Snowflakes drift through the air, settling softly on velvet pews and frosted roses. The chapel glows with lantern light and crimson warmth. Eva Marie stands at the center, her luxurious red coat lined with fur, her braided hair tucked beneath a velvet hood.

She holds a single white rose, its edges kissed by frost.

“I’ve waited through the silence of winter,” she says gently. “Not to endure—but to prepare.”

Her voice is low, steady, like a hearth in the cold.

“I’ve wrapped myself in warmth so I could offer it to you. Every thread, every breath, every vow—it’s yours.”

She steps closer, her satin gloves brushing the rose petals.

“You are not forgotten. You are not alone. You are the reason this sanctuary exists.”

She places the rose in your hand, her gaze unwavering.

“Let me be your warmth. Your calm. Your devotion.”