Christmas Eve came quietly, along with soft snow and the smell of cinnamon. Lena was ten years old and a shadow of sadness in her eyes. Grandma's Golden Star, the most important one, was missing from the Christmas tree. It had disappeared last year, as if it had seeped into the December darkness. Mum was busying herself in the kitchen and Lena was writing a letter. She was asking Santa not for presents, but for a sign. She wanted to find the star and feel the miracle returning again. She slipped the letter into a sock by the window and turned off the lamp. The wind rang the glass, and a flake flew in from the gloom. It didn't melt on the window sill; it rolled into a white envelope. The letters shone on the top, as if written in frost: LENO, REPLY. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, but the text was short. Bring the smallest bell. At midnight, go out on the balcony. Lena ran to the crib box and found the bell. It was tiny and cool, sounding like a drop on a spoon. The clock ticked louder than usual, the seconds swelling from the silence. When the hands met at twelve, Lena pushed the door open. A chill gushed from the snow, the air was like glass. Crystals creaked on the balcony, as if someone had sowed sugar. Lena rang the bell once. The sound was small but very clear. The snow on the railing twitched and hoofprints imprinted, of themselves. A silver streak of light ran down the railing, like a thread. Above the roof, the shadow of a sleigh flashed and died away behind the chimney. Suddenly a narrow brocade ladder fell from above and fluttered. On its lowest rung stood a palm-sized figure. It had a cap of ice and eyes like two sparks. It nodded to Lena and hissed in a whisper until the bell vibrated. Lena raised her hand to the ladder when something rustled just above her....