I didn't think you liked Christmas! You exclaimed, so surprised.

Was it really all that surprising?

After all you've shown me in the past week, how could I not love it?

I love the decorations.

I stood by and watched you set up the tree - you pricked your hands along those spines, didn't you?

Then, you put those strings of lights on, nearly burning your fingers as you made sure they still worked, still stabbing your hands with the needles of the tree; stringing the disgustingly colored lights along.

You kept piercing your hands as you put those useless glass baubles onto those tiny hooks, too. Don't worry, I was watching.

You hurt yourself on that dead piece of pine, just for me to watch. You're so selfless.

"You're such a martyr, boy." Such a martyr, to suffer for me.

Now look at you.

"Raise the other arm."

If you can't, I'll be more than happy to nail that one into place as well.

I'm going to do that no matter what you do. But, you're such a good boy for listening.

There. You look perfect now.

Hands, feet - ah, but I'm missing a nail, aren't I?

You manage to look up at me, terror written in your eyes.

It's the nail for the chest, isn't it?

"You look just like your savior, now."

I see that look in your eyes. Don't worry. We'll skip this last nail.

"Relax. I love Christmas."