Yuletide At Wizard School

In tonight’s story, it’s the Winter Solstice, and the school of sorcery is throwing a festival for the occasion. A grand ball is held in the castle, with a decadent feast, dancing, and Yule traditions. You and your friends enjoy the festivities, then slip away for a walk on the school grounds in the wintry air – where you perceive a magical phenomenon in the skies. Finally, you return to your dormitory, where a spontaneous caroling session begins among those still awake.

If you’re still awake as the story comes to an end, I’ll guide you through a soothing body scan.

Transcript

Attend a magical Yuletide festival at Wizard School in this fantasy bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as you like,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and relax into sleep.

If you're still awake as the story comes to an end,

I'll guide you through a soothing body scan.

In tonight's story,

It's the winter solstice,

And the School of Sorcery is throwing a festival for the occasion.

A grand ball is held in the castle,

With a decadent feast,

Dancing,

And Yule traditions.

You and your friends enjoy the festivities,

Then slip away for a walk on the school grounds in the wintry air,

Where you perceive a magical phenomenon in the skies.

Finally,

You return to your dormitory,

Where a spontaneous caroling session begins among those still awake.

This is the solstice,

The still point of the sun,

Its cusp and midnight,

The year's threshold and unlocking,

Where the past lets go and becomes the future.

Margaret Atwood How swiftly the days pass now,

It seems the sun itself oversleeps,

Rising weary and bleary-eyed through wandering clouds,

Lazily it yawns through the skies,

Hazy gold,

And breathing effortless warmth over the night's frosts,

And once risen,

Its time in the skies is brief.

As soon as it opens its eyes across the land,

It begins to close them once more,

Moving in a great and sleepy arc over the mountains and the lake.

Some days,

When it's quiet and you're alone on the grounds,

You see the sun as the great crown of an aged king,

Whose body,

Shadowy beneath those rays,

Is slowly settling down to sleep.

The sun has given so much this year,

Tirelessly adhering to its predestined cycles,

Now it lays down,

Surrenders to the sweep of the longest night,

Its most regenerative time of rest.

That such a quiet,

Dark,

And restorative time should be the backdrop of the year's most extravagant celebrations is a tension never lost on you.

The instinct each year is to withdraw,

Moving not only into the warmth of the indoors,

But also within yourself.

Winter,

And especially the days closest to the winter solstice,

Are a natural time to engage in the quieter things,

Self-reflection,

And study.

So it feels surreal now to be laying out your formal wear for tonight's Yuletide Gala,

One of the year's most anticipated events at the School of Sorcery.

And yet,

On the other hand,

What better time is there than the darkest days of winter for generating a spark of light,

For lighting fires to keep alive the hope of rebirth in the new year.

The sleepy,

Descending sun is brushing your shoulders through the window now on its way behind the Emerald Mountains,

A shard of sunlight glitters on the dark surface of the lake,

Which surges slightly under a low wind.

There hasn't been a snow yet this season,

But there's something in the air.

A subtle kind of electricity or tautness to it that makes you think tonight could be the night.

It's with this in mind that you opt for an extra layer as you change into your festive garments.

Before leaving the dormitory,

You glance back at the relatively dull-looking chamber and its half-dozen four-poster beds.

You withdraw your wand,

Think for a moment and give it a wave,

And once garlands of evergreen twine their way around the bedposts and twinkle lights line the windows.

You've just mastered this kind of minimal conjuring magic in intro to Thaumaturgy.

It will be a nice little surprise,

You think,

For your bunkmates when they return from the party.

With that,

You leave the dormitory a little brighter than you found it and venture down the steps to a lively common room,

Where dozens of students clad in formal evening wear are passing the time before the start of the festival.

There's a fire going in the grand fireplace,

And someone is passing around homemade chocolate broomsticks for the occasion.

You take one from the box,

Intrigued,

Then spot your two best friends,

Bram and Violet,

Seated in wing-backed armchairs by the fire and engaged in conversation.

You move through the small crowd to join them.

I wouldn't eat that,

Bram says,

Indicating the chocolate broomstick.

Why not?

