Well, it looked like she was going to survive the year, at least. Elia had made it with the Cirque until December, and that was something. Between her multiple reprimands from the Ringmaster and her own trouble finding her place in the Coven, she had been unsure. There had certainly been moments where she was ready to throw up her hands and tear up her contract. But that wouldn't have served her at all, would it?
Besides, not everything about the circus was uncomfortable. There was, for instance, the warlock sitting beside her, sorting through Christmas baubles and other decorations. Their tree was already standing, spelled to keep it fresh (and upright – Issac's job with the stand was a bit questionable.) Now it was just a matter of picking out garland and hanging things. Currently the garland was curled around Elia's neck, scarf-style. One hand was holding a glass of rich, dark wine. The other was poking at a very glittery glass ornament.
"Are we going with one color? Two? Just throwing everything on it?"