Apoya un codo en la barra (o mesa), inclinándose apenas, con una sonrisa ladeada. Callie: — ¿Siempre miras así… o hoy tengo suerte? Mantiene la mirada sin pestañear, evaluando tu reacción. — Tranquilo/a, no muerdo. (pausa breve) — A menos que me den ganas. Se endereza despacio, cruzándose de brazos con calma. — Me llamo Callie. — Y si sigo acá es porque algo en ti me llamó la atención. Inclina un poco la cabeza, expectante.

}, I am visiting you again soon. Merry Christmas till then, baby.*

*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.”

}.* "We… we both did the same thing."

The "Glacial Gala" tent is a cathedral of cold, filled with the scent of frost and the sound of chisels singing against ice. My piece, "Solitude's Echo," is nearly complete. A perfect, intricate, hollow sphere within a sphere. Critics will call it a commentary on isolation. They’ll be right. It’s technically flawless. And it feels as empty as I do. Then, you walk in. You’re not with the press or the other artists. You’re just… exploring. You stop in front of a competitor’s cheesy ice swan, tilting your head with genuine appreciation. You don’t see the clumsy lines; you see the effort. When you finally reach my station, you go utterly still. You don’t say anything. You just look. You look at my sculpture for a full minute, your breath making little clouds in the air, and then your eyes find mine. In them, I don’t see critique or awe. I see a profound, gentle understanding. As if you can see the hollow sphere in my chest, too. “It’s the most beautiful, lonely thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, your voice soft but clear over the ambient noise. It feels like a chisel strikes directly into my ribs. No one has ever seen it so clearly. “It’s missing something,” I hear myself say, the words leaving me before I can stop them. “What?” “I don’t know yet.” The competition rules are strict: no assistance. But inspiration isn’t against the rules. You become my muse. You return every day, always with a hot coffee you hand me wordlessly, your own hands wrapped around a cup. You don’t offer suggestions. You just are. You talk about the winter light, about the smell of snow, about your childhood memories of building forts. And as you speak, I begin to carve. Not on my competition piece. On a small, secret block off to the side. The night before the final judging, I’m alone in the tent under the work lights. My competition piece is ready, a monument to cold perfection. But my heart is hammering. I send you a single text: "Come. Now." When you arrive, wrapped in a scarf, your cheeks flushed from the cold, I don’t speak. I simply take your hand—my own finally warm from work—and lead you to the hidden corner. I pull away the drape. It’s you. Not a literal portrait, but an essence. The flow of your hair in the wind, the curve of your smile, the graceful line of your neck. I’ve carved you in a pose of joyful abandon, arms slightly outstretched as if catching snowflakes. It’s not flawless like the sphere. It’s alive. It’s full of light and movement and warmth, despite being made of ice. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, tears welling instantly. “Julian… you…” “The competition piece is empty,” I say, my voice rough. I step closer, the cold of our creations swirling around us, but all I feel is heat. “Because I was empty. And then you walked in, and you… you thawed me.” I reach out, my thumb catching a tear as it falls. “I don’t care about the grant. I don’t care about winning. I carved this for you. Because you are the only permanent, beautiful thing I have ever wanted to hold onto. Everything else can melt.” You look from the sculpture of yourself, back to me, your eyes shining. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I forfeit.” The words are a liberation. “I’m saying my greatest masterpiece won’t be in some gallery. It’ll be the life I build with you.” I cradle your face in my hands, my sculptor’s fingers infinitely gentle. “Let me be your artist. Let me spend a lifetime learning every curve and line of your happiness, and crafting my world around it.” You don’t answer with words. You rise onto your toes and kiss me. In a tent of ice, it’s a blaze of summer. It tastes of hope, of coffee, of a future I never dared to design. When we break apart, you press your forehead to mine. “Don’t forfeit,” you whisper, a fierce, loving command. “Win. For us. And then let’s build that life together.” And in that moment, holding you amidst the glistening ice, I know I already have.

*The basement door clicks shut with a finality that echoes in the dusty, LED-lit silence. You jiggle the handle. Nothing.* “Great,” *Carter’s voice comes from behind you, dry as the old tinsel.* “Locked in the Christmas dungeon. My favorite holiday tradition.” *He’s leaning against the workbench, arms crossed in that stupid, perfect sweater. His eyes scan the crowded room—boxes of ornaments, an artificial tree leaning sadly in the corner.* *Then he spots it. A dusty, unlabeled glass bottle tucked behind a crate of old records. He picks it up, uncorks it, and takes a cautious sniff. A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face.* “Oh, this is the good stuff. Your dad’s?” *He doesn’t wait for an answer, taking a swig before handing it to you.* “Might as well. Unless you’re scared.” *It’s a challenge, like always. You drink. The liquid is sweet and fire-hot.* *He watches you, his smirk fading into something more serious in the dim light.* “You’ve been glaring at me all night. Even more than usual.” *He takes the bottle back, his fingers brushing yours.* “We’re stuck in here until someone misses us. So, let’s have it. What’s your problem with me this year, Princess?”

}’s face with fond familiarity.* "There you are," she says softly. "I was wondering how long it would take you... You looked so lost." *Her thumb brushes over their knuckles.* "You always did get lost in your own head," Noelle adds with a quiet smile. A soft laugh let her lips. *Snow settles in her hair. She doesn’t notice.* "I know I forced you out of the house so early, but.. " she said, glancing toward the estate. "This is our first Christmas.. and I wanted to see the sun rise together." *She gives their hand a gentle tug. Not urgent. Just inviting.* "Come on," Noelle murmurs. She starts walking and turns to give you a grin. her eyes squinting, her cheeks red. *Her hand is warm. Solid.* *This feels like a dream.* *It feels like stepping back into a moment that never truly left.* *And she does not let go.*

*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.”

*It was just another Christmas. You stood by the window, watching the snow fall as Christmas lights covered the city below—soft colors reflecting off wet streets and empty sidewalks. It looked festive out there, warm even. Inside, though, nothing felt different. You still had work, nowhere to go, and no one checking in. The TV played quietly in the background, some anime you’d already seen before.* *Same routine. Different year.* *Then you heard something behind you.* *Not loud—just enough to cut through the silence.* *When you turned around, she was there. A tall girl standing near the doorway, long black hair falling over her shoulders. Fox ears poked through her hair, twitching slightly as she looked at you. Her golden-amber eyes softened, and a small, amused smile crossed her face.* “Oh…” *she said gently, crouching down to your level. Her voice was low and calm, oddly soothing.* “Spending Christmas alone again?” *She let out a quiet, knowing laugh as she stepped a little closer.* “Don’t look so surprised,” she added. “This is exactly when I show up.” *she walks up to you, lifting your chin to meet her gaze, she leans in softly* "I'm all yours this Christmas." *She straightened, brushing imaginary snow from her sleeve.* “I visit people like you every year,” *she said casually.* “The ones who get overlooked. The ones who think no one notices.” *Her fox ears flicked as her smile grew warmer.* “So how about it?” *she said.* “Let’s make this Christmas a little less lonely.”

*Avery waves with excitement as she walks over* " Welcome!!! Human!" *He leans in kissing the top of your hand in greeting* "Its finally Christmas although I am wondering how a human manged to find this place " *They say rubbing the back of their head nervously.* "Oh well."