The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn It looks as if my day with the boys is changing. I hope that they don’t mind. I better let them know that they can bring dates/wives with them.

Friday Dec 30, Day 5

I will not be posting over the New Year's weekend. The story will resume Monday the 2nd.

Part Six

The trip from airport to hotel was... interesting. Some structures - including the actual pavement of most side streets - had obviously not been completed, and nearly all of the construction showed serious signs of deterioration. Michelle found herself appreciative of the air conditioning in the car. It removed both much of the heat and most of the smell of decay.

"Reminds me of some sections of Detroit," said Michelle, quietly. "Though with less graffiti."

"You're going to do what," everyone asked.

Yes, my mind was made up I am going to get out into the world and live, I need to stop hiding who I am from the world. I feel a strength in my body that I never really felt before. 'Thank you, mother, for giving me strength,' I offer up a silent prayer.

I took a deep breath as I peered toward the full floor length mirror that was hung on the other side of the small changing room. The reflection that greeted me was totally alien to me. The reflection showed a girl, who appeared to be around sixteen. She had long, flowing brunette hair that reached down to her shoulders. A modest chest that was just starting to fill out. Her hips were just starting to come in. This girl also wore a strapless coral pink ball gown that reached all the way to the ground.

A Christmas tale of magic, hope, and family. Be careful of what you wish for under a December’s night sky under the Northern Lights. You might get it.

Part Five

At the Detroit Metro Airport the next day there was still one surprise for Michelle, though it was a minor one.

"'Victoria'?" said Michelle, looking over Vic's shoulder as her wife checked their luggage. "Oh, right; you changed it when we got married. I'm so used to everyone just calling you 'Vic' I forgot."

"Yielding as gracefully as I can to the inevitable," said Vic, a bit pompously.

The thing I remember most is that I didn't cry. It's funny how the mind works like that. I don't remember the words my sisters said to me, or what they were wearing, or even if they were crying- all I remember is that I didn't cry.

And that I'd just been told the most devastating news a 13-year-old boy could hear: that his parents were both dead.