Everyone deserves a second chance at happiness... even a killer. Serendipity Fizzlestitch wants nothing more than to be left alone. In a small cabin a stone's throw from the house where her sisters and mother breathed their last, Serendipity toils away, making the dolls her late father was working on when he disappeared beneath the ocean waves. Serendipity is content to spend the rest of her existence here, trying to atone for the mistakes of her past by creating the dolls that bring joy to so many others. When a mysterious letter arrives in her fireplace, an unusual stranger shows up at her door, and her favorite mouse friend goes missing, Serendipity is forced to face the outside world--and the ghosts from her past. Will she accept the opportunity to join the most famous toymaker of all time, or will her guilt prevent her from finding the happiness everyone deserves? The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas is a whimsical romantic fantasy that proves everyone deserves a second chance, no matter how horrific our past. Perfect for Christmas, or any time of year, The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas will bring back the magic we can only find when we truly believe.
View MoreMarwolaeth Hall was an imposing structure with its steep roofline, ominous gables that numbered three, and the seemingly daunting sharpness of even its rounded turret that capped the bay window on the eastern side. It wasn’t necessarily the largest dwelling one might chance to come across in the moorland near the village of Dunsford, England, but it was certainly commanding enough to make one stop and consider the nature of those who would make such a place their home. Even in the daylight it seemed to whisper of treachery and consternation, and it was no wonder the original owners had given it such a fortuitous name.
Serendipity Fizzlestitch had not called Marwolaeth her home for nearly eight years, choosing instead to occupy a much smaller, much less daunting cottage nearly twenty furlongs to the south of her original home, off in the woods where the trees blocked most of the view of the gothic structure. Not that she ever went out where she could potentially catch a glimpse, nor did she ever dare peek out the tightly drawn, black woolen curtains. Her mind was apt to visit Marwolaeth even without a visual reminder, and she found it best to distance herself in every way possible if she were to hold on to lingering strands of sanity, no matter how drifting or fleeting they may be. No, Serendipity had not stepped foot inside Marwolaeth even once since she had been dragged out screaming by Dr. Tweedlton and Deputy Shillingpepper the morning of April 8, 1862, the day she had killed her family.
The cottage consisted of one large room with a loft where Serendipity kept a mat on the floor where she occasionally gave in and rested for a few hours from time to time. More often, she dozed restlessly for an hour or so here and there in a wooden rocking chair situated near the fireplace, which was often the only source of light. Maevis was always telling her to open the curtains or light one of the lanterns she kept oiled on her weekly visits. But Serendipity preferred the dark. It was harder to see one’s sins in the absence of light.
It was also a bit harder to see her work, but she had become so accustomed to the repetitive movements of her art that she truly required very little of her eyesight. There were times, however, that she felt her eyes had become so accustom to the dark that she was fairly certain she would be able to see even in the pitch black. She has always had pale skin and light hair but now, whenever she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the tin teapot or one of her other meager dishes, she hardly recognized herself. Which was not unwelcome. The idea of being someone else was a pleasant one, and perhaps, if she had the smallest spark of hope that she could ever complete a metamorphosis into someone other than who she was, she might entertain the possibility of doing just that. But she knew in her heart she would never be more than the doll maker’s murderous daughter who occupied a cottage behind her childhood home which continued to mock her in every passing thought and memory.
She sat in her straight back chair near the fire, her large magnifying glass posed between herself and the head she held carefully in her right hand, a finely tipped paintbrush slowly tapping against her chin as she contemplated precisely the expression for this newest beauty. Over the years, she had become so familiar with the medium she now felt as if she were able to interpret the personality behind each blank slate and bring forth a living individual from within. It generally only took a moment of careful contemplation before the face began to speak to her, and then the paintbrush would begin to dance in her hand, and before she knew it, there was a jovial smiling face looking up at her.
After each layer of flesh-toned paint, the doll would need to be fired. Since the kiln was located elsewhere on the property, Serendipity relied heavily on Maevis to take away her sweet friends and bring them back unharmed in a timely fashion. She had eventually come accustom to taking leave from one companion for a spell only to be reunited with her once more time and again, finding solace in another equally precious individual as she waited, until at last the paint was set. Once that part was finished, Serendipity was free to complete each doll one by one, laying each solitary strand of hair, attaching the body and limbs, and crafting the perfect fashionable outfit and shoes to represent the personality that spoke to her from behind the blank facade.
Now, after several moments of quiet contemplation, this new friend began to speak, and Serendipity allowed her hand to flow freely across the surface of what would soon be a lovely face, the picture in her head projecting onto the bisque in fluid, unhurried movements.
As she worked, brushing on tiny eyebrow hairs one by one, there was a fluttering at the fireplace that momentarily caught her attention. The magnifying glass before her would have given any spectator a magnificent view of her left eye, had anyone been nearby, and she hurriedly pushed it aside so that she could attempt to discover what had apparently flown down the chimney.