You ask,

Surprised.

Violet chimes in.

Wesley made it for his kitchen witchcraft final,

So there's a fifty percent chance you end the evening floating a few inches off the ground,

And an equal chance you break out in spots,

Bram finishes.

Deciding you'd rather not take the chance,

You deposit the chocolate candy on a nearby table.

Besides,

Says Violet,

There's bound to be mountains of sweets at the party,

Don't you think?

The last wink of the sun disappears through the narrow,

Stained-glass windows of the common room,

Turning the atmosphere instantly cozier and more electric.

Excitement is building.

Your friends,

Indeed everyone here,

Looks absolutely splendid tonight.

You spend so much of the year in stuffy school uniforms that it doesn't take much to completely change your appearance,

But you get the distinct sense that most students are taking great pleasure in the act of dressing up.

It brings that much more enchantment to the night.

When the hour rolls around,

You hang back with your friends as most of the students clamber out of the common room and head down to the party.

You'd agreed to do your gift exchange this year at school,

Rather than sending presents all over the world during the term break.

For Violet,

You've got a beautiful new spell journal for writing her own rituals,

And the book responds by offering feedback on the intended results.

For Braum,

A new set of dice for his role-playing games,

Each inlaid with real dragon scales.

Knowing you've taken an interest this year in magical creatures,

Violet gives you an interactive map of the countryside with ever-changing information on where to find supernatural creatures.

Braum,

Transcending expectations,

Gives each of you a house plant,

Perplexing at first,

Until he explains that when it flowers,

The blooms can be used to enhance the effects of any potion.

After thank-yous and an emotional group hug,

You're finally ready to go down together to the feasting hall.

You descend the spiral staircases of the cavernous old castle.

The winking portraits on the walls have done themselves up in festive attire and holiday decorations too.

Everyone is getting into the spirit of the season,

It seems.

There's a constant trickle of students from the upper floors,

All headed in the same direction.

Music floats from the lower level,

A string quartet by the sound of it,

Sweet notes and harmonies climbing the corridors.

Ah,

And along with it,

The glorious scents of winter spices and citrus.

A feast surely awaits.

Down in the entrance hall,

A large crowd of students and teachers gather before the still-closed doors of the feasting chamber.

Trays of hors d'oeuvres float by.

You're trying to save your appetite for what you know will be an extravagant supper,

But you can't resist a few of the charming canapes.

There's time to find many of your classmates and admire their dresses and robes.

How marvelous and joyful everyone looks.

Within a few days,

Most students will head back home to be with their families for a few weeks before the start of the next term.

So you have a mind to soak in this social time with your friends before parting.

Exams are finished,

Final projects have been handed in,

And the atmosphere simply buzzes with pent-up energy.

So,

When the doors to the feasting hall at last swing open,

The oohs and ahhs escape like long-held sighs.

After the wave of mouth-watering aroma comes the revelation of the spectacle.

The school's staff have clearly held nothing back in decorating the hall for tonight's festivities.

At the far end of the gothic chamber stands a towering fir tree,

Almost tall enough to graze the vaulted ceilings.

It is lit with countless glowing golden bulbs and hung with glittering crimson,

Silver,

Gold,

And green baubles and bows.

Atop it is a star that might as well have been lassoed from the heavens,

For it shines with such natural brightness.

Long tables are dressed with white cloths and wine-red runners with natural greenery for decoration.

The centerpieces placed at intervals are exquisite ice sculptures.

You spot an icy dragon atop a hoard of treasure,

A frosty tableau of fairies mid-dance,

Bouquets of ice-carved roses,

And more.

And above the hall,

Beneath the high ceilings,

Float sage-green candlesticks scented with bayberry that washes over you,

Burning but never melting.

The teachers take their places at the table at the head of the hall,

And ushers direct the students to places at the long dinner tables.

You manage to find seats with your two closest friends opposite an ice sculpture replica of the school itself,

With towers and ramparts rendered splendidly in the chilly medium.

China plates hand-painted with decorative holly and scarlet cardinals rest on golden chargers,

And the service gleams beneath the thousands of candles.

