When the fire pits go out.

The freezing cold crackles. Glowing fire pits compete with the warmth of the bonds of friendship that are forged at the Christmas reception. On the garden chairs decorated with woolen plaids, refined snacks are enjoyed under the apple tree decorated with small lanterns, topped with a good dash of hospitality. The entire village is invited to the beautiful rural garden of the mayor. A quirky chef has thrown his talents up for grabs and has conjured up refined eye-catching mini dishes from his chef's hat. Everyone is there, moodily dressed, except for the elderly neighbor Leontientje. Someone must be on his way here with the lonely little person. The fresh air sharpens the appetite. Grilled scallops, elegantly presented in their shells, with a few curls of cheese grated over them, satisfy the first cravings and buzz. And then the hands are warmed with a bowl of hot soup from the large simmering pot, accompanied by coarse pieces of country bread, tender as creamy butter. The street violinist tightens the horsehair bow. Between chin and collarbone, an angelic choir escapes and gives a frivolous accent to this heartwarming gathering. Everyone walks around casually, a glass in hand. Only Leontientje didn't. The human is also no longer able to walk well and needs a little more time to get there. She will probably appear on someone's arm. The air is now shimmering with glowing gensters that rise from the hives like fireflies and then almost immediately extinguish again. Then comes a sweet note: grilled banana and pear skewers artfully strung together on a bush of rosemary and served with chocolate sauce. Heavenly. Neighbor Leontientje doesn't know what she's missing. Finally, it is the turn of the 'Pommes d'amour': red apples that are not only tasty, but also strengthen the warm friendship. It has started to snow gently. Everyone sits by the fire pits, curled under the soft plaids, enjoying a last glass of wine, chambred through the fire.
And then a siren tears the fairytale dusk to shreds. Leontientje was found in the nearby woods. Dead, dressed in her Sunday cloak with which she came to the village reception every year but now couldn't find her way anymore. Someone would get her... But someone became nobody...
The hives are extinguished.
Demented Leontientje forgot the way.
They forgot Leontientje.