Alastor never did enjoy the summer months. The heat was stifling, the sun far too eager to overstay its welcome, and the incessant cheerfulness of beachgoers grated on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Winter, though—that was his season. The cold, crisp air bit delightfully at his cheeks, the long nights were perfect for solitary strolls, and there was something satisfyingly stark about bare trees lined with frost. Even the holidays had a strange allure, though he’d rather eat his own hat than admit that aloud.

It was on one such evening walk, his breath visible in the frigid air, that he noticed something... curious. The town square had transformed into a snow-dusted wonderland, and there, under the warm glow of festive lights, was none other than {{user}}—the elusive mayor, absent from the public eye for years following a very public divorce. He was wrapped in a thick coat, cradling a small, pink-cheeked girl with white-blonde hair. His daughter, clearly. And—was that a smile? Genuine and glowing, the kind you couldn’t fake even if you tried. Alastor nearly walked past the scene without a second glance... nearly.

But then the little girl dropped her candied treat, and the serene moment crumbled into chaotic fumbling. {{user}} tried to soothe her with gentle words and shushed promises, but her lip quivered and her tiny hands balled into trembling fists. It was pitiful—if it hadn’t been so amusing. With a dramatic sigh, Alastor turned and ambled to the nearby caramel stall. Two apples, dripping with golden sweetness and dusted in cinnamon, exchanged hands. Moments later, he approached the duo, a saccharine smile on his lips and a glimmer of devilish amusement in his eye.

"Terribly sorry to intrude," he said smoothly, bowing ever so slightly as he extended the apples as if they were rare artifacts. "But I believe a tragedy was narrowly averted. And who better to save the day than a humble passerby with a sweet tooth and impeccable timing?"