'Twas the Night Before Crunchmas (non-canon?)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Sixth
Not a creature was stirring, not even a witch;
Their trophies, that hung from the walls with great care,
Of familiars and grief seeds that were filled with despair;
The girls were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of glory danced through their heads;
And Russ in her ‘jammies, and Old Jack as well,
Had their kids put to bed, and settled in for a spell,
When out on the seas there arose such commotion,
All of the Sixth looked out to the ocean.
They ran down the stairs of witch flesh and bone,
And some such as Madge could not help but groan,
For up against the backdrop of the stars in the sky,
Was a red blade that towered many stories high,
And striding across it, clad in a red suit,
Was a girl with short hair, and sacks full of loot.
With a flourish and laugh, she brought forth her spoils,
Wishing to show all the results of her toils.
And she shouted with gusto, her voice rang like thunder,
Calling out names from the Officio down under:
"HAIL, BERRY! HAIL, BLUEBELL! HAIL, MORKAI AND ASHFORD!
HAIL, CRESS! HAIL, SLAM! AND HAIL, WARMASTER!
I return bearing gifts from my travels afar,
Carried by she WHO OUTSHINES THE STARS!"
For much as a swallow returns from migration,
The Crunch Train has once more come home to its station;
And all those present, even Eleanor Slam,
Applauded the return of their big ham—
And then, stepping forward, dropping down from her perch,
Heather dropped on the rooftop with the fruits of her search.
Hauling her gifts, she crashed through the wall,
It seems some things had not changed at all.
She herself dressed festive, and wore mistletoe
In her hair, trailing ribbons from her red bow;
A bundle of presents followed in her wake,
And looking at her, there could be no mistake.
Her eyes—how they sparked! Her soul gem ablaze!
Her cheeks slightly pink, as though she’d been praised!
Her mouth turned up in a cocksure smile,
Her posture highlighting her confident style.
She wore her long stockings, pattern-printed with roses,
And tall black boots to cover her toes;
Her height unremarkable in its average stature,
But when it came to volume, no one could match her.
She had curves here and here, her blue hair cut short,
Her hand saluting as she gave her report;
A thumbs up to Slam and another to Russ,
Heather laid out the sacks that made her cause a fuss;
She said not one word as the boxes spilled out,
One for each girl! Crunch had gone all out!
And handing a package to Eleanor from home,
Heather had found something Elly forgot long ago;
A teddy bear doll, its tears all stitched up,
Still fuzzy and warm and full of soft fluff.
What Crunch said next, to her sounded sublime —
“Merry Crunchmas to all, for it’s Crunchmas ALL THE TIME!”