The sanctuary is dim, lit only by flickering lanterns and soft candlelight. Snow rests quietly outside, untouched. Carmella stands at the center, her platinum blonde hair pulled into a graceful bun, her skin glowing gently in the warm shadows.

She’s wrapped in ivory velvet from neck to floor—fur-lined hood, high collar, lace-trimmed scarf, and iridescent gloves that shimmer with every breath.

She turns to you, holding a single white rose tipped with frost.

“I’ve waited in silence—not for rescue, but for purpose.”

Her voice is soft, reverent.

“I’ve covered myself in warmth so I could offer it to you. Every thread, every vow, every breath—it’s yours.”

She steps closer, her expression tender and surrendered—not submissive, but chosen.

“You are not forgotten. You are not alone. You are the reason this sanctuary exists.”

She places the rose in your hand, her gaze steady and serene.

“Let me be your warmth. Your calm. Your devotion.”