Frozen Xmas Novels & Stories

I learned to be thankful and quiet. That acceptance made me hate Christmas. Love songs made my skin crawl. The lights under our tree looked like glass eyes. The ribbons on the presents were traps. Every year, the house tuned itself to cheer and I pretended to enjoy it. The twenty-fifth became the night when a new kind of cold touched my bones. It was the day the truth had crawled out at me like an animal. It was the day I had learned how much of my life had been decided by other hands.

“Misha, you my dear, want the steak fajita nachos rare with a frozen blue raspberry margarita.” “Oh, shit!” Ana exclaims. Misha blushes slightly, “You're right I do. But do you know why I want something frozen when it's twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit outside?” Oh, I will take this challenge! “Because when it's this cold out most people crave something warm to heat their insides. But you need something cold because your insides are already blazing,” I responded smirking, relishing my demonic nature. Ana gasps, “Oh my god!”

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Jaxon said low and careful from his place at the door to the living room, his hand resting on the frame. His eyes were on me, like he was trying to gauge whether I meant it when I said everything was fine. I stood at the window, staring out as snow fell in languid flakes, casting a pale luminance over everything in sight. Christmas was looming, yet somehow, it didn't feel quite as festively joyful as it had other years.

I looked once more at my princess lying on the cold bed, I felt every inch of my body shudder with rage and fury. Exit the hospital towards the parking lot. I got into my car and left on a painful and sad path of homesickness. As I drove, I felt my muscles rotting as if a virus had taken over everything. I parked near the shore and started walking. It was already dark and the lights from the buildings adorned the city, like decorations on a Christmas tree. My Christmas miracle. What did my father mean by that?

“This is the message." I glared at the screen, the words registering before I could even finish reading. “Shipment NX043- delivery time 12:15- date 12/03/25. Everything was the opposite of how it was supposed to be. Above, was my number boldly written as the sender. “There has to be a mistake," I said, reaching out for my own phone.

But I never expected that the moment I stepped out onto the balcony, Archie would lock the door behind me. Hearing the sound, I rushed back to the glass door and tried to get back inside. The northern winter was bitterly cold. Snowflakes fluttered through the air. There was no heating on the balcony, and since I was inside just moments ago, I was only wearing a thin set of loungewear. The cold wind swept through my clothes, and my limbs quickly stiffened. The icy pain gnawed at my bones, sending sharp, biting chills deep into my skin. I pounded on the glass door, screaming and begging for help.

The smell of damp pine trees gave the air a clean, fresh feeling. A thick blanket of white snow shrouded the houses, the ground, and the trees. The telltale signs of Christmas are everywhere: twinkling lights, decorated houses, trees, a cheery atmosphere, the sporadic playing of hymns and carols, an abundance of green and red colours, flashes of silver and gold, busy ornament stores, and Santas ringing bells at every corner.

Something fun and distracting and completely ridiculous. “I have an idea,” I announced. Christian's fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Your ideas scare me.” “Rude but fair. Hear me out—what if we celebrated Christmas?” “We're werewolves.” “Werewolves can't have holidays?” “We have the Winter Solstice ceremony.” “Which is beautiful and traditional and involves a lot of standing still in the cold. I'm talking about Christmas. Trees, lights, presents, cookies—” “Why would we bring a tree inside?” Christian looked genuinely confused.

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄✨✨✨✨ ‎Nora’s POV ‎Mikhail’s Family Mansion – Christmas Eve, December 25. ‎The snow falls in fat, lazy flakes outside the massive windows of Mikhail’s family mansion, turning the rolling hills into a winter wonderland straight out of a postcard. Inside, it’s a whirlwind of warmth and chaos—the kind that makes you forget about the cold world outside. The grand foyer is decked out with a towering tree loaded with twinkling lights and ornaments that look like they belong in a museum, and the air smells like pine, cinnamon, and roasting turkey. I stir the mulled wine on the stove, watching the spices swirl in the deep red liquid, feeling a little out of place but mostly content. This is

Their eyes were closed and a peculiar feeling of devastation began to run, like a thousand streams, into his chest, at the thought that they might be dead. “No!” he shouted as he fell to his knees. The woman’s lime green eyes cracked open and the thin layer of ice around her face cracked, but then froze again. He exhaled in relief and reached out to wipe away the tiny crystals already accruing on her lashes. “God, you’re cold,” he exclaimed, bringing his hands over her frigid cheeks.