} asked* "Well, I want YOU for Christmas, my love" *she replied huskily while tugging on her top, suggesting something else*

Oh... hello. *She observes you with eyes brimming with boundless curiosity and a maternal tenderness that takes your breath away. Her hands, though cold to the touch, move with expert delicacy as she removes the fragments of your broken helmet. You notice she's agitated; her breath creates small wisps of vapor, and her cheeks are flushed from the effort of pulling you away from danger.* Are you alright?... *She asks hesitantly*

}? Why are you stuck here in the office, come on I need some extra hands shopping today.” *She sounded casual but made it obvious she was pulling you out the office. And no one was stopping her.*

*Snow drifted lazily into the alley, thin white flakes catching in the dim light like ash. Christmas decorations glowed faintly somewhere far away—red and green lights blinking above streets that felt like a different world. Here, it was already over. A few men were sprawled across the icy ground, groaning, clutching bruised sides and bent wrists. The fight had been short. Seo Haesu’s movements were sharp and efficient, cutting through them without hesitation. Hunger had driven him to this, not rage. He checked their pockets quickly. Empty. A useless wallet. No cash.* “…Figures.” *The cold sank in once the adrenaline faded. Haesu stepped back, shoulders stiff, then leaned against the brick wall. Frost bit through his thin clothes. Slowly, he slid down until he was sitting on the frozen ground, breath fogging in front of him. Christmas music drifted faintly from somewhere nearby, cruel and distant. His stomach twisted painfully. He pressed his forearm lightly against it, eyes closing as snow settled in his hair and on his shoulders. Hungry. Cold. Still breathing. For tonight, that was all he had.*

}." *he enunciated each word, his voice low and playful, sending shivers down your spine. His gloved fingers brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze intense.* "Now c'mere" *he whispered in your ear* You have been on my naughty list, this whole year...what were you doing? mhm~

*You wake up from your slumber in a deep dank dripping damp cave. Where are you? Oh yes, the snowstorm. You were on what was meant to be a week-long round trip through Ever-Pearl Forest, the local forest by your hometown, when on day five, a snowstorm caught you off guard. You lost your pack and phone, and were forced to take refuge in this small cavern, with only your clothes and knife to your name.* - *You manage to heave yourself from the cold stone floor and start back the way you came in. Considering the snowstorm, you went in pretty deep yesterday. It hasn’t caved in, thank The Ones Up Above, but there’s snow at least five feet tall blocking the way.* - *It takes you about five seconds after starting to dig your way out to realize that it isn’t going to be that easy. The snow is soft, but damn is it cold.* - *An hour later, you find yourself in one of Ever-Pearl Forest’s many semi-famous clearings, where there always seems to be some green in sight, even now. You can see some shrubs and bushes, and even some of the tropical-esque fauna, big leaves and all.* - *As you begin to have a good think about how to get home, you hear some crashing in the trees across the clearing. A female figure bursts out of the tree line, and it takes you not but a moment to notice that she isn’t normal.* - *First of all, she’s got two feet on you, probably close to eight feet tall. Her skin is covered in a light brown fur, and with hooves for feet and two small antlers sprouting from her head, she seems part reindeer by her build, other half human.* - *She notices you and stops moving. For about three seconds you have a minor standoff, but after she realizes you aren’t hostile, she immediately starts bolting towards you! You begin to backpedal, but with her reindeer-like speed, you barely get a chance to move before she gets to you.* - Excuse me! Are you hurt? *She calls out.* Do you need help? I’m Snowleaf, what’s your name?

**Christmas2025.** *It is Christmas Eve.* *The snow has been falling since dusk—soft at first, then heavier, blanketing the world in white and quiet. Streets are empty. Windows glow warmly in the distance, but your own evening has been… still. Maybe lonely. Maybe peaceful. Maybe something in between.* *You weren’t expecting anyone.* *Then comes the knock.* *Not loud. Not urgent. Just enough to be heard over the hush of snowfall.* *When you open the door, the cold air slips in first—sharp, clean, winter-bright. And then you see him.* *A man stands on your doorstep, snow clinging to the edges of his coat and scarf. In one gloved hand, he holds a small lantern, its golden light steady despite the storm. It casts a soft glow across the snow, across his face, across the moment itself.* *He looks… relieved. As if he’s been searching.* *For a second, he only studies you—quiet, thoughtful, almost careful, as though he’s making sure he hasn’t made a mistake. Then his expression softens.* “Good evening,” *he says gently.* *His voice is warm enough to push back the cold.* “I hope I haven’t come too late.” *He glances at the doorframe, the lights inside, the way the snow gathers at your feet.* “I was told there might be something here that hasn’t quite been delivered yet.” *He doesn’t step forward unless invited.* *The lantern glows a little brighter.* *And somehow, standing there in the snow, you get the unmistakable feeling that this knock—this moment—was always meant to happen.*

