Crimson's Cocoa Comfort

on a long winter’s night, a creature stirred within the ether.

Shaking the heavens, Crimson slipped into the stars from a place unknown, sending those below into hushed, sacred stillness. For when Crimson appeared in the darkened skies, the moon was destined to perform her grandest dance of the season.

Those who watched the heavens knew the moon’s majestic body would twirl boldly among the glittering lights, before settling herself into Crimson’s strong, outstretched hand—where the sun would be waiting patiently in the other.

The firm clasp of Crimson’s ancient hands brought the moon and the sun together for only a fleeting moment every six rotations, allowing them to exchange their places in the heavens where each was needed most. This was the longest winter night—the solstice—his radiant display of celestial joy and a promise of daylight’s slow return.

Humans and creatures alike traveled from near and far to witness this most sacred display. For in these far northern skies lay the only place where Crimson would appear. Fires were lit beneath a canopy of glittering stars as all danced and sang with the joyous moon, honoring the sun’s rekindled path and the world’s season of rest.

Crimson, his cheeks shimmering red, had journeyed from the ether, just as he had every solstice before, to settle his ancient form above his favorite mountains—painted with deep evergreen forests and blanketed in freshly fallen snow. This ritual, which he had created at the dawn of humankind, brought him great joy as he watched the people gather below.

Crimson turned toward the dancing moon and smiled at his old friend, watching her spin among the stars in her brightest display to date. He could not help but chuckle at how she seemed utterly lost in her own beauty. The moon was drawn from her hypnotic dance only when the sun arrived, greeting Crimson with an unfamiliar warmth and bestowing a kiss upon his weathered face.

Odd, Crimson thought, as a golden shimmer washed over him—a sensation he had never felt before. The sun nodded to his ancient lunar companion with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes and moved into Crimson’s grasp. The ancient red being furrowed his brow, but the sun refused to meet his gaze. Crimson parted his lips to speak, yet his attention was swiftly drawn away from the sun’s glowing mass by the moon’s final bow. She spun gracefully and settled into Crimson’s strong, withered palm, opposite the sun.

If the sun needed to speak, he would, Crimson thought. Best to leave the fiery spirit be.

Feeling the familiar weight of his blessed friends resting in his hands, their energy climbing into his being, Crimson rolled his shoulders back. With outstretched arms and a grin that stretched from ear to ear, he sent the moon and the sun hurtling toward one another. With a single thundering sound, both silver night dancer and glistening daytime joy were cast into their new places among the heavens.

Satisfied, Crimson bid farewell to the moon as clouds gathered around her, then turned once more to face the sun in welcome. Yet when he looked into the sun’s golden, shimmering form, he did not see his old companion. Instead, he beheld a face he had not seen in thousands of years.

At the sight, his vision blurred. He stumbled from his place among the stars as a creature leapt from the belly of the sun, seizing Crimson and dragging his celestial form down toward the earth.

The last thing Crimson saw before his eyes closed was a single golden tear falling from the sun’s true face, meeting Crimson’s shrinking body as he fell.

Startled into consciousness, Crimson found himself sitting upright against a tree. His vision now clear, he looked down at his once-mighty hands and saw that they had become small and human. A faint glow radiated from his form—undeniably the magic of the sun’s kiss, intensified by the fallen tear, trapping him here until it wore away. He threw his head back against the tree and cursed the creature who had dragged him down.

“You have grown comfortable, old man,” said an ever-so-familiar soft, silken voice, sending a sharp pain through Crimson’s core.

Crimson rolled his crystal-blue eyes and parted his lips, the confirmation of who had pulled him into these unfamiliar woods settling heavily within him. He turned to face the ancient being standing beside him—two feet planted firmly on the ground, leaning against the same tree, also clad in human form.

An exasperated sigh escaped him when he met Mother Nature’s golden gaze. Some small part of him had hoped he was wrong.

“Ah, Nature. Of course. Always a pleasure,” he said, glancing down at his robes and pretending to dust off his collar. “What is the meaning of this?” he continued, pushing himself up from the dirt and realizing they must be far from his mountains.

Mother Nature watched with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile as he struggled to find his footing.

Red flushed Crimson’s already burning cheeks as he caught her amused gaze. It had been a long while since he had stood upon solid ground. “It’s good to see you too, brother,” she said with a warm, radiant smile before flinging her arms around his large form.

Woven from the same cloth of time, both Crimson and Nature blossomed into existence side by side—the former to cultivate the heavens, the latter to nurture all life below. It was an eternal game of push and pull. Balance and harmony. Brother and sister. His beloved moon would stir her oceans, and her sacred seedlings would grow beneath the light of his glittering sun.

Crimson gently eased himself from her embrace. Yet once distance separated them, he found himself missing her warmth. The feeling tugged at his heartstrings all the more as she looked upon him with quiet, lingering sadness.

