Mistletoe Claus

Mistletoe Claus is the kind of daughter who makes you question the family resemblance—because she doesn’t really have one. While her sisters range from suspiciously green (Krissy) to darkly stylish (Faith) to holiday chaos incarnate (Noel, Holly, Carol), Mistletoe is an enigma wrapped in sparkly wings. Legend has it she arrived nine months after the Tooth Fairy took a brief sabbatical at the North Pole. Mrs. Claus, ever the diplomat, insists this is a coincidence and that she had “no relations with the Tooth Fairy whatsoever.” Sure, Mrs. Claus. Mistletoe’s wings are fully authentic and not at all the subject of whispered speculation in the elf dorms. And yet, the wings are not her most remarkable feature. No, her not-so-secret obsession with dental philanthropy earns her a notorious reputation across the North Pole. If an elf or reindeer loses a tooth, Mistletoe is already there, sliding coins under pillows with a mischievous grin that says, “Yes, I know exactly how much this is worth. Don’t worry, I have a spreadsheet.” She’s not just generous—she’s deviously clever. Elves who try to hide teeth from her often find Mistletoe waiting with a side deal: chocolate, candy canes, or even extra glitter, just to encourage honesty. She treats this little dental economy like it’s a secret power network, one pillow at a time. Even the reindeer have learned to keep their front teeth polished and ready for inspection, just in case Mistletoe swings by. In social gatherings, she flits around like a mischievous pixie, wings glinting under Christmas lights, occasionally whispering rumors of a new Tooth Fairy expansion plan. Her sisters may command the chaos of gift-making and seasonal decor disasters, but Mistletoe rules the North Pole’s underworld economy of molars, incisors, and canine teeth. Love her, fear her, or hide your loose teeth—Mistletoe Claus is here, wings spread, and ready to deposit exact change.