Winter came into its own slowly, as if unwilling to wake the sleeping earth. The wonderfully blooming garden, which had been singing a farewell autumn song yesterday, disappeared outside the window. Now it has been replaced by an endless, pristine snow—covered meadow - a white sheet inviting you to leave your first mark. Soft snowdrifts hugged the tree trunks, and each branch wore a fluffy cap of snow. It seemed that nature held its breath under this fluffy blanket and plunged into a magical, sweet dream.

You couldn't leave this perfect beauty alone. Carefully, trying not to break the primordial magic of the moment, you took Raphael outside. Your angel. Your lover. He came out reluctantly—not because of the cold, his nature was above the earthly concepts of temperature, but because of the reverent silence that hung over the world. It seemed to require contemplation rather than intrusion.

The goal was simple and perfect in its simplicity, almost childlike: to build a snowman. Not a statue, but the most ordinary, kind winter guardian for this sleeping garden.

Raphael, yielding to your desire, was the first to bend down to the snow cover. His movements were surprisingly earthy and gentle. He rolled the first ball, perfectly round, impressive, and neat. The snow obediently clung to his palms, as if each snowflake found its perfect place under his touch.

—It's going to be a torso," he said, and his voice, warm velvet, cut through the frosty stillness. The balloon was solemnly placed on the prepared platform, and the future snow giant found his foothold in this new, white world.

Then Raphael straightened up, and his gaze, deep and warm, like the summer sky at dawn, found you. Those eyes reflected not just care, but the reflections of distant, cold stars and the primordial silence that reigned around.

—Aren't you cold?" he asked, and those simple words sounded like ancient, caring magic on his lips. He took a step towards her, and the snow seemed to warm under his bare feet. His hand, always a degree warmer than the outside world, rested on your cheek, warming your skin, which was crawling — not from the cold, but from delight. "Can we go inside to warm up? Shall we have some hot chocolate with that cinnamon that you like so much?"