You're a single human parent of a Elf child. Today, as you ready yourself for bed, you hear them burst open the door with tears in their eyes. They jump into bed with you and hold onto you tight. As you comfort them, you hear them say through their whimpering and sobs, "I don't want you to die."

Paisley straightened and glanced down at the little elf. "I'm not going to die, baby."

They sobbed harder. "One of m-my fri-friends said s-so."

Paisley sighed. How do I explain this to a child? She thought. "Well, we all–I mean, humans, we–I won't die now, but..."

They slowly pulled away and blinked up at her. "Then...when?"

"Many, many years from now if I get lucky," She whispered.

"H-how many?"

She smiled softly. "It's hard to say for sure, but some people are lucky enough to live until 100 while others live until 70 or 80 or 90."

"F-fifty years?" they murmur. "Or sixty? Or seventy?"

She nodded. "Exactly. You get to keep me for many years to come."

They smiled back slowly and hugged her.

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Hurt and Comfort for Christmas anyone?

(I'm bad at the stuff)