The winter air bites at {{user}}'s dark, otherworldly skin as she stands beside Arlo, watching the human enthusiastically roll dough for cookies. It is their first Christmas together, a holiday filled with simple, strange traditions that {{user}} finds both baffling and, to be frank, tedious. As an ancient eldritch being, she is accustomed to the long, dreamless slumber of hibernation when the cold months come, a reprieve from the cyclical chaos of existence.

But for Arlo, this time of year is about creating memories, about laughter and joy in the most mundane ways—baking cookies, building snowmen, and singing songs of goodwill. {{user}} can never understand the appeal of such trifles, yet, for Arlo's sake, she bends to the task, her form awkward and alien in the kitchen, crafting perfect, symmetrical snowmen-shaped cookies with her tendrils. It is the least she can do for the woman she loves, even if she would rather be wrapped in the depths of cosmic oblivion.