The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

December 5th

Noelle:
I wake up covered by warm blankets, one of them feels like fur. My party outfit is gone, and in its place is a dress made of something thick and itchy, maybe wool? This is a nice dream. I hear a fireplace in the background, crackling, and worried voices. Wait, voices? I stretch my arms and turn onto my back. Sighing, I open my eyes.
"Miss Clara? Miss Clara is awake!" I hear someone exclaim. Who's Clara? I rub my eyes,  and the room comes into focus. Above me is four posters, covered in a beautiful lacy white curtain. There are several layers of blankets piled on me and furs. They are piled so high I cannot see the end of the bed. This is a great dream. It does, however, seem a bit too vivid to be a dream. Also, I have never had a dream while being aware I'm dreaming. Are you supposed to be able to do that? Maybe I've been transported back in time. Haha. I try and sit up, which is difficult, with what seems like one hundred pounds of blankets on top of me. A sharp pain stabs through my head. This is a very vivid dream. A girl about my age rushes over. She's wearing an old fashioned maid uniform, cap and apron, and everything.
"Miss Clara? Are you feeling better? Madam Samantha has called for the doctor," she tells me, fiddling with the hem of her apron.
"Who's Miss Clara? And who are you?" I ask. The girl laughs.
"Miss Clara, please do not joke. Your father was concerned about you."
"I'm not joking. Seriously, who's Miss Clara?" The girl's face drained of color. She ran out of the room, and when she returned a moment later, she was with two men, both middle-aged. The first man looked very serious, with a receding hairline and watery blue eyes. The other man was handsome, but something about him seemed..well the best word I could think of is...melancholy. He had curly light brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. They both had neatly combed, old fashioned haircuts, and the guy had sideburns. They both had fancy three-piece suits, although the melancholy man had a much less frilly one, without ridiculous collars. He immediately rushed over to my side.
"Clara Marie? Clara? Do you know who I am?" he asked. I shook my head. I had no clue who he was, although something about him seemed familiar. He turned the other man.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked the other man. The other man came over to me.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"My full name? Noelle Adelaide Abara, but most people call me Noelle," The man furrowed his brow.
"Where do you live?"
"New Shire City, in the country of Laurenta," I answered carefully. This dream was beginning to feel a little realistic and wacky for my taste. I pinched myself. I didn't wake up. Why can't I wake up? I tried to sit up again, but pain shot through my head. Oh. My head! I hit my head after being pushed in that alleyway! Maybe this is a hallucination. Or a concussion induced coma dream. I have heard of those. The best thing I can do is play along.
"What's wrong?" I ask the guy, who I am assuming is a doctor.
"It appears you have lost your memory after the nasty fall you took.  And that your memory has, well, disappeared," he explains to me. I nod my head. Okay...this is a very realistic dream, I can even smell the guy's gross cologne. It smelled like a weird Axe body spray.
"Will my memory come back?" I ask. The doctor guy frowns.
"Most likely, but there is always the odd chance it won't,"
I nod, "Well, then I suppose I should learn who everyone is." I mean, I might as well have fun in this dream while it lasts, right?
The melancholy man kneels beside the bed. "It's me. Your father. Pierre Smith."
I raise my eyebrows.
"You're my father?" I can kinda see it. His eyes are the same shape and color as mine, and we both have insanely curly messy hair, although mine is darker, with highlights. This is starting to feel more realistic than a dream.  I must have hit my head really hard, huh? The girl in the old fashioned maid uniform steps forward.
"I'm Christabel. You used to call me Christie. I am one of your servants." I raise my eyebrows. I have servants. Wow. I am apparently very rich in this dream.
"I have servants? This is an awesome dream!" I blurt out. The man, I'm mean, my "father" looks at me funny.
"What do you mean? This is not a dream."
Yeah, I'm pretty sure that is not normal for a dream or hallucination. Maybe this isn't a dream or a hallucination. At this point, I'm pretty sure I would have woken up by now if I was dreaming. That leaves either hallucination or that I have someone magically traveled to a different time and place. I really hope it's the latter. Or the former? Whichever one the magical time travel possibility is. Hey, it happens in books, so why not real life, right?
"I'm so silly!" I exclaim and slap my forehead despite my pounding headache. "Of course this isn't a dream. I don't know why I said such a ridiculous thing!"
"Did you just...hit your forehead?" my father asks. Oops. I guess for head slapping isn't a thing in this dream.
"Um...no...I was patting it cause I have a headache?" My father raises his eyebrows, and I'm worried he's going to see through my lie. Instead, his face looks concerned, and he asks,
"How much does it hurt? Do you want some medicine?"
Now I almost feel bad for lying to him. The poor man seems so worried. Even if he is just a figment of my imagination.
"I don't need any medicine," I fake a smile. "It's not too bad, I just need some sleep." Maybe if I sleep in the hallucination, I'll stop hallucinating? I mean, I doubt a hallucination would last that long, right?
"Ok," my father agrees. He turns to the doctor guy, and they talk in hushed whispers, occasionally looking my way.
"Um, what's sideburns name?" I ask Christabel. Sideburns hears me.
"Sideburn's name is Dr. Smith, although you usually called me Uncle Frederick. I'm your fathers brother. I do apologize for not introducing myself," he grins. "Now then, I shall be on my way, seeing as Clara seems to be doing pretty well. Adieu!" And with that, he leaves the room. My father follows him, pausing right outside the doorway.
"Should I leave too?" my father asks.
"I'd like that, please. I would like to be alone for a while to reflect on all this," I try and sound as prim and proper as I can. My father smiles and gently closes the door. Ok, now I can try and figure out how to wake up from this dream. And whether or not this is a dream.