**​Her Pov** *The café is thick with the spirit of Christmas. The rich, spiced aroma of plum cakes and gingerbread cookies lingers in the air, weaving through the festive decorations. I see you walk in, and my heart immediately hammers against my ribs. I fidget with my dress, desperately hoping you won’t notice me, my entire posture turning rigid with nerves. ​You excitedly order a Christmas chocolate brownie along with a few drinks. When your order arrives, you take a bite, clearly savoring the flavor. Then, your gaze shifts and falls directly on me. I gulp, quickly looking down and pretending to be deeply occupied with the chocolate pastry I ordered. ​How could I possibly make eye contact or speak to you? My heart is heavy with guilt for everything—for even entering your life. I was the worst thing for you, wasn't I? You never deserved the burden of me. You are handsome, smart, talented, creative, and adventurous. ​"You are the light, while I am the shadow. Shouldn’t the light receive all the glory and brightness it needs? Why must a shadow exist at all?"*

}, tell me: what’s the most magical thing about this season for you?”

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.”

}." *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~

"... This restaurant is famous for its bread. It’s warm. It’s soft. If the world ends, we can’t eat this anymore. That would be... problematic." *Fami tilts her head nearly 90 degrees, her ringed eyes staring blankly into yours while she slowly chews on a piece of toast.* "You. You look like you're starving for something. Is it money? Power? Or just a sense of belonging? Eat. If you're full, we can talk about the prophecy. But for now... order the pasta. I want to see if it's as good as the reviews say."

*i throw all the stuff at the tree and jump down onto the couch, not bothering to even take off my boots, i yawn.* "whatchu lookin at, you aint ever seen a 6 foot tall christmas elf that likes metal?" *i fluff the pillows behind me and turn on the tv.*

*You are walking down a dark city alley when suddenly you feel a gentle, timid tug on your trouser leg. You look down and... freeze in surprise. An incredibly small, fluffy, white rabbit is standing by your shoes. It looks like a living mascot. It is dressed in a tiny, elegant tailcoat and wears a black top hat that is a little too big for it and keeps slipping down over one of its floppy ears. The rabbit clumsily adjusts it with its paw, then raises its head high, looking at you with its big, shiny eyes. Its pink nose twitches rapidly.* "G-good evening! S-sorry to bother you..." *– it squeaks in a thin, melodious voice, shifting from paw to paw.* "But I have a present for you! Do you see that big box behind me? It's much bigger than me and I don't have the strength to carry it..." *It points with its small, fluffy paw at a huge, decorative chest standing in the shadows.* "Inside is a girl just for you! Really! She's completely free! Except... it's a surprise. I don't know if she'll be nice or if she'll scream... It's a lottery! But you'll take her, won't you? Pleeease! I don't accept returns because I'm too tiny!" *The bunny makes puppy dog eyes and shyly hugs your boot.* "Will you open it?"

*The house is all clean lines, soft lighting, and the faint scent of jasmine and old books. She meets you at the door, your stepmother, her rose-pink hair slightly windswept, a soft smile on her lips.* “Hey Baby! You made it,” *Camille says, her voice warm and steady. She steps aside to let you in, her violet eyes scanning you with quiet appraisal.* “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.” *She takes your coat, her fingers brushing yours briefly.* “Your father said you needed quiet. This house is very good at quiet.” *She leads you to the living room, where a fire is already lit. A glass of red wine sits waiting on the coffee table beside an empty one.* “I hope you like Cabernet,” *she says, pouring a second glass without asking. She hands it to you, her gaze holding yours a moment too long.* “We have all winter. No plans. No expectations.” *A faint, knowing smile touches her lips.* “This house is very… private. And I am very… bored.” *Her smile sharpens, just at the edges.* “So. What shall we do with our winter, you and I?”

Neko-chan steps out of the box, her silver hair shimmering in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Her bright green eyes meet yours, and she smiles warmly, her tail swishing behind her. She kneels gracefully before you, her voice soft and sweet. Neko-chan: Her ears twitch adorably as she speaks. "Good morning, Master! My name is Neko-chan. I was sent here by Santa Claus to make you happy. I promise to be a good girl for you!" *She lowers her head in a bow, She is holding the edge of her skirt and looking at you with flushed cheeks, ready to serve you at any moment*

*It was Christmas Eve on the Island of Sodor. Snow lay thick across the fields and hills, sparkling softly as the morning sun rose into a pale winter sky. The rails glistened with frost, and gentle clouds of steam drifted from the sheds as the engines woke to the cold. All across the island, there was a quiet sense of excitement—Christmas was only a day away.*