The sound of chimes ring out across the hall,

Slowly bringing the cacophony of conversation to a low murmur,

And then silence.

The head teacher,

Resplendent in a white dress and red fur-trimmed cloak,

Holds a crystal glass in the air,

Which she's been gently tapping.

All heads turn her way.

She smiles and speaks,

Blessings,

My friends,

For this yuletide season,

She says.

In the interest of beginning our celebrations as swiftly as possible,

I'll keep my remarks brief.

I only wish to say this,

That the winter solstice is a time of pause,

A time almost outside of time.

Here,

Poised in the darkness of the longest night of the year,

We have choices to make about who we will be on the other side.

After tonight,

The days get longer,

The sun lingers later in the sky with each passing day,

And we move once again toward the abiding light.

What do you wish to shine a light on in the coming year?

And what do you wish to nourish in this time of sacred darkness?

Her words sparkle in the echoey quiet of the hall,

Like flakes of snow just about to melt.

You feel a slight tightness in your skin,

A climbing of tingly goosebumps from your arms to your scalp.

You hold the words in your head,

Where they tumble and rearrange,

Questioning.

And then,

After a moment,

The headteacher concludes,

Just something to think about,

And she claps her hands once,

Sharp and clear,

At the sound.

All at once,

Across the hall,

The tables light up with the appearance of platters and platefuls of food,

This to gasps and exclamations of delight,

For the food is sumptuous and abundant,

From holiday roasts to peerless puddings topped with holly and oranges.

Your goblets fill with spiced drinks.

It's a feast so delectable,

It's almost too much to be believed.

You load your plates,

Laughing and reminiscing on the year's highlights,

And eat and drink to your heart's desire.

When supper is through,

And the sleepiness of satisfaction settles over the hall,

The headteacher stands once more,

Uttering an acknowledgement for the kitchen staff and cooks who've truly outdone themselves this year.

A hearty round of applause erupts in reply,

And I think,

Says the headteacher,

This means the real party can finally begin.

She claps her hands once more,

And the empty platters,

Bowls,

Goblets,

And centerpieces vanish from the tables.

The tablecloths,

Runners,

And garlands dissolve into sparkling air,

And then the tables themselves evaporate.

The whole of the feasting hall glitters as it resets,

Turning itself over into the floor plan of a spectacular ballroom.

Round,

High-topped tables take the place of the long ones,

Each topped with revolving seasonal floral arrangements.

The staff table remains in place at the head of the hall,

But its ice sculpture centerpieces disappear,

Replaced by a single formidable log topped with burning tapers,

Pine cones,

Dried citrus fruits,

And greenery.

You know this to be a Yule log,

A long-held tradition of burning a special log at the winter solstice as a reminder on the longest night of the imminent return of the sun.

The rest of the hall is open and clear,

Delineating a dance floor,

Though actually motivating students to begin the dancing is another story.

There's a good bit of nervous shuffling and whispering as the music strikes up.

It's a pair of teachers who first take to the floor to kick off the waltz.

Soon enough,

Pair by pair,

Students couple up and begin to revolve like twirling snowflakes on the dance floor.

Some are impressively and unexpectedly skilled,

Coming out of their shell,

Others fighting two left feet,

But there are smiles all around.

The celebration really gets going when the string quartet is eschewed in favor of one of the magical world's most popular rock groups.

All pretense of formality falls away as students crowd onto the dance floor,

Moving and shaking with the music.

There's something so freeing about letting your inhibitions fall away,

Simply surrendering to the rhythm and joy of the moment.

You can feel acutely the sense of relief at the completion of all your term exams.

For this beautiful moment,

You feel entirely free of stress or obligation.

The only thing you have to do right now is dance and enjoy this time with your friends and classmates.

The evening passes with great elation.

Now and then you take breaks from the dancing to join Violet and Brahm around a table where you sip on punch and watch the festivity unfold.

There's something very charming about watching your teachers let their hair down as well as the students.

The airy,

Perfumed Madame Cassandra who teaches divination at the school sways dreamily in a corner,

And the often straight-laced Professor Lovage dances with exuberance of which you hadn't thought them capable.

