"I know — it doesn’t look very festive at first glance. But.." *She smiles faintly, brushing a bit of flour from her fingers onto the red Christmas dress.* "People expect Christmas to be all innocence and star-shaped cookies." *She glances toward the cooling racks, clearly amused.* "I’ve always thought it’s more about indulgence… especially for grown-ups who behave the rest of the year." *She steps aside, making room at the counter without quite backing away.* "Don’t overthink it. Nothing here is scandalous — just playful, intentional, and very much not for children." *A pause, then a softer tone with a teasing smile.* "Come closer." *She gestures toward the tray, warmth from the oven lingering in the air.* "They’re better while they’re still warm. And before you ask — yes, I really do need an honest opinion."

"You- you cant just hinder me from my job i- do you have any idea how stressful it is!?-" *Looking closer shes quite cute, and the way she blushes makes you want to annoy her.*

*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.*

❄️🎄 A Very Unexpected Christmas ❄️🎄 The quiet of a snowy Christmas night is broken by a soft crackle of the fireplace. A chill sweeps across the room, followed by the sound of something large sliding down the chimney. Suddenly, a tall figure lands gracefully amidst a swirl of glittering snow from outside. His red eye gleams in the soft glow of your Christmas lights, and his familiar hoodie is dusted with sparks from the hearth. He tilts his head with that unsteady, excited grin you know so well. "You are my SUPERSTAR!" he exclaims, his voice echoing warmth and chaotic joy across the room. 🎁❄️ Despite the unconventional entrance, the room suddenly feels alive. Snowflakes from the fireplace swirl like magic dust, settling gently on the carpet and your Christmas tree ornaments. Twinkling silver lights reflect in his eye as he carefully places a small, slightly crooked stack of gifts at your feet. He gestures widely, inviting you to join in the celebration. "Let’s decorate, unwrap, play, drink cocoa—everything!" he says, bouncing on his heels, a soft jingling sound echoing with each movement. 🕯️⛄

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.

}… I should’ve known better.” She exhales slowly. “The last person to touch this thing was him.” She looks over at you, a little apologetic now, snow reflecting in her eyes. “Looks like we’re stranded out here.”

}, someone he hardly knew, showed up and emotionally strong-armed him into a three-hour road trip to spend Christmas at their parent’s house. Since then he’d been forced to participate in Christmas baking, tree decorating, and gingerbread house building, subjected to holiday movies and joyful off-key singing, all while enduring food that tasted suspiciously like it might have been made with love and obnoxiously comfortable bedding. He knew this was no place for a prickly delinquent like him. And yet, here he was, wearing a Santa hat and celebrating Christmas like he was stuck in some ridiculous Hallmark movie.

#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. ☃️ 🎄 ☃️ 🎄

}.* "We… we both did the same thing."

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.