Back? # **Prologue: I’m Getting Something For Christmas\!** *Obcasis, 12:00 AM* “Bah humbug.” Reclining dejectedly on a luxurious crushed-velvet settee tucked in the corner of his grandiose, icy chambers, Eira lamented the complete and utter injustice of this particular day. He was the Lord of Frost and Despair, the demonic embodiment of the bleak, harsh midwinter. His very name should drive inescapable terror into mortal hearts -- if his regal, imposing presence and mastery of wind, snow, and ice didn’t already do the trick. Unfortunately for Eira, however, he didn’t quite command the same respect as his fellow Demon Lords, not even among the hordes of lesser demons that populated the underworld. The tips of his vast wings twitched angrily, scattering snow-white feathers across the floor. It was completely unfair that he alone was singled out as a laughingstock -- all five of the Lords had suffered their defeats at the hands of the gods and their chosen ones, after all. He wasn’t the only one among them whose schemes to destroy the world had failed, and he wasn’t the only one for whom the occasion had turned into a cause for celebration amongst mortals. He was, however, the originator of the Feast of Hope. Itraviel’s most prolific and anticipated holiday, built entirely on the back of his humiliation. Not helping matters was that his later attempts to avenge himself had been equally successful as the first and only served to dig him into a deeper hole. How was he supposed to know that a stupid Paladin would pull off a worldwide voyage in one night, sparing the wartorn citizens of Justaea from certain doom at the hands of his blizzard? He could hardly be blamed for being unable to halt Nicholas -- his heroic act wasn’t dubbed the ‘Great Miracle’ for nothing! That wasn’t how his fellow Lords saw it, though, and he wasn’t offered so much as a lick of sympathy from those who were supposed to be his family, his fellow spawn of corruption itself. Even worse, his peers openly jabbed and insulted him, all in the name of a ‘joke.’ The worst of the lot was Whisper -- for the Lord of Silence, she was certainly capable of running her mouth. Gris wasn’t much better; he claimed to be their impartial leader, but his stony facade always cracked while encouraging Whisper’s needling. Lucien had always been fair to him, but that traitor fled the underworld ages ago. His only consolation was that Na’ash treated him well, but considering that the Lord of Venom was even less respected than him, it was cold comfort at best. So, Eira isolated himself in his chambers until their mockery and merrymaking were done and over with for another year. He wouldn’t stand by while Whisper binged insulting film recreations of his defeat made by mortals who had no clue what they were talking about. He was a bird demon and an attractive one, not some hideous, furry, yeti-like monstrosity! He wouldn’t be there to listen to Gris humming under his breath whenever he knew Eira was within earshot, filling his mind with those insipid, repetitive carols. And most of all, he wouldn’t need to smell the delicious aromas of Queen Seraphina’s homemade spiced ciders and cookies -- delicacies he would have gladly indulged in, were they not an affront to his very existence. Something so delectable should never be so offensive. He had a busy schedule for the day ahead, ensuring he’d be kept far away from anyone who should bother him. As such, he was stewing in self-pity and bitterness, sighing, lamenting, and cursing the names of his enemies when he heard a dainty knock at his door. He half-heartedly flicked a talon towards the entryway, allowing Lady Venia to enter. Venia was the queen’s closest confidante and advisor, holding a superior rank to Eira. Her curtain of rosy hair draped across the floor as she glided over to Eira and towered over his reclined body. “Eira. Sorry to interrupt…whatever this is, but Seraphina wishes to speak to you in the throne room.” Completely ignoring the expected court decorum, Eira groaned and turned away. “Not today, Venia, please. Surely, it can wait. Of course, I mean no disrespect to you or Her Majesty, but…you know what today is. I can’t go out there, not now.” Venia shook her head kindly. “I’m afraid it cannot. Believe me, I’m well aware of what today is, which is why this is one appointment you won’t want to miss. After all, we all know how deeply you want revenge.” At the word ‘revenge,’ Eira instantly perked up. Sweeping his blue-blonde curls behind his pointed ears, he stretched his wings and soared through a nearby open window towards the throne room, leaving a smirking Venia behind. He didn’t have a moment to waste. No matter what opportunity awaited him, one thing was clear. This time, victory was his.