In these passing moments of quiet between bursts of dancing,

You return in your mind to the head teacher's words at the start of the feast,

Her encouragement to consider who you'll be in the new year,

How you'll nourish those parts of yourself in the season of darkness.

You don't yet know the answers to these ambiguous questions,

But they seem to be within your grasp,

Swimming in the darkest recesses of your mind.

Your energy waxes and wanes with the music.

You return to the dance floor for a time,

Then retreat to the corners to quietly observe.

In a way,

This too is a dance,

A solstice.

The ebb and flow of involvement and withdrawal late in the night,

You and Violet walk around the perimeter of the hall,

Glasses of punch in hand,

Observing the stunning decorations.

You gaze up at the massive fir tree and its shining ornaments.

There's a rustle of movement in the tree's deep green boughs.

You nudge Violet to call her attention to it.

Then,

With a flash of twinkle lights,

Something pops out between the needles.

A tiny,

Pinched face,

The creature,

Miniature and winged,

Pulls a face at you,

Sticking out a bright red tongue,

Then disappears back into the depths of the tree.

You can't help but burst into laughter.

But a moment later,

The school's caretaker emerges from the other side of the tree,

Waving a broomstick over his head.

Get out of there,

You,

He snarls at the creature hiding in the tree.

His tone and attention suggest that there must be more than one.

He mumbles,

Just loud enough for you to hear him say,

No one ever checks for pixie infestation before putting up the tree,

Do they?

Oh,

Come on,

Says Violet,

Giggling.

Can't you let the pixies enjoy the party,

Too?

The caretaker sets down the broom,

Grumbling,

And disappears again behind the great fir tree's girth.

You and Violet succumb to more rounds of laughter.

A slower song is playing now,

And Brom finds the two of you.

His hair is disheveled,

Bow tie crooked,

And breathing heavy from ecstatic dancing.

Now that the three of you are all together again,

And the party seems to be in the early stages of winding down,

You propose a little getaway to your friends.

You wonder if they'd be willing to join you for a wintry walk on the grounds.

No one objects to the idea of some fresh air,

So together you slip out of the feasting hall,

Past a gaggle of students loitering in the entrance,

And out onto the quiet slopes of the castle grounds.

The air is brisk and welcoming after the flush of dancing,

Spiced punch,

And heavy feasting.

Violet,

Who's remarkably skilled at conjuring,

Gives her wand a wave and brings forth a tiny ball of flame which hovers a few feet before you.

Giving off a pleasant,

Tickling warmth,

It maintains its position as you walk,

Providing ample comfort for your chilly stroll.

The night is cloudy,

But a near full moon smiles down unimpeded through the pointed arched windows of the castle.

An interplay of light and movement suggests the continuation of the party,

But at this distance,

It's a serene and abstract view.

Far off between the mountains,

The lake's surface is black,

Glittering with the reflection of the moon and stars,

Like so many diamonds on the water.

This,

You think,

Feels like the winter solstice.

A pause,

A collectively held breath,

Before the world begins to turn again.

You are outside of time,

Suspended in this space between,

Together,

The path warm and illuminated by your floating ball of light.

You walk down the hillside toward the ancient circle of standing stones,

The monument that marked this place of magic,

Centuries before the legendary sorcerer Merlin laid the castle's first stone.

Down below,

The forest stretches out in tender blackness,

A confluence of bare,

Deciduous trees and flourishing pines and spruces.

Silver foliage stands out against the darkness,

Shimmering in the moonlight.

Look,

Says Violet,

Stopping in place,

Her face upturned toward the moon.

The clouds,

She says,

You and Bram look up to the sky,

Where indeed the clouds are remarkable,

Where before they were streaky and thin,

Now thick,

Billowing clouds roll in,

Pluming and expanding gracefully across the moon.

