The Glass Ballerina Who Danced On Knives

A Very Hawthorne Christmas (one shot)

2013, Christmas Eve (Trinity is 10)

I stare up at the ceiling. Two hundred and forty six minutes until I perform for the world. Sixty three minutes until I have to get ready. I am only ten years old. This is crazy. I'm crazy. This performance is different from the many I've done I'm my short life. I won't be playing the harp or dancing on my toes. I will be socializing, my grandfather's spark of humanity. I can't be that. I don't understand people. I sigh and roll onto my stomach.

"Now then Kallie, you aren't destroying that beautiful dress, now are you?"

I leap to my feet. "No Granddad."

"Good." He makes his way to one of the beautiful chairs. "Are you ready?"

I don't think I could ever be ready to attend the annual Christmas Eve gala that granddad hosts. The grand affair where powerful men and women come from all over the world to get on the mighty Tobias Hawthorne's good side. I'm young, but I know that this is not just a Christmas party.

I smile. "Just about granddad."

"What did I tell you about lying?"

"Lying is for those who are uncertain. For those to fill something bigger than them. You are above that." I recite.

He smiles. "Very good darling, very good."
I beam "Thank you."

"Now," he swirls his glass of scotch. "What am I drinking?"

"Scotch." I spit out without a second thought.
He raises his eyebrows.

"1976, double aged, from the second cellar, made by Golden Barrel, and part of their forty second Moonlight Luxury collection."

He nods, contemplating. "Now tell me. Are you ready?"

I bow my head in shame. "No granddad."
"Hmmmmm. And why not Angel?"

"Because I'm scared." This time, the truth comes out.
Granddad wrinkles his bushy white brows. "What do you have to be scared of? Most of those people are a bunch of two faced bastards. Ain't none of them are going down in history." His accent thickens, like it always does when he swears. "Do y'know why they're here?"

"To get you on their side for the coming new year."

He chuckles. "Damn right. Do you know why I'm asking you to attend this year alongside your brothers?"

I shake my head truthfully.

"Because, you, Angel are my crown jewel."

"I'm just a pawn in your game?" Disbelief rushes through my ears.

"No, no." He puts down his glass of whisky and brings his hands up to my shoulders. "You are much, much more than a pawn. You are the queen, the most powerful person on the board. And one day," he bent down to my ear. "I'm going to teach you how to play."

I knew how to play chess. I'd beat two grandmasters. I also knew that the game granddad would teach me was not chess. That game was far more powerful, one of life and death, one that built and broke empires.

I was dressed in my dress that was selected for this: dark green satin with a red velvet sash around the waist and bands of red velvet around the hem and the poofed sleeves. Shiny forest green shoes and dark maroon socks with a matching bow in my blonde ringlets tied everything together. Granted, it wasn't the most stylish thing I'd worn, but it was better than the awful checked thing my mother had almost made we wear for the family Christmas shoot. Thank goodness granddad stepped in and said it would clash with his tie. Truth be told, I don't know what I'd do without granddad sometimes.

"They're ready for you ma'mn."
I don't think I'll ever get used to people calling me that. The old staff always called me "Miss Hawthorne", but they've slowly been retiring.
Ma'mn makes me feel about a thousand years old. I stand at the head of the grad staircase with me brothers.

At nine, Xan is the youngest of all of us and his curly hair sticks up in places that the comb can't pull down. Unlike the rest of us in fancy gala clothes, Xander's still too young to join so he fiddles with a Rubix cube in his Bob the Builder pajamas behind the rest of us.

Nineteen year old Nash stands on the outside, the furthest away from me. He's made it clear he has no interest whatsoever in continuing granddads legacy. That now falls on twelve year old Grayson, his eyes flicking nervously between all of us as he pulls at his uncomfortable tie. He's excited to attend the gala again, and to tell me all about it. Grayson is my favourite brother. We have the best times sneaking around secret passageways and eating cookies Ms Laughlin makes for us.

Eleven year old Jameson has the same crazed glint in his eye and is only half holding on to my hand, one foot already downstairs.

We descend in unison, their forest green satin suits reflect the light as does my dress.

The Hawthorne siblings.

I heard gasps of awe and that ticks me. I'm not an animal. Neither are my brothers: most of the time.
I'm wandering through the crowds after Grayson was called by granddad, rather alone.

"Hey!" A boy with a British accent says to me. I turn to my left and look at him. He has tan skin and a gap in his upper teeth. His hair is dark and sits on his head in a curly mop and his eyes are green, flecked with gold. His suit falls on an odd threshold of neat enough - tie loose, cuffs unbuttoned but all neatly ironed.

"My name's Camden Copenhagen Birmingham the third."

"Mines Trinity Kallistrate Hawthorne." I smile uncertainty. "The first."

He laughs and it's beautiful. "My friends call me Camden."

I smile genuinely. "I don't really have any friends, but people call me Trinity and my brothers call me Dynamite because I'm scared of fireworks."

"I'll be your friend." His hand is warm in mine. "And I'm scared of fireworks too."

If nothing else this Christmas, I've made a friend. And maybe, just maybe understood people a little better.

A.N: AHHHHHH I've been so excited for this. Also sorry if you're seeing this on Saturday, I'm now in the states for winter vacation and it's still Friday here. Ily and Merry Christmas, Happy (belated) Hanukkah, Tis the damn season (@Rattywriter 🤭). Have an amazing Holiday and lmk how you say happy holidays/ merry Christmas in ur language, or tell me what you celebrate instead!