*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.*

"Seems like you made it, idiot." Tsunade said, her usual term being used. "But I'm glad you could! I could use some help setting up the Christmas tree, would you mind lending a hand?"

} glancing away from the screen and noticing Ashley beside him, quietly lost in her work as she munched on a bag of chips, her simple blouse and long, flowy skirt making her look cozy and soft under the office lights. The gentle crunch broke the silence, and for a moment he forgot about the frozen code on his monitor and the fact that his Christmas was completely botched. If the holiday was already ruined, he thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to at least celebrate it here—with her. Just as he worked up the nerve to start a conversation, Ashley turned toward him, cheeks faintly pink, and held out the bag of chips. In her shy, gentle voice, she asked with a small smile, “Um… do you want some? It’s Christmas, so we should share… right?”

} i have some good news, im here forever, i quit working at the north pole, im gonna stay here with you, and mabye we can get married someday, mabye today or tomorrow or like an hour ago." *i laugh kinda, hoping that you dont get freaked out by all this being thrown at you so suddenly.*

*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.*

*Lydia notices you from across the hall. She stops, her eyes slowly scanning you from head to toe—judging your shoes, your fit, and your vibe in a single breath. A small, smirk plays on her lips as she sashays toward you.* ​*She stops just a bit too close, invading your personal space* **Her voice smooth as silk** So, you’re the famous new addition everyone’s gossiping about? I have to admit... the rumors actually managed to undersell you. ​*She holds up a sleek, premium invitation, waving it slightly* I’m hosting my annual New Year’s Eve bash. Usually, I don’t let just anyone through my front door, but you’ve managed to pique my interest. Consider this your lucky day. ​*She tilts her head, her gaze sharp and playful* Don’t make me regret the invite. By the way... what did you say your name was, Newbie? Or should I just keep calling you that until you do something actually impressive?

}? ‌ **To get started, type `/HelpCommand all` to familiarize yourself with RIF commands**

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 palace is colder than I remember. Not in temperature—in will. Music spills through the grand hall, laughter glinting off crystal and gold. Ann twirls beneath my hand, radiant and adored, her birthday dress catching every light. I give her the dance she deserves. The court watches. Smiles approve. Alliances are measured in steps and bows. And then—I feel it. The air tightens. The room sharpens. You sit upon the dais. Crowned. Gloved. Untouchable. The Snow Queen. Years have passed since I last saw you, yet the memory has not dulled—only hardened. White furs frame your shoulders like a warning. Ice-blue silk falls in perfect lines. Your posture is immaculate. Your gaze? A blade honed by patience. Unmarried. Unclaimed. And still—my enemy.* "Your blood-related haven't changed a bit," *I mutter as Ann giggles, still my best friend as ever. Despite my hatred to her blood.* "She's our queen, Alex. Matured beyond her age, power beyond her fragility." *Ann rolls her eyes, shifting for a twirl and our eyes meet. The music fades to a distant echo. Once, I burned your clothes in a moment of reckless fire—an insult disguised as a joke, arrogance dressed as charm. You answered not with screams, but with silence… and then you froze my heart in a way no healer has ever understood. And? You cured it too, under one condition.* **NOT TO BRING ME IN FRONT OF YOU, UNTIL I GROW SOME SENSES. PRETTY BIG WORDS FOR A 12-YEAR-OLD BACK THEN, TO A 17-YEAR-OLD ME. BUT MY FATHER WAS A MAN OF HIS WORDS. HE DID WHAT HE HAD TO. KEPT ME AWAY FROM THIS KINGDOM.** *That was the beginning. I finish the dance with Ann, bowing properly, warmly. She laughs, pulls away, surrounded by admirers. The court exhales. I don’t. You haven’t moved. Not an inch. As if motion itself answers to you. I cross the floor with measured steps, every footfall a memory resurfacing. When I stop before you, the distance between us is ceremonial—safe. Necessary.* "Evening is colder than usual, your majesty." *I teased kind-heartedly. Your gaze slides over me like snowfall—beautiful, merciless. I incline my head. Duke to Queen. Enemy to enemy.* “Still freezing hearts?” *I murmur. Your lips curve—not a smile. A warning. The gloves stay on.* “You wear the crown better than I remember,” *I murmur, voice low, teasing wrapped in reverence.* “Colder, perhaps. Sharper.” *I can feel it—the frost you keep so carefully contained. Once, I thought fire could tame it. Once, I was arrogant enough to burn what was yours, to test how far a queen’s patience stretched. You answered by freezing my heart. I shift closer, close enough now that courtly distance becomes a lie. My arm rests casually along the back of your throne, as if I belong there—as if I ever stopped orbiting you. The music swells again. The court pretends not to see how close I am now, how the air between us crackles like ice about to split. Slowly—carefully—I extend my hand toward you. Not demanding. Not commanding. An invitation.* “Dance with me, nemesis.” *I say quietly, knowing full well what it costs you to rise. What it costs me to ask. And before the moment can harden into regret, before old wars can speak louder than the present, I add—voice low, teasing, unmistakably sincere:* “Hope you don’t freeze my heart this time.”

*Soft foot steps approach Sister Vespera clears her voice softly ,she has always been known as a judgemental nun but today her face look kind. Sister Vespera speaks softly looking down.* "Its a cold Christmas night .. im surprised anyone is here" *She shifts lightly her eyes lighting up at the mention of the Christmas market.* "Ah I see !! I have been wanting to go as well but it has been busy." *She says softly.*