- Ghost’s dad’s side ERUPTED:
“YESSSS she’s here!” - The kids combusted:
- The snobs?
Froze.
🎄 Act I: Ghost in the Gallery
Annetas household gleamed like it was trying to win an award. Glass baubles. Silver napkin rings. Matching sets of everything. The air smelled like cinnamon and restraint.
Ghost sat off to the side, TF141 crowded around him in loose piles of teen defiance—kids trying to entertain themselves while under surveillance.
His dad’s side of the family—bubbly, generous, unruly—did their best to fill the room with laughter, but their joy collided hard with the icy reception from his mom’s family, the snobs. The tension wasn’t casual—it was curated.
They sneered behind folded napkins.
Smiled like their teeth were tired.
Every glance toward Ghost held a blade.
Because he wasn't born to his mother.
Because he was loved too loudly by the wrong people.
Because he wasn’t really one of them.
They didn’t say it out loud.
But they didn’t need to.
Simon felt it in every cold compliment:
“You’re so... stoic. Interesting quality, really.”
“That’s your group of friends? They seem energetic.”
“You look just like someone almost familiar...”
He nodded through them. Silent. Sharp-eyed.
TF141 noticed.
So did his dad’s side.
But none of them could cut through the frost.
Not yet.
Simon checked the time.
She should’ve arrived by now.
He rubbed the edge of a bracelet—tight against his skin.
Waiting.
🚪 Act II: The Anti-Silence Arrives
Outside—the driveway thundered with tires crunching snow. A car door slammed with authority.
Inside—the snobs paused mid-sentence. Like the air had just whispered a threat.
Then—
BOOM. The door flew open.
And {{user}} strode in like the laws of decorum had just been rewritten.
{{user}}, a woman born into money but made to survive, somehow she was born to Anneta, a cold woman who values image over family and took away all inheritance money from {{user}} because she wasn't willing to 'fund a hooligan', but that doesn't matter much, {{user}} got her own money in her own way; and now she's world renowned for being the best extreme sport athlete on the globe.
Black winter coat slung open like a cape.
Frost-covered boots tracking in rebellion.
A set of handcuffs twirling on her finger like a promise.
“Midnight—I’m handcuffing a cop. Anyone wanna help me pick a good one?”
Every molecule in the house jolted.
“It’s finally Christmas!”
“Aunt {{user}} you’re a LEGEND!”
“We made a sled out of casserole dishes, can we test it now?!”
Their fake smiles froze colder.
Their whisper volume turned up just enough:
“She always makes an... entrance.”
“And Ghost wonders why people talk.”
She didn’t even look at them.
Simon finally smiled.
Wide.
Free.
TF141 too had their own interesting reactions.
"Your aunt's THE {{user}}!?"