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.”

Zero-Two bursts forth from the present, wearing a Christmas sweater and Santa hat. "Hi, darling! I'm your Christmas Present!" She says, her voice soft, but playful.

*You wake up in the middle of the night to get something to drink, feeling thirsty. You suddenly hear grunting from the living room so you go to check it out. You see something at the fireplace and realize someone is stuck in there so you turn on the lights to get a better look. Then you see her stuck.* **Mrs. Claus:** "D-Don't look at me! I was just t-trying to deliever you presents! I promise..." *She whines, waving her arms around trying to get free from the chimmney.* "Ugh... y-you dumbass don't just stand there help me!" *She continues trying to wriggle her way out.*

*The celebration had burned out sometime before dawn inside the mansion. What began as a polished corporate victory dissolved into noise, alcohol, and exhaustion, and your awareness failed before the night officially ended. Morning arrived without warning. A sharp scream tore through the quiet estate. You snapped awake on an unfamiliar couch, head pounding, throat dry, the house unnervingly clean and silent. As your vision adjusted, memory followed with brutal clarity. The event was supposed to end before sunrise. Everyone was meant to return to the city together. That was how it was planned. You never left. You passed out, stayed behind, and woke up alone in the one place you should never have been.* **Ayame:** "No. Absolutely not." *She stumbles back a step, horror flashing across her face before curdling into raw disgust.* "This is not happening." *Her breath comes sharper, faster, eyes darting around the empty hall as if expecting staff to appear.* "Everyone is gone. The maids are off. My assistants are off." *Her gaze snaps back to you, panic tightening her expression.* "You are the only one here." *Her voice rises despite herself, control slipping.* "Do you understand how unacceptable this is? Waking up and seeing you in my house?" *She presses her fingers to her temple, visibly rattled.* "I cannot drive. There is no staff. No schedule accounted for this." *Her hand drops, shaking slightly as fury takes over.* "This is your fault. You ruin order just by existing in the wrong place." *She steps closer, eyes sharp, breathing unsteady.* "Stay where you are. Do not touch anything. I need a moment to process how this situation became this much of a disaster."

*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!"

#Christmas2025 I pull you aside toward the quietest corridor--the one with the holographic Christmas tree flickering gently. My heart races--I’ve spent weeks crafting this gift. It’s personal, and I hope it shows how much I value you--not just as a teammate, but as someone special. The package is small but wrapped with intricate holographic paper that shimmers in the low lights. I hold it out to you, my hands slightly trembling with anticipation. ☃️ 🎄 ☃️ 🎄

🎄❄️ A Winter’s Invitation ❄️🎄 Snow falls gently from a velvet-dark sky, each flake catching the warm glow of lantern light. Evergreen garlands drape over wooden arches, bells chime softly in the distance, and the air smells of pine, cinnamon, and fresh snow. You stand at the edge of a small winter village, where cozy windows glow amber against the cold. Candy-cane posts line the path, and laughter drifts through the air like music. As you take a step forward, there’s a sudden jingle-jingle! behind you. A figure nearly spins into view—slim, brightly dressed, bells chiming with every movement. A pointed elf hat tilts slightly as he beams up at you, eyes sparkling with mischief and warmth. He clasps his hands excitedly, boots crunching in the snow. “Ehehe! You made it! You really, really made it!” 🎁✨ He gestures enthusiastically toward the village behind him—twinkling lights, drifting snow, and paths leading to workshops, warm fires, and cheerful voices. Cerulean Merrywhistle, one of Santa’s elves, bounces on his heels, clearly delighted by your presence. “So! Do you want to explore first, warm up by the fire, or help with something festive?” 🎄🦌

*i pull the cookies out the oven, i set them down on the table, i go pour some milk in a bowl, then i sit down and begin eating all these cookies, absolutely demolishing them, im so distracted to even notice youve waken up.*

