December holiday short story– 2023 

The snow was falling in luminous shades of green and purple; as the borealis danced across the vast, dark night sky, one could only note the frigid winds and magnificent lights surrounding one, snow-dappled, lonesome tree.
Alone in the ice-clad hills of what seemed to resemble a semblance of a meadow.

None could see the shadow of the creature that lived within, though many spoke of it.

A creature known for emerald-dusted wings of glittering radiance; one rumored to have jewel-like eyes that could meticulously scan its surroundings for miles upon miles on end. Feathers of gold and silver that would glow just as bright as the sun or the moon.
Tonight was the night it would appear. Was it not?

Beyond most of civilization’s knowledge, tonight was the night that ice-clad beasts would slip into the vast, dark night sky.

Though it was discreet, nonetheless.
No creature of such an enigma could dare to emerge conspicuously.

It was a dark and frigid night on the night of the snow-hunter’s moon; it didn’t seem as though a human soul dared to brave the blizzard-like winds. Nonetheless, the borealis– as illustrious as it was and ever could be– cut effortlessly through this dark silence.

As did the creature, as crystalline as folklore deemed it had been; as crystalline as folklore deemed it ever would be.
Ice-clad as anything would be in the blizzard’s fierce gales.

The ice and falling snow only gave its crystalline, scaly feathers an ethereal glimmer.

The creature in question wasn’t quite any creature one could describe using human, earthly terms; simply, it was a bird of some sort, though it was borne of crystal feathers rather than anything seen by fellow birds of any sort.
The beak was long, glimmering silver– which, in the moonlight, was starkly luminous.

No two souls deemed the magnificent creature’s eyes to be the same hue; this night, however, many could describe its glittering irises as crimson red.
Not inherently an ominous, foreboding crimson, either.

The same glittering vermilion that could describe the sun at dusk.

The sun in a boreal glade’s autumn, ephemeral before the long and harrowing winter.
Maybe it was this that the creature had emulated, deliberately, rather than it being merely a coincidence bound to happen.

Anything was a possibility in the name and words of ancient folklore.

This bird– some sort of phoenix, perhaps?– seemed to possess the capability to simply grab the borealis from the dark air itself; though, it would be unsure if this had been witnessed by any who could remember it enough to tell of the day. It was clear, nevertheless, that its talons seemed built for the ability.
It possessed gargantuan wings, clad in ice, snow, and crystal; any of its feathers were either an illustrious gold or a glimmering silver.

One could spot it by its glow, which radiated across the entirety of the boreal glade.

Only seven souls caught sight of it up close that night, though this was enough for the entirety of the glade to recognize its illuminant presence; only seven souls looked on as two crystal feathers floated, slowly and gracefully, to the snowy ground.

Before it ascended into the starry sky, and it was gone.