‘twas the night before Hearth’s Warming,

and all seemed to glisten.

Not a creature was stirring,

Except – wait, listen!

Up from above

came the jingle-jangle

of many foals’ Hearth’s Warming love –

A holiday mascot cloaked in red spangles!

Down the chimney they came,

and across the parlor they crept,

Up the stairs they climbed all the same,

To where Pyrisa slept.

The door creaked open,

and with it, the mare’s eyelids.

“Hello?” she’d spoken,

partly awoken from sleep’s bids.

The air was still,

her spine felt chilled,

and yet nothing around –

at least that her ears found.

So she shrugged and said,

“Oh well, just a bump or a creak.“

She snuggled back into bed,

safe beneath her sheets.

But the intruder persisted,

and crept closer, yet quieter –

the rustling of wool insisted

that things were soon to get tighter.

In a flash her sheets were discarded,

and her restful bubble burst for sure –

“What’s going on?!” she cried as she started –

But the intruder continued their chore.

A glow of a wand and a baleful muttering;

A tussle between the sheets and some hopeless struggling;

It was done, over, finished and ended –

the intruder left, their duty attended.

A cocoon of warmth, tightness and scratchiness,

enveloped poor Pyrisa, her struggles in vain.

No matter how hard she pulled, wiggled and groaned through it,

Her prison remained secure in more than just name.

Time passed by in a hurry,

her movements slowed to a crawl from a flurry.

The soft, thick stuff gripped her tightly,

leaving her pinned, strongly yet lightly.

Seconds to minutes,

and those to hours,

She began to enjoy it –

from her frogs to her jowl.

Yet as groans turned to moans,

and struggles into bondagey cuddles,

she was unaware of the tome on her tomb,

safely separated from her tight wiggle-snuggles:

“Don’t open ‘til Hearth’s Warming Day,

Not a second sooner, says I!

Merry Hearth’s Warming Eve!

From: Vi~”