Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the boarding house
Not a creature was stirring, except of course for Mouse.
The wards were laid on the door with care,
In hopes to catch vampires and demons unaware.
Of stockings, tree and decorations, none were there,
Dresden lived alone, of such joys he was bare.
Business was slow, the Red War taking its toll,
The most love he'd received of late was a bear hug by a troll.
The wizard was sprawled askew on his bed,
Shivering while visions of monstrous foes danced in his head.
With Mister on the bookshelf, and I under table,
I laid in wait, pricking my ears as much as I were able.