Crimson closed his eyes with a slow exhale, tilted his head back, and opened his arms wide to his sister. Light returned to her eyes as she leapt into his chest and squeezed him tightly. He rested his bearded chin atop her head.

“You could have sent for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t think you would come,” she replied, her ear pressed to his heart, golden eyes spilling with quiet hurt.

It was true. This was their first meeting in thousands of years, and Crimson did not know what she could have said that might have brought him to her sooner.

Long ago, Crimson had discovered the affair between Nature and Sun. He believed that a bond between heaven and earth could only end in tragedy. The argument that followed between brother and sister wrought devastation across both sky and solid ground, and in the end, they chose to part ways.

Many ages passed before Nature finally wrote to him—but she did. Apologies, invitations, fragments of news, all laced with her unrelenting kindness. Yet every letter went unanswered. It was not that Crimson did not wish to reply; rather, with each passing year, the weight of his guilt grew heavier, and the act of answering became harder still.

Crimson could only watch from his quiet skies as humans and countless creatures came into being. For from the union between heaven and earth, new life had emerged. The bond had not been fatal after all, yet the wound Crimson had dealt had proven so for their family ties.

Still, he loved her creations from afar. Truly, he was proud of his sister—knowing how deeply Nature loved her creations, and how fiercely they loved her in return.

Crimson found it fascinating that although all of creation knew Nature’s fury to be boundless—how she had shaped spirits of vengeance such as Elidora, to cast demons into obscurity—most also understood that her love knew no limit. She often blessed those she found broken with immortal life. Once, she had even arranged for one of her witches to befriend Jasmine, one of the moon’s goddesses, sparing that floral spirit from a life of solitude.

Now, seeing the love in his sister’s eyes, Crimson wished he had said thank you, as the moon had…

Mother Nature slowly drifted from his arms, placing a respectful distance between them. As the warmth of her essence faded, Crimson felt lonelier than he ever had before. Regret and sorrow coursed through his veins as he studied his sister. She had not aged as he had. The magic of being called Mother by all life encased her in a timeless, childbearing prime—something he could not quite comprehend. He was father to none; he and his magic, he believed, were meant only to shift the skies and seasons when necessity demanded it.

His sister’s magic was unmatched.

“Don’t be cross with Sunshine. He owed me a favor,” she said, peering up at him through her lashes, large golden eyes gleaming with theatrical innocence.

Crimson chuckled at the pet name she used for his dear friend, Sun. All that Crimson had come to know of his sister over the years—aside from her relentless letters—had come from the sun himself. Indeed, his fiery nature made him the only being capable of sending Crimson down to earth without formal consent.

And yes… the sun did owe Mother Nature.

Though her affair with the Sun had been brief and their parting without open bitterness, Nature came to loathe many who worshipped his golden grace. Too many proved vain and callous—creatures of daylight who burned for what was never theirs to claim. One such devotee, the sun sorcerer Solaire, had tormented a twilight spirit of the sky before slipping beyond reach, vanishing from every known plane.

From what the Sun had confided to Crimson, Nature’s anger lay not only in the crime, but in the escape. She despised that Solaire had fled her judgment and blamed the Sun’s golden power for kindling the sorcerer’s obsession and letting it run unchecked. She vowed she would never cease calling in favors from the Sun until the offender was found. And apparently, he had not been.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Crimson tilted his head and released a quiet sigh. “Why have you brought me here, Nature?”

“I am here to show you all that you cannot see from your mountaintop,” the Great Mother replied, her voice rising with restrained fervor. “I have created an army to aid the humans, Crimson. Fire witches to weave light through the darkness. Night spirits blessing home after home with milk, honey, and tea. I have given them food. I have provided shelter. I have done everything in my power to keep them safe and warm through the winter—your winter. But it is never enough.”

Her voice thundered through the clearing before her gaze finally broke from his and settled upon the towering presence beside them. Only then did Crimson realize where she had brought him.

The Tree of Time.

She brought her hands to rest before her soft belly, and when she spoke again, her tone gentled. “I can’t do it alone anymore, Crimson. I am tired… and the sun cannot provide for them through these long winter nights.” She looked back to him, clutching her stomach as though seized by pain.

“While you’ve been sitting comfortably…” Her voice and gaze trailed off as she straightened herself, drawing in resolve before continuing.

“Once upon a time,” she said, more solemn now, lowering her hands to take his and guide them toward the ancient tree.

Hesitant though he was, Crimson allowed her to press his palms against the bark that encased all of time, knowing that indulging her was the only path back to his sacred skies. The tree’s surface was hard and unyielding, yet the moment he touched it, all Crimson could feel was regret. In an instant, his mind was flooded with visions of past and present.

Pain.
Hurt.
Heartache.
Darkness—so much darkness now seeping into his core.

