Christmas as it ought not to be (ch1)

I've almost finished the final chapter of this -- enough to have a good idea of where it's going, anyway, and I think I can safely enter the first chapter for its contest without the likelihood of needing to make any further amendments. It's so short that it barely qualifies as a chapter, and the second scene isn't much better; but they don't really belong together at all, and I don't think I can sensibly run them together as a single first chapter in order to enter them as a pair...

Raoul's December birthday has been a part of my head-canon for some time now in order to help with chronology. It had not previously occurred to me that this would imply that his mother's death fell just before Christmas, however, which would tend to drain any enjoyment out of the season in the minds of the rest of the family :-(

The title, of course, is pinched from my translation activities on Gefangene der Angst. (Well, it's better than 'Unhappy Christmases', I feel!) The chapter titles were an even more last-minute decision, but I think I can run them along the lines of 'the girl at the opera', 'the yacht on the pond', etc. 'The invitation in Africa'?

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Christmas as it ought not to be

Chapter 1: The boy in the library

It was a cold, grey afternoon outside, and the neatly-clipped trees in their huge pots — each almost as tall as the boy who stood gazing out at them through the long windows — stretched away from the chateau towards an empty fountain that held only a thin layer of ice. The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece behind him, with its hurrying uneven tick, showed a little less than half-past three, but shadows were already gathering in the corners, and soon it would be too dark for the picture-book that lay abandoned on the hearthrug where he had left it, in front of an empty grate.

The window rattled a little on its hinges, and Raoul de Chagny pressed the tip of an upturned nose against the cold, smooth pane, feeling the draught stir the ends of his hair with icy fingers. He was a small, fair-haired child, and dressed from head to toe in black he seemed today smaller and frailer than ever.

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