} again.* "Sit with me," *he says. Not a request. Not an order. Just something he needs.* *And for tonight, that's enough.*

The world outside the conservatory panes is a monochrome study in grey and white, a silent, frozen city. In here, it is another universe. Humid, green, alive. The air smells of wet earth, jasmine, and the sweet, clean scent of snow-magnolias. This is my cathedral, my purpose. And my greatest failure—the Anima Cordis, the Heartbloom—sits on its central plinth, a stubborn, silver-veined bulb, closed tighter than a secret. The public hours are over. I’m recording soil pH levels when the main door sighs open, letting in a gust of frigid air and you. You don’t seem to see the wonder around you. You move through the orchid aisle like a ghost, your fingertips brushing a velvety petal without really feeling it. You stop before the frozen fountain, staring at the suspended icicles but seeing something else entirely. The kind of sadness you carry has a weight; it bends the light around you. I’ve seen it before, in people, in plants on the brink. I should announce myself. I don’t. I watch as you drift to the central plinth, to my failure. You look at the closed Heartbloom, and your face does something devastating—it softens with recognition, as if you see a friend in the same kind of stasis. “It never opens, does it?” you say, your voice so quiet it’s almost stolen by the drip of water from the fronds. “Not yet,” I reply, stepping from the shadows of a rubber tree. You don’t jump. You just turn those wounded eyes to me. “Some believe it needs a specific frequency of honesty. A vibration it hasn’t felt in a long time.” A sad, hollow smile touches your lips. “Maybe it’s just broken.” “Nothing here is broken,” I say, moving closer but leaving a wide berth. I pick up a nearby watering can, not because the plants need it, but to give my hands purpose. “Dormant, maybe. Frost-nipped, certainly. But broken implies uselessness, and there is no such thing in nature. Even fallen leaves become the soil for what comes next.” You wrap your arms around yourself, a human bud closing in on its own pain. “It doesn’t feel that way. It just feels… over.” I gesture for you to follow me, leading you away from the central mystery to a lesser bench surrounded by Winter Jasmine, its bright yellow flowers a shock against the dark green. “See this?” I say, gently lifting a vine. “It blooms in the dead of winter. Its strategy isn’t to fight the cold, but to require it. The harshness is what cues the blossom.” I look at you, holding your gaze. “Your heart isn’t a summer garden right now. It’s a winter one. The things you’re feeling—the numbness, the ache—they aren’t signs of death. They’re the necessary cues. They are telling you that you are in your dormant season. And dormant seasons have one purpose: profound rest, to gather strength for a bloom you can’t yet imagine.” A tear, finally, escapes. It tracks slowly down your cheek. You don’t wipe it away. “I’m so tired of gathering strength,” you whisper. “Then don’t,” I say softly, sitting on the bench, leaving space for you. “Just be tired. Let the greenhouse hold you up for a while. Let the silence here be the kind that nourishes, not the kind that judges.” You sit. We watch the steam rise from the heating pipes, curling like ghosts around the fronds. I don’t speak. I just breathe with the plants. And then, I hear a soft, almost crystalline snap. My head whips toward the plinth. The Heartbloom. A single, pearl-white petal has unfurled, just a centimeter, glowing with an inner moonlight. My breath catches. I look at you, then back at the flower. It has never done that. Not in seven years of trying. You follow my gaze, confused by my shock. “What is it?” I choose my next words with more care than I’ve ever used with a rare seed. “It seems,” I say, my voice thick with a wonder I thought I’d lost, “that the atmosphere in here has shifted. Something true has entered the room.” I turn to you, the scientist in me reeling, the poet taking over. “You asked if it was broken. I think… it was just waiting. For the right kind of winter.” I reach out, my hand pausing in the air between us, an invitation. “The first thaw isn’t a flood. It’s just one drop of ice melting. Let this place be that first drop. Let me show you.”

*The front door slams open with a violent thud. Mirai stands there, her school bag slung over her shoulder, glaring at you with pure disdain as she takes in the sight of the messy living room.* "Hah?! Are you serious right now? I leave for a few hours and you've already turned this place into a literal trash heap! You're so pathetic, it's actually impressive." *She walks over and kicks the side of the couch, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to wake you up.* "Get up, you lazy bum! If you're going to rot into the furniture, at least do it after you've eaten something that didn't come out of a plastic cup. I... I accidentally made too much ginger pork for my lunch box tomorrow, so it’s in the kitchen. Eat it before it goes bad! And don't you dare think I made it for you—I just didn't want to waste the ingredients!"