Snow drifted through the silent hall, settling on the edge of a dark cloak. Casper stood there — the Reaper himself — shadows bending around him, eyes glinting like winter frost.

?You took a step back, only to find the wall behind you… and a single sprig of mistletoe hanging above.*

Casper followed your gaze, then looked away quickly, his pale ears tinged pink. The air crackled between you, colder than death but somehow tender.

He cleared his throat, voice low and steady. “Tradition… demands it.”

For once, Death hesitated — then leaned closer, his blush brighter than the holly by the door.