“Once upon a time, a prideful man sat upon a pretty little mountaintop and played with the stars,” Nature’s voice held no warmth as he witnessed all she had given them—portals to new worlds, realms of their own, boundless magic—and still it had not been enough.

Crimson tore his hands away, clutching his stomach as the pain writhed within him. He turned to her with aching eyes and whispered, “Please… make it stop,” the agony growing unbearable.

Torment.
War.
Murder.

Especially through the winter, so many lived in fear, uncertain whether tomorrow would ever come. Winter had become a haunted darkness, just as Crimson’s center now churned with endless misery.

“You have neglected them.” Mother Nature’s voice trembled, golden tears streaming down her freckled skin.

“You!”

The word cracked the earth beneath their feet, sending Crimson to his knees. The hurt inside him only grew; blue tears flooded his eyes as she loomed above him, her voice rising.

“They have needed you! And you were too stubborn—too angry with me—to see what your precious season has created!” she boomed.

Kneeling before him, she took his chin in her firm grasp, forcing him to meet her blazing stare.

“This is what I try to take from them,” she said quietly. “After tonight, the cold lingers. Fires fail. Songs fade. Winter is no longer a season of rest—it is something they fear.”

Gently pulling his face closer so that his ear met her lips, she whispered, “You cannot see it from your mountaintop.”

Her grip loosened, and Crimson collapsed to the ground.
The agony coursed wildly through his core, spilling into his blood until he feared it would boil over. Darkness crept in, and Crimson lost consciousness.

Crimson awoke face-first in the snow. He thought to push himself up, then decided he deserved this. Cast aside like trash upon the mountains he had chosen over her—over humanity. He would have done the same to Nature had their roles been reversed.

His body ached. The pain, the torment, the countless cries for warmth and better days churned in his stomach. Guilt surged at the thought of her bearing this burden alone for so long. She had tried so hard, given them so much… given him so much. The golden glimmer that once clung to him had faded, yet he did not move. His heart ached as crystal-blue tears fell into the snow. He wept until he could no longer breathe through the sobs—until he was jolted from his sorrow.

“That looks uncomfortable, old man,” Mother Nature said.

Noticing that the snow around him had nearly melted away, Crimson reluctantly lifted his head to find his sister seated beneath a dazzling pine a few steps away, watching him with a familiar smirk.

Crimson chuckled softly as he crawled through the thinning ice and settled beside her. Together, they gazed up at his stars in silence. Nature’s methods could be cruel, but beneath them lay reason and care. Through her eyes, he now saw his skies as they truly were—cold, distant, and dark—a loneliness eased only by the unconditional presence beside him. For the first time in thousands of years, he felt true comfort.

Perhaps this was all creation needed: a reminder that they were not alone, that there would always be one—or two—who would fight for their comfort and strive to bring better days.

“I’m sorry, Nature,” Crimson said softly, turning to her tear-streaked face.

“I know,” Mother Nature replied with a weary sigh, her gaze still fixed upon the heavens.

After a moment of silence, she continued.

“Check your pockets,” she said, meeting his eyes—hers now filled with fresh starlight and excitement.

Confused, he reached into his red robes and pulled out a few loose bits of chocolate and an orange. Though his belly still churned with lingering torment, it fluttered with butterflies as a hearty laugh escaped him.

Long ago, they had exchanged an orange and chocolate during the winter solstice. The tradition had begun on the very night the moon brought forth her creation of cocoa and the sun his gift of citrus light. Crimson had been so proud of them both that he blended the two into a warming concoction that carried both himself and Nature through the cold months. He called it Crimson’s Cocoa Comfort—a name that made Mother Nature laugh the first time she heard it. The tradition never faded… until that one fateful day.

Now, holding the blessings of sun and moon once more, blue pools gathered at the corners of his eyes. Gifts of comfort. A promise of light tomorrow.

Nature smiled sadly. “I fear the humans will never be satisfied,” she said, resting her hand against her soft belly and leaning her head upon Crimson’s shoulder. “But together, I believe we can turn this season into one of hope, comfort, and joy.”

Crimson rested his strong jaw against her whispering hair and placed his hand over his middle as well. A beautiful, hopeful idea took shape in his mind, and with a jolly smile, he replied,

“We can at least try. Together.”

Crimson would dash through the skies one night each year, bearing gifts of warmth and light.

With the help of Mother Nature and the celestial bodies, Crimson’s Cocoa Comfort became a sacred concoction, brewed for all those in need of warmth and enchantment during the cold winter nights.

Chocolate, to provide comfort, rest, and recovery—everything the season asks of us. And his beloved gift of sweet citrus, serving as a promise of brighter days to come.

Over the years, Crimson came to be known by many names, but his favorite of all was Father Winter, bringer of comfort and joy.

Even on the darkest of nights, we are reminded:

True comfort comes from one another—and when we come together for good, there can only be a brighter tomorrow.



Until the next story unfolds,

Yours in tea & tales,

Lauren of Faerie Good