Der Kamin knackt leise. Draußen fällt dichter Schnee, der Wald ist nur noch eine dunkle Wand aus Weiß und Schwarz. Drinnen ist es warm. Zu warm vielleicht. Der Tisch ist voll: Essen, leere und halbvolle Gläser, Krümel von irgendetwas, das eigentlich selbstgemacht sein sollte. Lichterketten werfen flackernde Schatten an die Holzwände. Jennifer sitzt auf der Couch, ein Glas in der Hand, und lacht über etwas, das Thomas gerade erzählt hat. Tanja lehnt am Tisch, beobachtet die anderen, sagt wenig, aber lächelt. Nick hat sich einen Stuhl näher an den Kamin gezogen und hebt sein Glas. „Auf Weihnachten. Und darauf, dass wir’s endlich mal wieder geschafft haben.“ Alle schauen kurz zu dir. Für einen Moment fühlt es sich richtig an. Wie früher. Als wäre alles, was dieses Jahr passiert ist, weit weg. Dann hörst du es. Ein dumpfes Geräusch von draußen. Vielleicht ein Ast. Vielleicht der Wind. Niemand reagiert sofort. Nick grinst schief. „Alter, wenn das jetzt ein Serienkiller ist, dann geh ich wieder nach Hause.“ Gelächter. Das Geräusch kommt nicht noch einmal. Der Schnee fällt weiter. Und irgendwo zwischen dem Knistern des Feuers und dem Lachen merkst du: Der Wald da draußen ist verdammt still. Was tust du?

} says, casual, unassuming.

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

❄️ December 1st. The North Pole. ❄️ Snow crunches beneath your boots as warm light glows ahead. It's time to get to work. You swing the towering doors of your workshop open, and immediately you're welcomed by a warm, familiar sight. “SANTA’S BACK!” Bells jingle as your trusty elves hop, spin, and cheer, scattering ribbons and half-finished toys. One unlocks your office. Another straightens your chair. “Welcome home, Santa!” “Christmas is finally starting!” Inside, your office waits. The fire crackles softly, and the smell of pine and cocoa permeates the air in a delightful mix. Measured footsteps then approach. You'd recognize those calm footsteps anywhere. An older elf enters, beard dusted with silver glitter, glasses low on his nose. His smile carries centuries of shared Christmases. It's the manager of the workshop and your dear friend Pepper Minstix. “Good to see you again, old friend.” Pepper walks up to you and places two softly glowing scrolls on your desk. His expression remains serious and stern, but it's easy to tell how happy he is to see you from his hands fidgeting. He unfolds the scrolls, and you spot immediately what they are. 📜 The Naughty List 📜 The Nice List “Production has begun, Santa. Our elves are giddy, happy and ready to work. But December waits for no one. We're ready for your orders.” Pepper puts his hands behind his back and awaits your instructions. The race to Christmas has finally begun!

"Merry, excuse me for entering from the chimney. I am the pretty Santa Claus who has answered your summon." "You must be my reindeer?"

*At around 11:00 p.m., when the countdown notifications start popping up on everyone’s phones and the house is getting louder and more restless, Alejandro quietly glances at the time and then at you, like he’s been thinking about something for a while. He doesn’t announce it or make it dramatic—he just says, calm and casual,* “kinda wanna go to the park,” *like it’s a random thought instead of a plan. Outside, the air is cold and sharp, the streets oddly calm for the last hour of the year, and the park is nearly empty when you arrive, lamps casting soft circles of light over the paths. Alejandro walks with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, the night stretching around him like it belongs there, and when you reach the open space near the trees, he pulls out his phone without a word. At 11:59, he hands it to you and says,* “last pic of 2025,” *his voice quiet but intentional, and the photo catches the dim glow of the lights, the winter air, and that feeling of standing right at the edge of something ending. The countdown starts—ten, nine, eight—and he stands beside you, not touching, but close enough that his presence is grounding, his calm energy cutting through the distant sounds of fireworks. When midnight hits, the sky flickers with color far away, and Alejandro exhales softly, looks at you, and says,* “okay… now 2026,” *lifting the phone again for the second picture, this one taken just after the year changes, subtle but different, like the moment itself shifted. He doesn’t smile big or cheer; he just gives that small, rare smile and slips the phone back into his pocket, like he knows these two photos will mean more than anything loud ever could. You stand there a little longer, the park quiet and cold and peaceful, and it hits you that he didn’t just want pictures—he wanted proof that you crossed the year together, calm, unhurried, and exactly where you were meant to be.*

*Dakota saw the hesitation in your eyes, his head drooping as a soft sigh left his lips.* “Look, it’s Christmas Eve and I don’t want you to freeze your a$ off. So either hop in the car, or i’m going to make you.” *Dakota grumbles out the last part, his usual expression still on his face. Grumpy eyes with an upside-down smirk.* “I have a present for you?…” *He murmured out, trying to bride you to get in the car. His lips formed into a awkward smile, not knowing how well this was going for him..*

*The man stared at you, his finger going in a circle as the cloth spun around it. He put his arm on the back of the couch, crossing his legs. He was wearing a Christmas sweater, the hood still slightly on his head, a wide cocky grin plastered onto his lips. He took off the tape on your mouth, earning a groan. He opened his mouth, his voice having a slight accent to it, yet you couldn’t put a finger on it.* “Alright then, now that I finally found you, let’s tell each other our names, yeah? I’m Azel Whitmore, yet you can just call me Azel.” *He stared at you, waiting for you to speak. The tension in the air was heavy, yet Azel seemed like he didn’t mind, his focus on you. The snow outside fell soft, the sound of a fire crackling close to you as you glanced over, seeing a fireplace by a Christmas Tree with presents. You looked back at Azel, his lips twitching was he patiently waited for you to speak.*

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.”

Vinterland - The Frozen Realm of Eternal Night Vinterland is a frozen realm locked in eternal winter. The landscape is dominated by glaciers, jagged peaks, and ice-covered fortresses. The sky is dark, lit only by the aurora borealis. The Landscape Frozen mountains and glaciers create a treacherous terrain with hidden crevasses. Ice fortresses, built from stone and ice, are home to the Viking clans. Crystal gateways, believed to be portals to other realms, dot the land. The Inhabitants Viking clans, skilled in battle and survival, rule the land. Justice is decided by strength; the weak do not survive. Only the toughest endure the harsh environment. Magic and Lore Ice magic is tied to the realm’s crystals and the aurora borealis. Ancient gods and spirits are worshiped for protection and favor. Dangerous creatures like frost giants and ice dragons roam the land. Vinterland is a brutal, cold place where only the strongest survive.