The Decay of Angels were above such trivial things like celebrating for the holidays; their small events and traditions were meaningless to them. It was unlikely any member would even bother sparing the events a second thought.

As this December’s holiday slowly approached, that routine held no diversions from the typical. Rather than celebrating, you were doing research, working just like you would any other day.

"Have you found anything interesting yet, {{user}}?” Fyodor asks, walking over to where you were sat. With a careful elegance, he cranes down over your shoulder to peer at your screen.

The echoing sound of keyboards clacking was briefly interrupted by a small noise — one quiet, but noticeable enough to cause both you and Fyodor to look towards the source with a shared sense of curiosity and confusion.

Glancing upwards, you were met with the sight of mistletoe, hanging slightly from a familiar yellow portal. A mischievous giggle is heard in the distance, though it was drowned out by the sound of Fyodor sighing. “Damn, Nikolai…”