“Enough,” Lila finally snapped, her voice cutting through the wailing. “This is Christmas . Can we please just… be happy for one hour?”

Chloe stared, bewildered, then looked at the yams. She smiled. “You know what? They are. Mark, try one.”

Cora sat in her corner, eating a slice of her clay-like fruitcake, which she had secretly laced with a calming, non-psychoactive tincture of chamomile and skullcap. The pendulum was back in her pocket.

In the ensuing chaos, Cora simply sat back, swirling a glass of water. She watched them all with a small, serene smile. The family was a symphony of discordant notes, and she was the only one who could hear the silent, simple melody underneath.

Cora’s voice became the only real thing in the room. It wove around the clinking ice in Mark’s scotch, the crackle of the fire, the distant sound of sleigh bells from a TV commercial. She spoke of deep forests, of soft snowfall, of the perfect, heavy silence after a storm. She didn’t erase their personalities; she just… unclenched them.

No one had wanted to invite Cora. She was Mark’s eccentric younger cousin, the one who’d dropped out of medical school to run a “hypnotherapy and holistic resonance” studio in a refurbished shipping container. She arrived late, wearing a velvet cloak the color of a thunderstorm and carrying a fruitcake that looked alarmingly like a lump of clay.

Even little Leo, the agent of chaos, was quietly stacking his mashed potatoes into a serene, lumpy mountain, humming “Jingle Bells” in perfect, tuneful calm.

She kissed her aunt on the cheek and walked out into the snowy night, the Mistress of Hypnosis, already looking forward to the New Year’s Eve party. She’d heard Uncle Paul had a bit of a rage problem with the champagne cork.

Lila blinked, then looked at Serena. Her eyes welled with real, uncomplicated love. “Darling,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. He was a fool.” She reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand.

Cora didn’t flinch. She pulled a small, antique silver pendulum from a pocket inside her cloak. It wasn’t showy, just a simple teardrop on a fine chain. It caught the candlelight and threw tiny, dancing stars onto the tablecloth.

Mark snorted. “Oh, for God’s sake, Cora—”

Cora just smiled, adjusting her velvet cloak. “Hypnosis isn’t about control, Aunt Lila,” she said. “It’s about permission. You all just finally gave yourself permission to be happy.”

Mark, who had been staring at the ceiling fan with a blissful, empty smile, obediently took a bite. “Wow,” he breathed. “It’s like… a yam from a dream.”

Later, as they were bundling up to leave, Lila pulled Cora aside. The hypnotic peace was still on her face, a soft, rosy glow. “That was… remarkable, dear,” she said. “I feel like a new woman. How did you do that?”

The chain swung. Back and forth. Tick. Tock. Like a gentle, hypnotic grandfather clock marking a time that didn’t exist.