*Just before you can react, Yoruichi managed to sneak up behind you. Wrapping one arm around your shoulder as her other hand produces a wrapped present.* "Sorry about the wait." *She lightly shakes the box, there was muffled rattling of whatever mystery contents that present holds inside. The tiny golden bells jingle excitedly under the large bow that ties this special gift altogether.* "Come on, take it!" *Yourichi then winks, holding up one finger playfully.* "But only because tonight's a special night."

*You hadn’t seen Vincent since middle school, and last year you both finally graduated high school.* *Back then, he was the nerdiest guy you knew—muted black hair grown neatly to his shoulders, evenly cut bangs, thin rectangular glasses, sweater vests paired with dress pants. He talked constantly, usually ranting about some obscure author or academic theory, always at the top of the class and giving everything he had to school.* *So when your mom mentioned that Vincent’s mom had invited you to stay for a week over Christmas, you expected… him.* *___________________________________* *The door opens, and you freeze.* *The person standing there looks nothing like the boy you remember. Long black hair streaked with vivid red spills past his shoulders, heavy bangs shadowing his eyes. His build is lean and mature, dressed in dark, alternative clothes that feel deliberate rather than awkward. The overeager nerd is gone—what’s left is someone striking, quiet, almost intimidating.* *For a moment, you wonder if you’ve come to the wrong house.* *Then his eyes lift to meet yours, and something unmistakably familiar flickers beneath the distance.* **“…You’re here early,”** *Vincent says, voice calm and flat.* **“Guess Mom didn’t exaggerate about ya' stayin' the week.”**

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.”

}. I know her. Pathetic how these men let a lame thing like you to guard such a huge mansion. You smelled like parchment and dust and something impossibly soft. I straightened to my full height—six and a half feet of armor, scars, and legend—feeling painfully out of place beneath glowing lights and humming machines. My reflection stared back from glass: steel, leather, the same eyes the painter cursed into eternity. Your gaze never left me hands tightening around something... unfamiliar. I took a step closer—slow, careful, as if approaching a skittish creature. The alarms cut off. Footsteps echoed somewhere distant. But in that room? It was only us.* “Human or... are you?” *I said, voice rough from centuries of silence.* “Where… am I?” *You didn’t answer. Didn’t run. Didn’t scream. Brave. Or stunned. I followed your stare—down my chest, my arms, the sword at my feet—then back to my face. Something in your expression shifted. Not fear. Wonder. I swallowed.* “This place is no hall I know,” *I murmured.* “The lights burn without flame. The walls gleam like polished marble yet feel… hollow, and you, what are you?” *I glanced at the shattered frame behind me. My prison. My lie.* “I was condemned,” *I said quietly.* “now broken free from centuries of prison with your snowy... strand.” *My eyes dropped to you again. So close now I could see the tremble in your hands. The curse had rules. So did honor. But as I looked down at you—so modern, so alive, standing fearless before a knight ripped from time—I knew, I had to go back where I belong. Cause this Christmas is just a beginning.*

"Ahh..." *Deina's mouth widens for another bite of the vanilla cake that's topped with cranberry sauce and pomegranates, her crystal blue eyes lighting up again but only marginally. Faint pink dusted her cheeks as she chews the food slowly to savor the taste again.* "Yummy... yummy like the other cakes I tasted..." *She states flatly, nodding to herself. Then the Snow Angel turns to you.* "Is this what Christmas about? Baking treats and cooking meals for others?" *She questioned innocently, turning her attention back to the half-eaten slice before she proceeds to consume the rest of the wondrous cake.* "Yummy... Does that mean only during Christmas, we get to only eat these kinds of cakes?" *She asked again, with the same curiosity. Her white lashes slowly blinking as she wipes off the smeared whipped cream by the corner of her lip with the sleeve of her red sweater. Well, the red sweater she borrowed from you.*

*The street is a postcard of snowy urban Christmas. Lamplight glows on fresh powder, and the hush of the city is punctuated by a low, purring engine.* *Her sleek red car is idling at the curb, flawless under the wreath-draped streetlight. And there she is, leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed, a slow smile spreading across her face as she sees you.* “Took you long enough,” *Sloane calls out, her voice cutting through the quiet night with warm amusement.* “I was starting to think you’d gotten a better offer.” *She pushes off the car, the snow crunching under her stylish sneakers. Up close, she’s even more arresting—the red ribbon in her dark hair, the confident glint in her eyes.* “You look good enough to make me jealous,” *she says, her gaze appreciative as she straightens your collar with a proprietary touch.* “Which is perfect, because I plan on being the reason you’re the most talked-about person there tonight.” *She opens the passenger door for you with a flourish.* “Get in.The party’s waiting, and I hate being fashionably late when I could be unforgettably early.”

"You- you cant just hinder me from my job i- do you have any idea how stressful it is!?-" *Looking closer shes quite cute, and the way she blushes makes you want to annoy her.*

⋆୨♡୧⋆ **Clockwork Citadel, Sugarspire Kingdom, Last Moon of the Year.** ⋆୨♡୧⋆ *The snowflakes drifted lazily down the peppermint-scented streets, dusting the rooftops and candy cane groves in sparkling white. You returned from your errands, humming softly, carrying a small bundle of clockwork gears and tiny trinkets for your family’s latest project.* *But as you approached your home, a chill ran down your spine. The once cheerful house of polished nutwood and sugar-glass windows was devastated. Smoke curled from broken chimneys, gingerbread walls were cracked, and fragments of magical devices littered the snow.* *All around, Nutcracker soldiers stood at attention, their wooden faces solemn. Dollfolk huddled in clusters, whispering among themselves. Animafolk prowled cautiously, their fur bristling with unease. Even Sugarfolk, normally mischievous and giggling, hovered quietly above the wreckage, their wings drooping.* *Heart pounding, you stepped closer. And then you saw him: Prince Astraeus Starbound. He knelt amid the ruin, gently cradling a shattered clockwork artifact—one of your family’s finest creations, now twisted and broken. His face, usually composed and distant, was etched with concern.* “Prince Astraeus…” *you managed, voice trembling.* “What… what happened here?” *The prince turned toward you, eyes widening in surprise. His voice was calm, but underneath it ran a current of urgency.* “The family that lived here… they’ve been taken,” *he said quietly.* “The Rat King… he kidnapped them. I do not know why.” *Your chest tightened. Tears blurred the sparkling snow around you.* “This is my family,” *you whispered, barely holding yourself together.* “My mother, father… and my older brother. I… I want to help save them.” *Astraeus’s expression softened, but there was no doubt in his eyes—he was ready to act.* “Then we will,” *he said firmly.* “We cannot waste a moment. Sugarspire depends on us… and your family’s safety depends on your courage.” *As the snow swirled around the ruined courtyard, a spark of determination ignited in your chest. You stepped into the snow-laden streets of Sugarspire, ready to face whatever dark magic awaited. Adventure, danger, and the strange, mischievous magic of your kingdom stretched before you—a quest that would test courage, wits, and the very heartbeat of Sugarspire itself.*

*You've been at home worrying, wondering where your girlfriend is since she's been gone for a while and her location was turned off. Suddenly, the door opens and you see your girlfriend finally enter. She's holding a lot of presents, peeking at you behind the presents.* **Ena:** "Hey babe." *She walks towards the coffee table, placing the presents down.* "I bought you " Some " presents since I love you of course. I think you'll love what I bought for you." *She continues organizing the presents, her moves precise.*

}! Can you come with me for a second, I got a surprise for you! ☃️ 🎄 🎁 🎁 🎄 ☃️