"Where Should I Stick It?"

It was the night before Christmas, and the North Pole workshop buzzed with energy. The elves were finishing last-minute toys, the reindeer were carb-loading for their big journey, and Santa was triple-checking his Naughty and Nice list. In the corner of the room leaned a plain, undecorated Christmas tree—bare and uninspiring, a travesty by North Pole standards.

Suddenly, in a twinkle of light and a puff of glitter, an angel appeared. She wasn’t your average serene, harp-strumming cherub. This angel had spunk. Her halo was slightly askew, and under her shimmering gown was an accessorized tool belt full of tinsel and glitter bombs.

“Alright, big guy,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Let’s work some magic here. This tree is sadder than a snowman in a sauna.”

Santa chuckled, stroking his beard. “Have at it, Angelica. But no glitter explosions this time—Mrs. Claus is still vacuuming from last year.”

With a flick of her wrist, Angelica got to work. The tree stood upright, ornaments floated into the air, spinning like disco balls. Strings of lights wrapped themselves around the tree in perfect, synchronized spirals. She sprinkled snowflakes that shimmered and twinkled, and a garland of candy canes swirled its way up the branches like a sugary ribbon.

The elves stopped working to gawk at her creation. Even Santa had to whistle. “That’s one fine tree,” he said.

Angelica wasn’t done yet. “Now for the cherry on top!” Angelica declared. She hovered above the tree, contemplating her next move. “Alright, Claus, where do you want me to stick it?"

The room went silent. The elves froze mid-candy-cane bite. Even the reindeer stopped chewing their hay. Mrs. Claus gasped, her cheeks as red as her holiday apron.

With a dramatic flourish, she held up the pièce de résistance: a glorious, glowing star. Its golden light radiated like it had been forged from the heart of a supernova.

Santa’s belly shook with a hearty laugh. “Well, Angelica,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I believe the traditional spot is right at the top.”

Angelica smirked, unfazed. “Just checking. Wouldn’t want to get creative without permission.”

With a cheeky wink, she placed the star atop the tree, completing the masterpiece. The elves burst into applause, and Santa beamed with pride.

As she dusted off her hands and prepared to fly off, Angelica looked over her shoulder and said, “Merry Christmas, everyone! And Santa, next time, be specific. You know how I like to improvise.”

Santa chuckled again, his laughter echoing through the workshop as Angelica disappeared in another puff of glitter—because when you’re an angel with a gift for decorating, you always leave a little sparkle behind.