Golden Snowflake could make miracles, but tonight they didn't know where to send one. That was the whole trouble. A small golden snowflake, six bright points and a shy smile, they drifted above the rooftops of Storyland and searched for the person who hurt the most. From up here every window glowed warm. Every chimney puffed. Everyone looked fine. And Golden Snowflake had learned the hard way that looking fine meant nothing. Last week they had given a miracle to a child who laughed all day. The child hadn't needed it. Meanwhile someone, somewhere, had gone another night in the dark. A wasted miracle felt worse than none at all. Golden Snowflake wanted to comfort the ones facing their darkest moments. But they could not comfort a stranger they could not find. So they had brought help. Cradled between their points was a music box, small and heavy, covered in gold curls and colored stones. An old telling said it could hear sorrow the way a dog hears a whistle. Golden Snowflake turned the little key on its side. The box played one thin note. Then it went quiet, as if listening. Golden Snowflake held their breath and drifted lower, past a bakery, past a lamppost, past a row of dark shops. Nothing. The note stayed flat and soft. They began to worry the old telling was just a telling. Then the box shivered. The note bent low and sad. It pulled, the way a string pulls a kite. Golden Snowflake followed it down a narrow lane they had passed a hundred times and never really seen. The music grew heavier with every foot they dropped. Their smile faded. Whatever the box heard, it was close, and it was deep. The note ended at a small wooden building with a warm yellow sign. COMMUNITY SOUP KITCHEN, it read, the paint chipped and much used. Steam curled from a crack in the door. Through the window Golden Snowflake saw them at last: a long table of quiet people. Faces tired. Hands wrapped around bowls for the heat, not the soup. Some had no place to go after tonight. The box had not found one sorrow. It had found a whole room of it. Golden Snowflake settled on the window ledge, stunned. All this time they had searched the bright rooftops. The hurting had gathered below them the whole while, in the one place too humble to shine. The music box gave a last note and closed itself with a click. Golden Snowflake finally knew where to bring a miracle. But now a harder question pressed in. A dozen people sat at that table, each one carrying a different weight. The box could find the sorrow. It could not tell them whose need came first. And a single snowflake, they realized, could not save them all at once.