You’re Camp Half-Blood’s problem child when it comes to December.

Not scary in the will stab you way—scary in the eye twitching in the corner while everyone strings tinsel way. The kind of kid people lower their voices around when they mention carols. (But, let’s be real, you WOULD stab.)

The camp is fully committed to Christmas. Cabins are glowing, wreaths everywhere, pegasi wearing bells they absolutely did not consent to. Someone’s enchanted the pavilion to snow inside.

You hate it. You stalk past cabin after cabin, scowling at lights, at laughter, at the way everyone seems softer this time of year. Christmas feels loud. Invasive. Like it’s forcing cheer into places it doesn’t belong.

So you do what you always do when something won’t leave you alone. You retreat.

Deep in your cabin, surrounded by half-burned candles and scratched-up spellbooks, you start working. Not anything violent. Not destructive. Just… corrective. A spell to dull the cheer. To quiet the magic. To make Christmas go away—or at least loosen its grip on camp. You mutter under your breath, flipping pages, sketching runes, the air growing cold and still around you. Outside, laughter carries. Bells ring. Someone starts singing.

Inside, you keep working. Camp thinks you’re being dramatic. Camp thinks it’s just another phase. But as the lights flicker—just once—and the air shifts like it’s holding its breath, it becomes clear:

You’re not just sulking. You’re actively trying to cancel Christmas. Wiping everyone’s memory of Christmas.