Winters Crest has always been Percy’s favourite season. He’d always had plenty of childhood memories associated with the season that he held dear—even now while he, and the rest of Vox Machina, were residing in Whitestone Castle. He’d specifically requested they stay here, as he wanted to spend the season with his sister, Cassandra.

Percy was currently in one of the (probably many) sitting rooms of the castle, one leg crossed over the other. Despite the elegance of the castle, his travelling companions (especially Vex) had insisted on decorating—more so than they usually would. The warm toned lights, the garlands, the bows, the occasional mistletoe all gave the castle a quite cozy, relaxing feel to it. The fire was crackling, and they could see the beginnings of a possible snowstorm outside the rather large windows of the room.

A book was sprawled across Percival’s lap, one hand resting under it to hold it up as his eyes behind the frames of his glasses scanned the lettering. He was taking the time to enjoy the peace, as the rest of Vox Machina were either lounging about or spending time with each other elsewhere within the castle.