The air had a bite to it, late that evening. Thick clouds rolled low enough to obscure the tallest buildings in the city of Aquamarina and made it seem impossibly darker in the dead of night. The occasional snowflake drifted lazily to the ground, only to melt on contact with asphalt and cement. It wasn't quite cold enough for the childlike whimsy of settled snow, but the chill in the air flew like needles in every breeze nonetheless.
Jink Sonders felt colder still. Motionless as they were, they wondered briefly if a passerby would see them and deem them a statue; a gargoyle, discarded on the ground and left to play sentry over the abandoned factory on the edge of town. If someone were so daring, Jink was sure that a touch to their skin would feel colder than the winter air around them. They crouched, motionless, at the side of the road and stared unblinkingly at the factory. They were so, so tired, yet their eyes remained open and their face impassive. They needed to watch it. They were the only one who could.
Jink breathed. Jink blinked. The factory remained as a corpse of itself. The air was silent, even with the city behind them. With how late it was, that was unsurprising. Most people slept at night, and woke for work in the morning. Most people grieved things that were gone and moved on with their lives. Most people did not sit in the dirt staring at old, abandoned buildings at two in the morning.
Jink gritted their teeth. They remembered a great many wonderful things, before they first showed up here, and now it was all rotten and bitter. The memories infuriated them. Jink glared at the structure. The factory stood still and dead, as it should.
With a long, resigned exhale, Jink rose to their feet. Their clothes shuffled as they adjusted the strap on their shoulder and moved the collar of their coat back over it. Firm metal pressed uncomfortably against their body on their back and hip, even through their clothing. It was well worth it to be prepared, though.
Giving one last glance at the factory, they turned to leave, reaching into their pockets to pull out a matchbox and a cigarette. They lit a match with some difficulty, given the stubborn breeze, and eventually managed to get their cigarette to smoke before putting the box away and taking a drag. Even the sound of their footsteps was muffled in the cursed winter air. Jink blew out a plume of dark smoke and pretended as though it was their breath clouding the air. It was almost funny. They were so cold, and they were so tired. They needed to get back to their apartment.
As they neared the city proper again, however, Jink stopped. A subtle sound rang on the wind, just barely audible above the steady rhythm of their boots on the ground. They listened closely, turning to locate where, exactly, it was coming from. It hung oddly in the air, like early morning fog, so it took a few moments for Jink to realize that it was coming from the empty shell of a building that they had just left behind. They blinked at it, and strained to hear the noise it made.
It was a song, they found.
Low and steady, and achingly familiar, it made Jink's heart tighten the same way that thinking about the factory always did. Silent Night, the tune dictated, a hauntingly sure assessment of the scenery mere minutes prior. In a better time, in a better place, Jink remembered themself with a ragtag group of people, rowdy and excited for… oh, God. It was Christmas, wasn't it?
Jink ripped their eyes away from the building behind them, searching their memory instead. They hadn't missed the holidays entirely, of course, they'd noticed the hustle and bustle of the city, but… oh, today was definitely Christmas. They would have forgotten. How could they have forgotten? The last few months had been hectic, sure, what with getting roped into magical conflicts and power struggles that were frankly far above their pay grade, but they always did something each year, at least; even if the day was spent alone in their apartment. This had been such an important thing for all of them, and Jink had forgotten!
No, no, that was unfair, they reasoned. Jink took a breath, and gazed back at the factory. They furrowed their brows and took another drag of their cigarette. Their proximity to that dead place was what was making them feel so awful, they rationalized. Jink had settled firmly into their new life after everything had happened, and they stayed far away from meddling in anything that would take away that peace. Now, however, they found themself in the thick of it again, by no choice of their own. Fate, they thought wryly. What a fickle thing.
The faint, eerie singing continued. Jink huffed indignantly. The factory was still only a corpse of itself. Even still, before they could will their feet to move, Jink took another long look at the ugly, terrible structure. Their heart was a little lighter now, their eyes a little brighter.
"If you're still around…" They trailed off momentarily, seeming to think over their words carefully. "If you're still around, then… have a good Christmas. Take care of yourselves." Jink then turned with purpose and strode away from the place that haunted them, the place with memories that they did not think about. The voice that drifted from its walls didn't follow them home, and the tool at Jink's side didn't put another bullet through one of the factory's windows. They were even, Jink supposed.
The city of Aquamarina was silenced by the cold air and low, drifting clouds that hid the stars in the sky far better than any glaring lights could. Light flurries drifted to the ground with a grace almost unknown to the land of steel and stone. Cheerful holiday displays in store windows now sat dark and lonely as a single figure walked with purpose along the streets. Well behind them, snow began to collect on the foliage that grew all over the factory. A vine twitched, then stilled. In separate places across the city, a single thought was shared.
A silent night. A silent night, indeed.
