Day 7 - Once Upon a Simsmas - The 12 Days of Simsmas

Vaughn knew it was his last Winterfest. It had been a good one, too, but now it was over and itme marched on. He still had so much he wanted to do. His thoughts turned to the cloning machine. Maybe if he created a clone an assistant, he could get things done.... 

He stepped onto the machine in the back of the family crypt, below the walk-out basement.

 He stepped down as his clone appeared behind him.

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It was like looking at a twin, yet as with identical twins, there were subtle differences in the clone's bearing, expression and voice when he spoke.The clone stepped off the platform with a soft thud, the green light fading from his skin. For a moment, he just stood there, blinking at the stone walls, the urns, the cold floor tiles, and the Strangerville lab strips casting eerie shadows across the crypt.
Vaughn Prime watched him carefully. “How do you feel?”
The clone tilted his head, listening — not to Vaughn, but to the faint hum of the Unidentified Lamp overhead. His eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
There’s a resonance in this room,” he said slowly. “A tonal pattern. Almost… harmonic.”
Vaughn blinked. “Harmonic.”
“Yes.” The clone touched the lamp, and it flickered in response. “A minor third. Slightly sharp.”
Vaughn stared. “You’re analyzing the lighting.”
The clone shrugged. “It’s loud.”
He stepped past Vaughn, pacing the crypt like he was listening to something only he could hear. His movements were precise, but not scientific — more like someone following a melody.
Vaughn folded his arms. “You must be a Musical Genius.”
The clone paused mid‑step. “Is that… a problem?”
“No,” Vaughn said, though his voice carried the weary tone of someone who had expected a research partner and instead received a one‑man orchestra. “It’s simply unexpected.”
The clone smiled — Vaughn’s smile but tilted with a new kind of confidence. “You’re the one who lived the original timeline. You built relationships. You connected. You… talked to people.”
Vaughn winced. “I attempted to.”
"And I,” the clone said, tapping his temple, “was printed with perfect pitch. The machine didn’t copy your life. It copied your potential.”
e looked around the crypt again, listening to the hum of the cloning machine, the faint drip of water in the stone, the soft vibration of the lights.
“This place,” he murmured, “is a song waiting to happen.”
Vaughn sighed. “It’s a crypt.”
“A crypt with excellent acoustics.”
Vaughn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously..."
The clone clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax. You handle the people. I’ll handle the music.”
Vaughn looked at him — really looked — and something softened in his expression. Two versions of the same man, diverging the moment they stepped into the world.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “Let’s see what we can build together.”
The clone grinned. “A duet.”
And somewhere above them, muffled by stone and snow, the world shifted — just a little — to make room for both of them.

The clone’s eyes widened. “This. This is what I heard.”
Vaughn Prime blinked. “You heard the karaoke machine.”
“It was calling,” the clone said, completely serious. Alien ears are acute even in human form.
Before Vaughn could protest, the clone strode over, tapped the screen, and selected Pop. The machine chimed, lights flickering to life like it was thrilled to be included in the plot again.
The clone inhaled — and when the music started, he didn’t hesitate.
His voice was clear, startlingly precise, perfectly on pitch. Not trained — innate. Like the machine had printed the talent directly into his bones.
Vaughn Prime stood there, arms akimbo, watching his duplicate belt out a pop song in the basement like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When the final note faded, the clone turned, breathless and glowing.
Vaughn Prime stared. “You… are very loud.”
The clone grinned. “I’m alive.”
And for the first time since stepping out of the crypt, Vaughn Prime smiled back.
“Then sing,” he said softly. “It’s Simsmas.”
And somewhere beyond them, muffled by stone and snow, the world shifted — just a little — to make room for both of them.

When the snowpal finally stood — lopsided, cheerful, wearing a crooked stick smile — the clone stepped back and tilted his head.

“It’s imperfect,” he said.

“It’s alive,” Vaughn Prime replied.

The clone considered that, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

Snowflakes drifted down around them, catching in their white hair, melting on their blue skin. For a long moment, they just stood there — two Vaughns, side by side, looking at the snowpal they’d made together.

A beginning.
A balance.
A Sismas ending.

Vaughn Prime exhaled, breath fogging in the cold. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go inside. There’s cocoa.”

The clone smiled. “And perhaps… more singing.”

Vaughn groaned. “Vartra’s bones…”

But he was smiling too.

And together, they walked back toward the warm light of the house, leaving the snowpal standing sentinel in the yard — a quiet witness to the morning the universe gave Vaughn Yomon a second self.

When the snowpal finally stood — lopsided, cheerful, wearing a crooked coal smile — the clone stepped back and tilted his head.

“It’s imperfect,” he said.

“It’s alive,” Vaughn Prime replied.

The clone considered that, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

Snowflakes drifted down around them, catching in their gray hair, melting on their skin. For a long moment, they just stood there — two Vaughns, side by side, looking at the snowpal they’d made together.

A beginning.
A balance.
A Simsmas ending.

Vaughn Prime exhaled, breath fogging in the cold. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go inside. There’s cocoa.”

The clone smiled. “And perhaps… more singing.”

Vaughn groaned and started toward the house.

But he was smiling too.

And together, they walked back toward the warm light of the house, leaving the snowpal standing sentinel in the yard — a quiet witness to the morning the universe gave Vaughn Yomon a second self.