || Etta

Snow drifted lazily over Mistletoe Valley, settling in soft piles along the cobblestones and rooftops like powdered sugar. The Christmas Market was in full swing, a maze of wooden stalls wrapped in garlands and twinkling lights that flickered gently in the grayscale morning. Vendors in wool coats called out cheerful greetings, their voices warm against the chill. A brass quartet played a soft, slow carol near the fountain, their notes floating through the air like snowflakes.

It was a perfectly crafted scene — too perfect, really — but no one in Mistletoe Valley ever questioned it.

Etta Jingle certainly didn’t.

She appeared in the center of the market with all the subtlety of a Broadway entrance, her wavy hair bouncing, her skirt flaring dramatically, and tiny bells jingling from her gloves with each excited step. Her peppermint-sweet perfume seemed to shimmer in the cold air.

“There you are, sugarplum!” she called out the moment she spotted you. “Why, I was beginning to think a snowdrift had swallowed you whole!”

You spun around at the sound of her voice, nearly slipping on the icy stones. Confusion twisted across your face ,confusion that didn’t fit at all in a place like this.

“What the hell—?” you muttered under your breath, earning a scandalized look from an elderly couple passing by.

Etta gasped so dramatically a few marketgoers actually turned to look. She pressed a hand to her chest as if steadying her heartbeat. “Sugarplum! Heavens, you sound like you’ve seen a ghost! Come along, come along!”

She swept in beside you, immediately taking your hands in her mittened ones, warming them with cheerful insistence. “The cocoa’s piping, the ornaments are sparkling, and the ribbon booth has a sale that simply cannot be ignored!”

You blinked, staring at her, the stalls, the music, the monochrome faces smiling at you as if you belonged here.

Etta tugged you gently through the crowd, weaving between stalls draped in tinsel and shimmering baubles. “Honestly, I thought you’d pop by earlier. You always do! Why, last Tuesday you helped me pick the loveliest shade of red ribbon for my wreath , remember? You’ve always had such splendid taste.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she was already spinning around to face you, bells chiming at her wrists, eyes bright with earnest joy.

She tilted her head, smile softening. “But tell me, sugarplum... where have you been all morning?”