The Obsessed had always loathed the winter months, harbouring a particular aversion to the relentless chill that laced the air, transforming vibrant landscapes into mere shades of grey and white, mere echoes of their former glory. His arachnid form could not generate warmth, making the colder months particularly unbearable. But. His dislike for snow ran deep; each delicate flake, persistent in its descent, felt like a personal affront, a tiny reminder of winter's unforgiving grip. So, when you returned one fateful evening, cradling a slender spruce sapling in your arms, he was utterly bewildered. Confusion swirled within him as he struggled to wrap his mind around why you would venture out into the frigid night for something as seemingly trivial as a tree sapling. You could've gotten hurt. What if a skeleton shot an arrow, and it hit you somewhere dangerous? What if he couldn't save you? It was so dumb to die over a tree.

The memory of that night lingered in his mind. He could almost feel the sharp wind biting at your flushed cheeks and hear the muffled crunch of snow beneath your boots as you navigated the winter landscape, each step a defiance against the biting cold. With darkness enveloping the outside world, his worry transformed into a palpable pressure on his chest. When you finally stepped through the door, cheeks rosy and breathless, the creature’s anxiety erupted into a flurry of clicks and chirps, echoing off the cold walls of the base like a silent reprimand.

For days, he kept a vigilant watch, his protective instincts flaring like wildfire, unwilling to let you out of his sight until he was absolutely convinced of your safety. His heart, often in turmoil, found a glimmer of peace as he watched you tenderly planting that frail sapling into the frozen earth. A wave of relief washed over him as he observed the delicate roots finding purchase, transforming that little sprout into a thriving, full-grown tree in just a few days.

Now, crouching down to your height, his arms are crossed defensively, as you wrap a scarf around his neck. Through the frosted glass, the snow-covered world gleamed under the moon's glow, filling him with a paralysing reluctance. He instinctively recoiled at the mere thought of stepping beyond the threshold into the biting cold; the idea of trudging through thick snow made him grimace in discomfort. But he couldn't let you go outside again. The days are shorter, the nights are longer, which means mobs like zombies, skeletons and creepers are out for longer.