A small audience looked at the sad, scraggly fir tree as it stood in the living room, practically begging to be put out of its misery.
"Stanwey, it's weaning over," Whimsey said.
"Dad, that branch is dead," Isaac observed.
"Daddy, it's really small," Serenity added.
Stanley held his breath. I love my family, I love my family, I love my family--
"Stanley, that tree sucks," Jade finally said, pushing her husband over the edge.
He flailed like an electrocuted octopus. He did this whenever he got overwhelmed, which was often. "It was the only tree there, ok!? You guys wanted a real tree so--"
"So you waited until the last possible minute to get one," Jade finished for him. Stanley was a genius, an incredibly talented one, but Jade was the real brains in the relationship. "We told you to go get one, what, weeks ago?"
"Two weeks, fwee days, and six houws," Whimsey supplied.
"Thank you, Whimsey, for totally not being on my side." Stanley flopped over in defeat. Moments later, the tree did the same.

It was two in the morning. Everyone else was in bed. Whimsey should've been, too. But she wasn't.
She was staring at the tree.
It was covered half-heartedly in far too much tinsel. It had fallen over twice more, after which it had been propped up by a kitchen chair. It was too small to hold all the ornaments.
Truly, Whimsey thought, this was the saddest Christmas tree in the world.
An idea had begun to manifest in the back of her mind. She was pretty sure she could-- no, she was absolutely certain that she could one-up this depressing little fir. She just needed a bit of room to work...
She let herself out through the dog door. Oxford, their old mixed breed dog, certainly wouldn't mind. She flew through the cold night air around the house and into the front yard. A gentle snow fell around her.
Yes. Right there. That would be perfect.
She landed, visualizing how she wanted this to go. This was a very ambitious project she was taking on. She hadn't formed any crystals this big in years. She planted her tiny feet, took a deep breath (a learned habit from hanging around non-Crystalform beings for some 20 years, it served no practical purpose other than helping her focus), and got to work...

Plink. Tink-plink. Stanley blinked awake in the dark of his room. Was that coming from outside? He listened closely, searching for any unusual sounds in the darkness. The heating system... his wife's gentle snoring...
Tlink. There it was again, a sound like pieces of glass klinking together. A sound he had come to associate with Whimsey.
What was she up to?
Quietly as he could, avoiding the squeaky stairs on his way down, he made his way to the living room window. He peered carefully through the blinds...
A massive crystal tree, glowing gently in the night, had erupted from the ground in his yard. Whimsey was flying around it, producing a string of crystal beads as she went, wrapping the thing with a smile.
Stanley smiled, shook his head, and went back to bed. She was going to be extremely pleased with herself in the morning, he knew. He'd have to act surprised when she unveiled it.
"Silly little space chinchilla," he muttered to nobody as he climbed back up the stairs.

---

This started as a doodle while listening to twinkly Christmas music and then it got out of control. And then my brain wrote a story. SORRY NOT SORRY.