The Christmas Angel had walked Storyland for three days, and she still could not find the one who needed her most. Her whole purpose was to bring hope to the child, the traveler, the lost soul whose need burned brightest. But hope hides. From the ground she saw only closed doors and frosted windows. Her blue dress dragged in the snow. Her wings hung damp and heavy. Somewhere in this town, someone was crying alone, and she was passing right by their street. She stopped at the foot of a great castle. Its towers rose high above the rooftops, trimmed with garland and red banners. Snow capped every peak. Warm light glowed behind its windows. The Angel tilted her head back and stared at the tallest tower. "From up there," she said, "I could see everything." She climbed. The stone steps spiraled up inside the tower, cold and steep. Her halo bumped low arches. Twice her foot slipped on ice, and she caught the wall with both hands. She kept climbing until the stairs ended at a small open window near the very top. She pushed through and stood on the battlement. Below her, all of Storyland spread out at once. She saw rooftops, winding roads, a frozen river, tiny warm squares of light. Her heart lifted. Now she could search. But the town was too big. Hundreds of houses. Dozens of dark corners. She turned and turned, looking everywhere and nowhere. She could see the whole world now and still could not tell which speck of light held the person who wept. Height was not enough. She needed to know where to look. Then she remembered the gift tucked in the folds of her dress. She drew it out: a glass snow globe. Inside sat a tiny map of all Storyland, its rivers and hills and houses shrunk small. She had carried it since the beginning, unsure of its use. She held the globe up to the moonlight. As she did, a single house on the map began to glow. Deep red, then bright gold, like a coal catching fire. She looked from the globe to the real town below and found the matching rooftop far to her left. A thin building at the edge, one dark window. The globe was showing her the need. Wherever hope ran lowest, the map lit up. The Angel gripped the globe tight. Now she had her tower and her guide. She could see, and she could aim. She leaned over the battlement, wind pulling her golden hair, and stared hard at that glowing house. Something small moved on the snow beside it. A shape she did not expect. Round at the bottom, pointed at the top, and utterly still, as if it had been left behind. The globe glowed brightest of all right there.