Hello friends and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories. Elsa has gone to get the bread her grandfather has asked her to pick up. The special loaf they only have once a year. While she is waiting for the bread to be ready, she stands outside and enjoys the snowflakes. The Snowflake Wishes The snow was falling soft and thick on New Year's Eve. Covering the cobblestones and making everything look like it had been dusted with sugar. Elsa stood under the bakery awning, watching people hurry past with their packages and parcels. Grandfather had sent her to pick up their special New Year's bread from Mrs. Hoffman, kind with raisins, honey and nuts that they only made once a year. But when Elsa arrived, Mrs. Hoffman was just pulling the last batch from the oven. You can wait inside if you'd like, dear, Mrs. Hoffman said with a flowery smile, though I warn you, it's terribly hot in here with all the ovens going. Elsa peeked inside. Mrs. Hoffman wasn't kidding. The air shimmered with heat and two other bakers were rushing around, bumping into each other in the small space. I think I'll wait outside, Elsa said. I like watching the snow anyway. So Elsa waited. Her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, watching the snow fall in the orange glow from the bakery windows. The street was getting quieter now. Most people were already home with their families, getting ready for the New Year's celebrations. Elsa sat down on the step, tucking her cloak around her knees. The snow was really coming down now. Big, fat flakes that drifted lazily through the lamp light. She held out her mitten and caught one. It was perfect. All six points delicate and precise, like lace made of ice. She looked closer, studying the intricate pattern, and then, this was strange, the snowflake seemed to shimmer and grow. The world around her changed. Instead of the snowy street, Elsa saw herself sitting in front of a huge iron stove, the kind people from story books had in their kitchens. The stove was decorated with brass feet, shaped like lion paws, and the fire inside burned with the most beautiful orange and red flames she had ever seen. She could feel the heat on her face, warming her all the way through. Wow, she whispered. But then the snowflake melted in her palm. The stove vanished. She was back on the step, but that had been amazing, like magic or something. She had to try another one. She held out her hand and caught a different snowflake. This one had a completely different pattern, like a tiny star, with branches reaching out in all directions. The moment she looked closely at it, the vision came again. This time she saw through the bakery wall, which was impossible, obviously, but there it was. And inside she could see the most incredible feast. A long table covered with a white cloth, and on it was the biggest roast turkey she'd ever seen, all golden brown and steaming. There were bowls of apples and plums, and potatoes with butter melting on them, and the turkey hopped off the plate. Elsa actually laughed out loud. The turkey was doing a little dance, waddling across the table like it was at a party. It waved one wing at her, as if to say hello there. Then the snowflake melted. Okay, Elsa said to the darkness. Okay, that was definitely my imagination. Snowflakes don't show you dancing turkeys. But she caught another one anyway. This time a Christmas tree appeared, except it wasn't like any Christmas tree she'd seen before. It was enormous, almost as tall as the building, and it was covered in thousands of candles. Not electric lights like she had at home, but real candles, all flickering and warm. And hanging from every branch were beautiful ornaments, painted wooden toys, glass balls that caught the light, silver stars, golden angels. The tree seemed to grow taller and taller, reaching up into the night sky. The candles became stars, real ones, scattered across the darkness. One of them fell, leaving a bright trail across the sky. Elsa remembered what her grandmother used to say about falling stars, that they were angels going to visit someone who needed them. Grandmother had been gone for two years now, but Elsa still thought about her every day. And then she couldn't explain it, but it felt completely real. She saw her grandmother standing in the light of the snowflake. Not sad or gone, but smiling with her arms open wide. Grandma, Elsa whispered. Her grandmother looked just like she always had. Her hair in a neat bun, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes crinkled up with kindness. She didn't say anything, but Elsa could hear her anyway, somehow. I'm always with you, little one, in the warm fire, in the good food, in the beautiful tree, in the stars above. All the love I gave you, it doesn't go away just because I'm gone. It stays right here. Elsa held out both hands, letting snowflakes fall into her palms, wanting to keep that feeling, wanting to hold on to the warmth and love and magic for as long as she could. The light from the visions seemed to grow brighter, stronger than the lamp light, stronger than the glow from the bakery windows. And in that brightness, she understood something. The magic wasn't in the snowflakes at all, it was in her. All the wonderful things she'd imagined, the warm stove, the feast, the beautiful tree, her grandmother's love. They were all things she could create herself, in her own way. Through kindness, through sharing, through remembering. The snowflakes melted. Elsa stood in the darkness for a moment, but it didn't feel dark anymore. Not really. Elsa, the bread's ready, sweetheart. She looked up to see Mrs. Hoffman in the doorway, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle that smelled like heaven. Honey and raisins and warmth. Just then, grandfather came around the corner, his coat dusted with snow. There's my girl, right where you're supposed to be. Did you get the bread? Just now, Elsa said, taking the warm bundle from Mrs. Hoffman and thanking her. As they walked home together through the snow, grandfather chatting about the party and who had brought what food, Elsa looked up at the falling snowflakes. Each one was different. Each one was magic. She smiled. Maybe magic was real after all, just a different kind than she'd expected. And maybe that was even better. And that is the end of our story. Good night. Sleep tight. Good night.
