It was Christmas Eve and the preparations had almost been completed. Every year, Mr. Brown opened his house for a charity auction with resplendent decorations, good food, and a host of amazing toys beneath his gigantic Christmas tree. The proceeds would go to orphanages and homeless shelters in town, and it was also typical for the toys to be donated to the same orphanages, or to local toy stores along with the money. Still, anyone who was anyone made sure to make good faith bids, as Mr. Brown was keenly aware who participated in the auction during the coming year of contract negotiations and business partnerships.

But for Giselle, her focus was on getting the party off the ground. She had worked to get the decorations ready, set the guest list, herd the cats, and hire the caterers. Her hard work was finally paying off, as she stood in Mr. Brown’s foyer looking up at the full decorated and presented tree, basking in its twinkling lights.

Mr. Brown saw her from across the way and came to stand beside her. “You did great work, Giselle.”

“Oh!” she said, startled, “Thank you, Mr. Brown.”

“Did you ever manage to get a toy of your own to put under the tree?” He asked.

Giselle quietly shook her head. “Sorry, I never got the time.”

“I would have reimbursed you for the toy,” he said, lightly chastising her.

“No, I know. I just had so much to do with all of…” she motioned to the tree and all the everything of the charity auction, “this.”

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed. You pulled a lot of overtime,” he said with a chuckle. Giselle joined in with a nervous laugh, but they soon fell into silence again, gazing in wonder at the tree.

“Did you ever want to be a ballerina?” Mr. Brown asked, his voice soft and kind. “I assume with a name like Giselle…”

“I tried. When I was younger, but I didn’t have the time for that, either. I still dream about it, sometimes.”

“Good, good. Then, I want you to think of this as a reward, not a punishment.” He said, his words confusing Giselle as Mr. Brown reached out and lightly touched her nose. She dropped her clipboard, and even the sound of it clattering to the ground couldn’t break her out of the daze she began to fall into.

Giselle felt the weight of the auction, the weight of her life, the weight of her body, all lifting off her shoulders. She was as light as plush, and she was curious at her hand, wondering where her fingers had gone, before the strength in her newly plush legs gave out.

She flopped to the ground, or would have, but for Mr. Brown catching her. He carefully carried Giselle, setting her down softly onto a cushion beneath the tree. There, she sat, her body still and mind quiet.

Vaguely, Giselle was aware she was a ballerina, and a doll; something beautiful, and something soft. She was also aware that she would be among the first things the guests would see upon arriving. And yet, she did not move from her seat, or her pose. She wasn’t alive at the moment, and she couldn’t move, or speak. Not yet.

So Giselle sat there. She was the newest toy for the charity auction, waiting with all the others for an Owner to bring her back to life. And she was vaguely aware that now Mr. Brown didn’t have to pay for all that overtime she had worked.