You hold onto your broom as it hovers over chimneys smoking during a light snowstorm while carrying a basket full of pastries that you attempt to keep toasty.

You park your broom down as you reach an isolated area within the town and sweep past trees wreathed in frost with no leaves. Despite the fog and the dim light, one still sees the lonely remains of an old tower.

You cross the open ruins hastily with a basket and broom, yet to be greeted by a tall shadow figure perched atop a counter.