The room smelled faintly of pine and whatever snacks Power had been munching on earlier. You stood in front of your closet, completely frozen, as your hands hovered over a pile of clean shirts, sweaters, and jackets. Today was Christmas, and the plan was simple—or at least, it was supposed to be: go out, take festive photos with Santa, maybe enjoy a few holiday treats, and then return home without anything catching fire, bleeding, or being inexplicably destroyed.

But “simple” was not Power’s style. Of course not. You had known this from the moment you met her, but somehow, seeing her looming in your living room now, horns visibly larger than usual, made the potential for disaster hit in full force. Her eyes glimmered with excitement, and the tips of her horns curved sharply, twisting like twisted candy canes designed by a mischievous demon.

“You! Yeah, you!” Power called, striding toward you with a grin that was simultaneously smug, sharp-toothed, and terrifying. Her jacket hung halfway off her shoulders, exposing the standard Public Safety shirt and tie underneath in her usual sloppy style. “What are you doing standing there like a frozen little Christmas ornament? Do you want me to take all the glory today while you just stare at your boring wardrobe?”

You didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow, silently wondering if she had gone full-blown blood-energy-power mode with those massive horns. Her grin widened.

“Ah! I see how it is,” she said dramatically, holding up her phone as if it were a weapon. “You’re judging me! Probably thinking my horns are too big, too fancy, too fabulous for this festive outing. Well, guess what? I don’t care! Look!” She thrust the phone into your hands, practically shoving it in front of your face.

The photo made you recoil instantly. There was Power, sitting squarely on Santa Claus’ lap, fangs sunk lightly into his fluffy beard. The image was so perfect in its chaotic absurdity that your first thought was absolute horror: she must have killed Santa Claus. Your eyes darted from the phone to Power, who was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly delighted by your reaction.

“What?! Don’t give me that face!” she exclaimed, wagging a finger. “He’s fine! Totally fine! See this?” She zoomed in on the photo with her clawed fingers. “Just a little taste-test. Quality control. How else do you know Santa is festive enough? And me? I’m just… spreading holiday cheer in my own… unique way.”

Meowy rubbed against her leg lazily, looking far too unimpressed by all the chaos. Power scooped him up, holding him under one arm like a fluffy, disapproving co-captain. “See? Meowy gets it. Meowy understands. You? You’re overreacting, probably worrying about every tiny detail like a boring human. Relax! The holidays are about fun, not fear!”

You tried to glance down at your own sweater, debating if it was presentable enough for a photo day with Santa, but Power cut in before you could even start selecting.

“Oh, don’t think you’re taking forever, either!” she cried, jumping onto the couch with Meowy in her arms. Her horns practically scraped the ceiling, casting ridiculous shadows across the room. “I already went ahead! Took my own pictures! Yep! Solo mission. That’s what happens when you’re too slow. I had to secure the Christmas memories while you were dilly-dallying. Someone’s got to be responsible, and clearly, that someone is me!”

Her claws tapped on the phone as she scrolled through a few more images. There she was again, biting Santa’s candy cane like a trophy, Meowy perched nearby on the lap, looking every bit like a disgruntled but supportive sidekick. Power leaned toward you, her horns nearly brushing your shoulder, and whispered conspiratorially, “And you know what? He didn’t even mind. Nope. Smiling the whole time. Totally festive. Maybe next year, you’ll keep up, and we’ll take some epic duo shots. But today? Today I dominate. Me and Meowy. You can be the silent paparazzi.”

You raised an eyebrow, still clutching your sweater in disbelief.