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.

'

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.

It was a special story of Vaughan and his clone ❤️It was lovely that they spent time together and Vaughan through his clone discovered more about himself and his future. The snowpal that they built togther is a lovely sign of the past and future together. 

It is lovely that Daniel wrote a Christmas themed story of the special time that he saw Father Winter with fairy wings 🧚‍♂️When he reads his book again, it will bring back special memories for him ❤️It was great that he was so eager to write the book that he started writing it through the night in his festive sleepwear.

Great story!

Please be gentle... this is the 1st time I have ever done a story line that I have shared.  My creative teen had much preparing to do so we could produce you a  Christmas story line we hope you will enjoy.  

High in the Mountains of Canada...... The Christmas Lodge.  

After a trek so long that required a legal perusal of their passports and a prayer to the g o d s of four-wheel drive, the family finally arrived at the "Christmas Lodge" - a lodge perched so high in the Canadian Rockies that the oxygen was thin but the pine sap was thick. 

Everyone knew Gramps needed glasses, he'd recently tried to start a conversation with a green mailbox, yet tradition dictated that he, and only he, was the official arbiter of the Perfect Tree.  While the rest of the family ducked into the lodge to huddle around mugs of cocoa, Grams - who was currently vibrating from the cold  insisted she was having a hot flash' - snapped at the group.  "New plan! We split up.  If you find a winner, just hoot like a confused owl. Gramps will wander over, squint at it until his retinas ache, and make the call." "It's tradition, or whatever," Molly barked, her breath forming a frozen cloud of annoyance. The family scattered into the woods like arctic escapees.   

Rorie, currently vibrating on a sugar high from spiked cocoa and focusing like a hawk on a field mouse, was analyzing needles with the intensity of a diamond appraiser.  Her Gramps drifted over, buoyed by the scent of pine and the secret joy of his own flask.  "Sweetie, you're looking at that branch like your choosing which traits to give to your first unborn child," Gramps chuckled.  "Perfectionism is a disease, balance is the cure." 

 Hours go by.... 
Suddenly, a series of erratic hoots echoed from the parking lot. Gramps emerged from the tree line, shouting, "Found it! It's by the truck! I'm going inside before my toes snap off!" Rorie ran over to see Gramps' "prize," and doubled over laughing.  "Grams," Rorie gasped, pointing toward the parking lot. "Gramps picked one. It's....well, it's over there." 

Grams see's the three-foot-tall, shrub that Gramps had clearly mistaken for a sequoia and just couldn't resist saying, "well.... looks to be a bit short-sited of him!  Myrian, Let's get the one I picked out." As laughter echoed through the pines, Myrian felled the tree Grams found and dragged it to the truck.

On the back section of the lot, Riley, Molly's husband, trudged through a snowbank, looking less like a jolly woodcutter and more like a man reconsidering his life choices. "Riley, for the tenth time," Molly groaned, "Why can't we just go to a garden center like normal citizens? We could buy a pre-lit, non-allergenic, plastic masterpiece that doesn't require a mountaineering permit and a tetanus shot!" "Because, dear, then we wouldn't have the frostbite to remember it by, right Rorie?"  Riley exclaimed as Rorie, his youngest daughter approached. He and Molly steer Rorie back toward the lodge's fireplace, "Well baby girl, says Riley, "... this color doesn't do you justice at all!", 

When Riley and Molly emerged from the warmth of the lodge, they found two trees waiting.  Molly looked at the magnificent fir, then at the sad little shrub that represented her Father-in-law's stubborn pride.  Molly smiled, "It's the thought that counts. We'll take both and tell Gramps his is the 'indoor accent piece'," as they hoist the big tree on the truck and as they put the tiny one up one the roof of the truck, Molly surmised, "Assuming it survives the ride home without being mistaken for a windshield wiper." 

Loved it, especially the humor!! 😃

It was a very lovely Christmas story of their search for the perfect Christmas tree! 💗🎄It was sweet that Gramps was the traditional  official decider of the tree to be chosen each year, and that in the end both his and Gram’s choices were taken home❤️The family had lots more fun doing this (although the weather was quite chilly! ) than if they had bought it in a store 🙂

its called Santa's Magical Cookies

It is lovely that she has been writing a festive story 🎄 The room where is writing it is very nice with warm wood wall panelling and flooring and lovely wood textured furniture. It is great that she owns a guitar to enjoy playing music.