Silent Night

Oh...oh dear, Santa thought to himself as his sleigh slid to a stop on the roof. His reindeer danced about nervously, shying away from the figure before them. Even Santa could admit that the air had gone colder. There was a floral scent on the wind as well.

The solitary young man on the rooftop turned quietly to face Santa. Despite the cold winter air, he was in a black suit with thin grey pinstripes and a matching hat. Pale white skin seemed almost pulled tight across a rigidly defined face, and beneath his inky black hair, purple eyes blazed brightly like cold fire. Despite his presence, he left no footprints in the snow.

"Good evening, Kringle," he said. The man's voice was smooth as silk, yet it sent a shiver down Santa's spine.

"What are you doing here, Azrael?" Santa asked in a low voice. Azrael traced a finger around the snow-caked chimney.

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Santa shook his head, slowly at first, then quicker as the weight of Azrael's words began to fall upon him.

"No, please, not tonight." It wasn't like him to plead, least of all in the presence of the Angel of Death. "Just one more day. His parents--"

"Have been preparing for this for a long time now," Azrael replied, cutting Santa off with a raised hand. "Death is inevitable. Even you shall die one day. You know this."

"But it's Christmas."

Azrael lowered his head. He had enjoyed the holidays as well, Santa knew, though he had never asked for a thing. Azrael dropped his shoulders in a sigh before gazing back up at Santa again. Shame and sorrow shone in his eyes.

"I know," Azrael said. "But I cannot deviate from the plan that has been set in place."

Almost hesitantly, Azrael moved forward to place a cold, comforting hand on Santa's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Kringle," he murmured. The two men silently gazed out across the sea of rooftops. Azrael turned back to Santa after a moment and asked, "Was he...was he on the good list?"

"Yes."

Azrael smiled.