By dawn, the power returned. The fever in Room 4 had finally broken. Elias stood by the window, watching the sun rise over a world encased in sparkling, pristine ice.
She pulled out a single, battered ornament—a glass bird with a chipped wing. She held it out with a trembling hand. “Take it. It only works if you give it away.” The Christmas Cure
Elias tried to decline, but the earnestness in her eyes stopped him. He tucked the bird into his lab coat pocket. By dawn, the power returned
Clara reached for a small, crumpled paper bag on her nightstand. “You have the Christmas Sickness. My grandma says it’s when your heart gets too cold to remember how to beat for other people. You need the cure.” The Christmas Cure