Hi everyone! So, as it turns out...I messed up on a post, AGAIN, and...yeah. I'm ashamed to admit it. But the last post you saw in your feed was not real. So today instead I'm going to give you...a flash fiction!!!!!!!!!

This one is from the Pentegreens' storyworld, and it's actually kind of a Christmas short story. It's about fan-favorite character Rishatta Woods and his little sister Anna, back when they were smol beans (12 and 11 respectively). So without further ado...here is the story!!!! And MERRY CHRISTMAS Btw!!!!!!

The Festival of Lights was almost upon them, and Rishatta was starting to accept that this year, they wouldn’t be celebrating.
The beginning of December rolled up with absolutely no fanfare. Only once had Rishatta dared to ask his father if they’d be participating in the festival, and Father had shot back a death glare so cold it made Rishatta stumble back a step. He supposed it made sense. Mama had died only months before, and Father still wore the silver and green of mourning every single day. He’d been a different man since her death. Rishatta had always walked on thin ice around his father, but now it was like cracks sprang up with every step he took. If it had only been for him, he wouldn’t have dared do anything about the Festival. It was just one day, he reminded himself. Maybe next year would be different, as time worked on Father.
But this wasn’t about him.
This was about his little sister.
Anna’s eyes shone in the flickering candlelight every night at dinner, like she was holding back tears with every beat of her heart. One night Rishatta walked down the upstairs hall to his bedroom and heard her voice drifting faintly out from under her closed door, a weeping wraith with aching chords of both grief and hope surging from her soul. His sister loved to sing. She loved Venaria. And she loved the Festival of Lights more than anything else in the world.
On the tenth of December, one night before the festival, Rishatta went into his room and sat down on his bed. The curtains were drawn across the doors to his balcony, so he couldn’t see out onto the street, where the pre-festival was already beginning. Mama had taken them out every night for his first eleven years, all week long leading up to the festival, and while Father had grumbled he’d let her. The night itself, they’d always stayed up way past their bedtimes, watching lights drift through the air and those with the power of light weave shapes and colors and candles out of the air so that the sky filled with glorious beauty. On the coldest night of the year, everyone wanted a bit of magic in their lives.
Rishatta folded his arms. Anna’s eleventh Festival was going to happen. They’d sneak out of the house if they had to. He might be only twelve, but he could command his father’s guards and take them out to the streets, where they could mingle with the citizens. Father wouldn’t even have to know.
Mama wouldn’t want them wallowing in their grief.
He stood up and walked to Anna’s room.
Anna was sitting on her ornate bed, her dark hair loose in a curtain down her back and her own silver-green dress glimmering amidst the pale candles. She looked up at him, expressionless. It was so hard to tell what Anna was thinking.
She sighed as she looked at him. “What do you want, Rish?”
“Do you want to go to the Festival?”
Anna frowned. “Father would never let us.”
“So? We don’t have to tell him.” He grinned, because he hadn’t rebelled against the rules since Mama died, and he was feeling the urge strongly. “We’ll sneak out.”
Anna’s eyes grew wider and she scooted herself back on the mattress. “What? You’ve gone mad!”
“We want to go to the festival, don’t we?” They would have to find a way, and that was the only thing that made sense. Sneaking out.
“Father would keep us locked up forever.” Anna’s eyes begged him to consider something else.
So he thought. And paced. He went to bed early that night, but he didn’t want to think about anything but the Festival, and lay awake in bed, mind swirling.
Anna was right. Much though he wanted to sneak out, they couldn’t defy Father like that.
So they’d have to come up with a different solution.
The morning dawned on the eleventh. Rishatta sat up in bed and considered from that vantage point. One of the family’s maids entered his room and swept open his curtains, allowing the meager light of the winter sun to seep through the glass. The mirrors that adorned every inch of his walls caught the light, reflecting it from wall to wall, catching his breath in his throat. He was a big boy, and big boys didn’t cry.
But looking at that light, the light that had been missing for so long… he wanted to cry, if only to release some of the internal anguish that still roiled within him. He’d never cried for Mama. He wasn’t sure how.
Rishatta clenched his fists and forced the cold to go back into the depths of him, where it wouldn’t disturb him. He was going to be warm today if he could.
He jumped out of bed and ran to the railing of his balcony. The street below was already full of people, preparing for the day’s events leading up to the festival. It was the only time the people of Venaria left behind the suspicion and withdrawal that plagued their days, and instead worked to open their arms and their hearts. Rishatta loved it for that reason.
As he looked over the people in the street from above, it struck him. They didn’t have to sneak out after all.
But they could still go.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Anna peered back over her shoulder, clad in only her nightgown and a long cloak. She cupped a candle in her hand—not yet lit, just clasped between her long dark fingers.
“It’ll be fine.” Father had already retired to his chambers on the other side of the house, and he never left them after he’d entered. Rishatta shot his sister an encouraging look and threw open the curtains.
The Venarian capital city lay below them like a black hump in the darkness. Not one distinctive sign of life anywhere if he looked straight out—but to look down!
Anna let out a gasp, and Rishatta grinned, unable to speak.
“I’ve never seen it from above,” she breathed.
A thousand thousand tiny points of light danced in the streets below.
Light streaked across the dark sky. Someone in the middle of the street stood alone, a lone little figure in the midst of the candles, and from that figure poured beams of light and bright, bright, bright stars and an entire burning sun that lifted into the sky and hung there on a level with them.
Rishatta risked a glance at his sister and found her eyes glowing, but with joy this time.
He struck a match, and they lit their candles with it. A soft voice on the street below began to sing, and then a thousand voices lifted as one, basses and tenors and sopranos and altos and everything in between. Some strong, some lilting, some broken, some barely audible. But the nation of Venaria sang together, their lights raised high.
Anna hit the highest note in the song all of them knew by heart. The smile on her face made all of this worth it. Even if Father did catch them… it wouldn’t matter.
Because it was the Festival of Lights.
And maybe, just maybe, they’d be okay.