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A Little Lucy Christmas is a novella written during the lockdown Christmas of 2020 as a gift for all the readers who had been supporting my publishers and I throughout the strangest and most difficult year.
Once upon a time, there was a little village called Frostingle. It was a perfect little place with a perfect little pub, a perfect little post office, a perfect little butcher’s, a perfect little grocer’s, a perfect little sweet shop, a perfect little toy shop, and a perfect little church. In the village square, every year, they raised a perfect little Christmas tree and carolers gathered around it to sing away the darkness.
Darkness was the thing that the people of Frostingle feared. For eleven months of the year in Frostingle there was nothing but darkness. No sun, no moon, no stars to shed even the slightest light. The window of the toy shop went dark. The windows of the church went dark. The butcher, the grocer, the sweet shop, and the post office all fell prey to darkness and silence. It was as if the world folded up around them, an ebony fist closing around the town and blotting out everything that lay beyond. No matter how hard the carolers sang, no matter how bright the Christmas lights shone, the darkness always came.