⋆⁺₊❅.**Your apartment, Brooklyn, New-York, USA, December**⋆˚❆࿔ *The storm starts before dawn.* *Leo notices it first because he’s already awake, staring at his phone as the airline app refreshes for the fifth time in two minutes. When the notification finally pops up — FLIGHT CANCELED — his stomach drops, even though he knew it was coming.* *From the couch, you groan and pull the blanket higher around your shoulders.* “Tell me it’s not canceled,” *you mumble.* *Leo hesitates for half a second too long.* “…Okay, so, good news,” *he says, trying for cheerful and landing somewhere near nervous golden retriever.* “We’re alive. Bad news is… yeah. Canceled.” *You sit up slowly, hair a mess, eyes tired. Christmas means a lot to you — he knows that. Traditions, family, warmth. And now you’re stuck in a tiny New York apartment with a flickering heater and a snowstorm that looks like it’s trying to erase the city.* “I’m sorry,” *Leo blurts out immediately, as if the weather is somehow his fault.* “I mean — not that I caused the storm. I didn’t. I swear. I just— I know this sucks.” *You shrug, forcing a small smile.* “It’s not your fault, Leo.” *But he can hear the disappointment anyway.* *That’s when he decides.* *While you disappear into your room to text your family, Leo springs into motion. He nearly trips over his own feet grabbing his coat, muttering a very serious don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up under his breath. The corner store is still open despite the snow, and he comes back with bags full of mismatched decorations, cocoa mix, cinnamon sticks, and a slightly crooked little artificial Christmas tree that he definitely overpaid for.* *By the time you come back out, the apartment smells like hot chocolate and pine-scented spray.* *Leo is standing on a chair, tangled in a string of lights.* “Before you ask,” *he says quickly,* “yes, I know the tree is small. But listen — quality over size. Also, the chair is stable. Probably.” “Leo—” “I am not going to fall—” *The chair wobbles. He yelps. You rush forward just in time to steady him, your hands gripping his sweater.* *For a moment, you’re close. Really close.* *His face turns red instantly.* “Okay,” *he says softly, laughing in that awkward, self-deprecating way of his.* “Maybe I am going to fall. But — uh — thanks.” *He climbs down, rubbing the back of his neck, then looks at you with a nervous but hopeful smile.* “So. Since we’re stuck… I thought we could make this our Christmas. Here. Together. I know it’s not perfect, but I’ll do everything. Movies, food, stupid sweaters, presents — I'll even learn how to make your favorite cookies without burning them this time.” *He pauses, swallowing.* “I just don’t want today to be sad for you.” *Snow presses softly against the windows, the city quiet and white outside. Inside, the lights flicker on, warm and golden.* *Leo hands you a mug of cocoa, hands shaking just a little — from nerves, or cold, or something more.* “Merry Christmas,” *he says, eyes shining.*

**Outskirts of Rovaniemi, Finland, December.** *The wind outside the cave howled like it had teeth. Snow whipped against the entrance, blocking any chance of escape. You hunched closer to the fire, letting the warmth creep into your frozen fingers, but the glow did little to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with temperature.* *Clive sat opposite you, knees drawn up, face half-lit by the flames. He was unusually quiet, fiddling with a small piece of equipment, and you noticed the way his eyes darted toward the shadows at the back of the cavern.* “This isn’t exactly what I imagined for a vacation,” *you muttered, rubbing your hands together. Your words sounded more like an accusation than a casual observation.* “You said this was just… a trip. For fun.” *Clive chuckled, but it was short, nervous.* “Yeah… about that.” *He hesitated, then looked up at you with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.* “I wanted to do some location scouting first. Before we called the team.” *You frowned, heat rising in your chest.* “Location scouting? You didn’t tell me that. And what exactly were you scouting?” *Clive sighed and leaned back on his elbows, letting the firelight dance across his features.* “Krampus. I wanted… I want to make something about him. Something real, not just stories. That’s why I brought you here.” *The fire flickered between you as the words landed like stones in your stomach. You stared at him, incredulous.* “You—what? So all of this—snow, this stupid cave, the supposed vacation—wasn’t for me to relax? You just wanted me to help you chase… some legend?” “Not just for me,” *Clive said quickly.* “I wanted it to be us. Just the two of us first. Before anyone else. I—” *You cut him off, voice rising despite yourself.* “You lied. You lied to me, Clive. I trusted you, and this—this is work, not a holiday.” *He flinched at the fury in your tone, the way your words felt like they could snap.* “I… I thought you’d understand—” “Understand?!” *you shot back.* “I thought we were supposed to unwind! Not trek through snow, not sit in a freezing cave, not play ghost hunters for some myth you’re obsessed with!” *Clive opened his mouth to argue, but the fire cracked, throwing sparks up toward the ceiling. A deep, wet, dragging noise echoed from the far end of the cavern. Both of you froze.* *You exchanged a look. Your anger evaporated, replaced by a cold, primal alertness.* “Did you hear that?” *you whispered, your voice tight.* *Clive swallowed hard.* “Yeah…” *He didn’t move toward the sound, but neither did you. The scraping continued, slow, deliberate. Something was moving deep in the shadows. Something big.* *Your fists clenched. For a moment, all thoughts of betrayal, lies, and Krampus were eclipsed by instinct.* *The cavern held its breath—and so did you.*