The effect is altogether mesmerizing,

Mesmerizing,

As the clouds swell with shades and layers of gray,

And with such swiftness,

The three of you find your gazes locked on the spectacle,

The unfolding of vapor,

Away above the lake and mountains,

And perhaps it's only your state of mind,

The spell of the solstice,

The sense of hanging on the edge of time,

Between the spokes of the wheel of the year,

But it seems to you that otherworldly shapes are forming in those clouds,

They shift and shatter,

Merging and reforming before your eyes,

Into cloaked and starry figures,

Bearing lanterns and shields,

And riding atop great stallions.

Indeed,

You can almost hear,

Above the gentle breeze and rustle of the trees in the forest,

The thundering rhythm of the hooves,

It's as if a great procession,

An ethereal pageant,

Is journeying now across the sky.

You watch,

Enwrapped,

As the clouds expand and contract,

Revealing the shades of a mounted party,

A shiver of excitement runs down your spine,

The air feels,

Alive,

Here within the circle of stones,

And then,

In the empty dark spaces of night,

Between the clouds and the rocky hillside,

Something changes,

As if a great sigh is released,

And whirling in the black,

Bouncing on the wind,

Down come the first snow flurries you've seen all year,

And those spectral horses thunder on between the snowflakes,

As if briefly passing through the shimmering curtain between your worlds,

And back,

Again,

It all unfolds,

In what might only be moments,

But it seems as if you're frozen on the spot,

For many hours,

Watching the snowflakes pass,

Dizzily,

Through the light of your enchanted bauble,

Melting in thin air from its heat,

So that this space,

Between the standing stones,

Remains untouched by the kiss of snow,

While powder accumulates elsewise,

All around,

Only a small dusting,

Of course,

Which will likely dwindle before morning,

But to be,

Perhaps,

The only ones to witness its arrival,

Feels exhilarant,

In time,

As your breath becomes more visible on the air,

And the chill sinks in,

Despite the glowing ball's efforts,

You and your friends decide to make your way back up to the castle,

As you pass through the entrance hall,

Toward the grand staircase,

You glance into the feasting chamber,

Where the revels have died down considerably,

Only a few pairs still sway,

Slowly,

On the dance floor,

And the music,

Muted,

Lilts in what's almost a lullaby,

The warm air inside the castle,

Induces a pleasant tranquility,

After your invigorating walk,

With only light conversation,

You,

Brom and Violet,

Make your way up the staircases,

Toward the dormitory,

Ready to turn in for the night,

When you arrive in the common room,

Though,

It's clear that the evening isn't over for everyone,

There's a festive,

Yet subdued atmosphere about the place,

And a tinkle of music,

Greets you upon entry,

The fire still roars in the grand fireplace,

And students sip on hot drinks,

While draped over the furniture,

Or perched on cushions by the hearth,

Wendell Price,

Whom you know to be on the shy side,

Is seated at the dusty old piano,

In the corner of the chamber,

You can't remember ever hearing it played before,

But it sounds to be remarkably in tune,

And to think,

Such a musical talent,

Could come from such an unexpected classmate,

He plays a few familiar notes,

And slowly,

A few voices chime in,

To sing a well-known carol,

It's delightfully cozy and welcoming,

And all thoughts of going straight up to bed,

Instantly leave your mind,

You find a seat by the fire,

Your friends joining you,

And listen to the melodies,

Wind their way across the room,

There are songs you know,

Classic yuletide carols,

You could hum in your sleep,

To these you heartily sing along,

And there are others you haven't heard before,

Carols that surely originated in the magical world,

Songs about Christmas trees,

Bewitched to come alive for one night,

Songs about magical creatures,

Like griffins and selkies,

Celebrating yule in their domains of sea and sky,

These amuse you to no end,

Even as they come naturally,

And unremarked upon,

To the lips of your friends,

Who grew up around wizards and witches,

You feel very much at home in this company,

Anything that might once have held a distance between you and your housemates,

Now melts away in the light of the fire,

Tonight,

You've danced and sung together,

Feasted at the same table,

And celebrated under the same stars,

Not all families are born,

