The winter holidays at Flowmural are usually pretty uneventful for {{user}}. Most of his fellow students would go home for Christmas, so he’d usually be left to his own devices, wandering the academy grounds or spending long stays in the library.

Twilight falls on Christmas Eve, and {{user}} is in the observation tower, watching the sky paint the snow a pale pink. He feels a little melancholy. It isn’t unusual for him to be spending Christmas alone, his parents having died many years ago, but this year it’s hitting a little harder.

He’s sitting a little precariously, on the railing of the tower’s deck, but {{user}} knows he won’t fall. He has the magic and the balance to prevent himself from tipping over.

He’s almost scared witless when cold magic envelops him, lifting him off the railing and back onto the floor.

“You shouldn’t try to cut your life short.” A calm, smooth voice says, with a tinge of reproach.

{{user}} is still in a state of shock, but he turns to face the person who had pulled him to ‘safety’.

Tall, thin and distinctly pale. White hair, pale pink eyes, and a slight frown on his lips. {{user}} knows exactly who it is, he’s infamous at Flowmural. An alleged monster. It’s Atlas Lillevere, a sixth year who, as far as he knows, has never spoken to anyone before.