Glancing about, she realized a medium-sized stark white envelope was resting comfortably atop the flickering shards of orange and purple waving about inside the hearth. It struck her fancy that the paper was not instantly engulfed in flames, but since she was rather busy with her new companion, she dismissed the phenomenon and returned to her work, certain that scurrying over to retrieve it would be of little use should it be capable of catching fire, and if for some reason it was impermeable to flames, it would be thusly situated upon completion of the feature she was now creating.
Maevis had spent much of her time in Serendipity’s cottage awaiting word from her ward; would she choose to stay in the North Pole, or would she quickly return via some magic portal or reindeer transport?She had received a bit of an indication that Serendipity may have decided to stay when all of her doll parts suddenly disappeared out of the cottage and Marwolaeth Hall simultaneously. However, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it without some direct word from Serendipity herself. It was early on the third day when, as she continued to straighten and clean Serendipity’s workspace, the only task she could find to keep herself busy, she heard a bustling at the fireplace at her back. She turned quickly to see a magical envelope dancing atop the blazing fire, and careful not to burn herself, she used the poker to draw out the letter.Upon tearing it open, she read the following, written in the familiar hand of one Cornelius Cane:Dearest Mae
“I do,” Serendipity nodded, looking into Corey’s eyes. “I’m not exactly sure what it was that happened to me when I was up there on the mountain, whether I truly had the opportunity to speak to my father through some sort of magic, or if it was just some sort of an hallucination brought on by my extremely cold state, but through that experience and talking to Mrs. Claus just now, I’ve come to realize that what happened to my mother and sisters was an accident. It truly wasn’t my fault, and I can’t spend the rest of my life feeling guilty or punishing myself.”A look of relief and a broad smile spread across Corey’s face. “Oh, Serendipity, it’s so wonderful to hear you say those words,” he assured her. “If coming here has allowed you to make that realization, and you should still choose to leave this place, never to return, then I should think this journey a success.”Serendipity s
“There’s something else, my dear,” Mrs. Claus said, her hands resting on her knees. A smile played around her rosy cheeks as she took a deep breath and continued. “As you may know, in my former life, I was a schoolteacher.”“Oh, yes,” Serendipity nodded. “I had heard that was the case, though I imagine that was several years ago, seeing as though you’ve been Mrs. Claus for all of these years.” Serendipity responded, wondering where this conversation was going.“Did you know, darling, that there are many other intelligent, famous, successful, well-known people who also struggled their whole lives with the tasks of reading and writing?” Mrs. Claus continued, leaning forward to look more closely at the young lady.“What?” Serendipity asked, glancing from St. Nicholas’s smiling face back to his wife’s “Whatever do you mean?”“Oh, yes! People like
When her eyes flew open, still mumbling her father's final words, it wasn’t the kind and loving face of her father hovering over her but rather the equally concerned, yet slightly unwelcome face of Cornelius Cane.“Corey?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper. “How did you…? Where is my….?” She began looking around the cave, desperately searching for her father. There was not a trace of him anywhere.“Calm down, Serendipity,” Corey insisted, his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be all right just as soon as we get you to some place warm.”Serendipity noticed then that they were not alone. Snowshoes was standing just in front of the entrance to the cave, the baby reindeer alongside him. “Is that how you found me? With the light from the baby reindeer?”“Yes,” Corey explained. “He was able to find your footprints, and then we followed you here, by the red
It seemed to take hours for Serendipity to reach the cave opening, even though in actuality it only took a matter of minutes. The snow was pelting her face, making it difficult to see, and her hands were beginning to freeze now, too, right along with the rest of her body. Her footing the last few steps was unsure, and she nearly slipped as she grabbed hold of the rocky entrance way and pulled herself inside.The opening was narrow, and she had to crouch to slip inside, but once she finally made it through the entryway, though the temperature was still well below freezing, the lack of wind and snow seemed to make it more tolerable, and she collapsed on the damp floor against the mossy cave wall.Squirming in her pocket let her know that Pozzletot was still with her, though she did not know what shape he might be in. She didn’t dare take him out to inspect him as she didn’t want to further expose him to the frigid air.“Oh, Pozzletot,” she sa
“Very good,” Corey replied taking off behind him. “And Hillstern, will you send someone over to alert St. Nicholas? He should be able to use the globe to find her. Perhaps he can transport himself to where she is located.”“I’ll send someone,” Hillstern replied. “If they can reach St. Nicholas in time…. It’s just, you know how hard it is to get an audience with him.”“Tell him it’s an emergency, and that I need his help,” Corey insisted, knowing the elf was right. He watched as Snowshoes took the red light from the wall and began to strap it onto the miniature reindeer the same way that Serendipity had shown him.“How can I help?” he asked.Pulling the strap tightly, the elf gave a stern nod. “That should do it,” Snowshoes assured him. “Now, can you transport us to where you think she might be?”“I have no idea where she migh
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