The Santa Clause Act (Completed)

❄6

❄6 *Edited only once*

            I stare at the fire and cup the hot cocoa closer.

            Clyde has locked himself in his room for hours, refusing to come out.

            I was starting to get pissed off with his hiding don’t look at me façade but the fact that I had no idea what was going on kept me from barging into his room.

            When I was little and threw a fit, my mother would always stand by the door, threatening that if I ever got eaten by a monster, there would be no one to save me because I locked the door.

            Of course, me being the six year old I was, I would fling the door open and leap into her arms to scare the monsters away.

            However, I highly doubt Clyde will open the door if I bang on it and say that he’ll get eaten by a monster.

            I sigh, curling my legs to my chest.

            I missed my mom.

            I felt guilty staying here and having fun while she was stuck back home.

            She must be worried sick.

            I was a terrible daughter- instead of trying to get home, I was allowing myself to side tracked by magic and a cute guy.

            “Has somebody died?” a voice asks me, amusement laced in their tone.

            My head snaps up and I stare at the woman, her white hair perfectly coiled on top of her head.

            She smiles gently, sliding a plate full of gingerbread towards me before sitting on the couch beside me.

            I just stare at her.

            “I’m Elsa- or Mrs. Clause I suppose,” she laughs lightly, her icy, azure eyes brightening.

            “Y-You’re Clyde’s mom?” I stammer.

            She chuckles. “The one and only.”

            I smile tentatively, holding out my hand. “I’m-“

            “Noel. I know who you are sweetheart,” she laughs, engulphing me in a hug.

            My eyes widen and I gingerly hold my cup away from her, scared that I’ll spill it.

            She holds me tight, reminding me of the way my own mother held me.

            Stop, I think to myself. Don’t get emotional.

            But then again, she was a mother.

            She would know how to deal with her son, right?

            Pulling back, I smile shyly. “Do you know why Clyde’s mad at me?”

            Elsa purses her lips, sitting back.

            “I doubt he’s mad at you dear,” she chuckles.

            I look down at my lap. “No, he is. I nearly got us killed up on the operator machine. That’s why he had that weird ice coming out of his hands,” I mutter, motioning around me frantically.