In the dim, musty attic, where cobwebs draped like forgotten veils and the air hung heavy with the scent of aged wood and mothballs, the angel Christmas tree topper endured her annual exile. She was a masterpiece of delicate porcelain: her skin a flawless alabaster glow, her golden curls tumbling in frozen waves around a face etched with eternal serenity. Wide, filigreed wings arched from her back, and her gown flowed in...