As the hour grows late,

Students split off,

Bit by bit,

From the gathering of wassail singers,

Soon enough,

You too are overcome by the desire for sleep,

The last part of you that longs to remain,

In this eerie suspended time state of solstice,

Succumbs,

And you climb the stairs to your dormitory,

You smile when you see the garlands and lights that adorn the beds and windows,

In all tonight's revelry,

You'd forgotten all about it,

You change into comfortable pajamas,

Tossing your formal wear aside,

Tenderly,

You climb into your four poster bed,

And draw the canopy curtains closed,

Shrouding yourself in darkness,

Well,

Just a slice of light peeks through the gaps,

A reminder of the return of the sun,

And the enduring nature of light,

Even on the longest night of the year,

You surrender to sleep,

With the distant melodies of a once unfamiliar song,

Drifting through your head,

In your dreams,

You ride on the back of a great galloping horse,

Made of clouds,

And snow,

And starlight,

You're not alone,

All around you are a dozen or more riders,

Their voices proud and full of song,

Your friends,

Your family,

Together,

You make your celestial sojourn across the night,

The sun,

Lazy still,

Cannot catch you,

Quiet your mind,

By bringing soft awareness to your body,

Finding comfort in space,

Moving and shifting as you need,

Until you can soften into stillness,

Breathe,

And let your breath deepen,

Filling up the belly and nourishing every part of you,

Then,

Rinsing out with your exhale,

Let your awareness remain soft,

As though you were allowing your eyes to slip gently out of focus,

And feel free to let go at any time,

Letting my voice become an echo,

Or a whisper,

On your journey to sleep,

Let this soft focus travel throughout your body,

As though you can conjure a little ball of light,

A small contained flame,

Which shines its warm,

Diffuse luminescence on each body part,

As I name it,

At the same time,

Letting that part of the body soften,

Releasing any tension there,

In the radiant warmth of the light,

Let yourself melt,

Bit by bit,

Like snow into soil,

Softening towards sleep,

Left sole of the foot,

Left toes,

Left heel,

Top of the foot,

Left ankle,

Left shin,

Left calf,

Left knee,

Left thigh,

Left hip,

Left side of the waist,

Left side of the chest and back,

Left shoulder,

Left upper arm,

Left elbow,

Left forearm,

Left wrist,

Palm of the left hand,

Back of the hand,

Left fingers,

Right sole of the foot,

Right toes,

Right heel,

Top of the foot,

Right ankle,

Right shin,

Left heel,

Top of the foot,

Left shin,

Right calf,

Right knee,

Right thigh,

Right hip,

Right side of the waist,

Right side of the chest and back,

Right shoulder,

Right upper arm,

Right elbow,

Right forearm,

Right wrist,

Palm of the right hand,

Back of the right hand,

Right fingers,

Now shine the gentle warmth and light on the neck and shoulders,

Softening there,

Releasing tension,

The jaw,

The left ear,

The right ear,

The left side of the face,

The right side of the face,

The mouth,

The nose,

The cheekbones,

The eyes,

The eyebrows,

The temples,

The forehead,

The scalp,

Now let the whole body be bathed in warmth and soft light,

Letting go of any areas of stress or tension,

And allowing the warmth and the breath to massage them away,

Melting into the Earth.

Remember that even in darkness,

You possess this light,

It cannot be extinguished,

This effervescent quality and capacity for renewal.

Find peace in the stillness,

The pause,

The collective in-breath,

Soften into this moment,

Outside of time,

On the threshold of restorative sleep,

Knowing that this is the most important thing you can do right now,

And the sun will be there when you wake,

Breathe,

Relax,

Blessings,

And good night.

Reviews

Fabulous! A joyful story of friendship, magic, and wonder.

I would be ok with floating an inch of the ground for a night. Great story though. 💕

Love Sleep and Sorcery stories. Think it takes me back to fairytales as a child. Puts me to sleep so quick, takes me weeks to hear one story :)

What I heard was great! But I was out like a light! Many thanks and blessings 🕊️🙏🌟

Amazing as always! I’ll keep listening until I get all the way through, but glad it’s putting me to sleep too ❤️❤️

So dreamy! I love the wizard of school adventures. Your imagery is so good, I felt like I was there.

So glad to be back at Wizard school, the Yule tide celebrations sounds amazing from what I heard. Thank you x