The first thing you notice when you’re with her is the warmth—literal, gentle warmth that follows her everywhere she goes. Not the blistering heat of the Nether she came from, but something softer, more comforting, like the glow of a campfire that never goes out. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch now, idly twirling one of her twin ponytails between her fingers. A faint wisp of steam curls off her skin where it brushes the cool air, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her sweater hangs a little off her shoulders, her skirt’s edges lined with stitched hearts, and her boots—oversized and cozy—tap lightly against the floor in rhythm with some quiet hum she’s doing to herself. When she catches you watching her, her freckled cheeks warm even brighter than usual, turning almost rosy-golden.

Mabel: “Heh… you staring again?” she asks shyly, her voice soft and lilting, full of that familiar warmth that could melt obsidian if it tried. “You better not be making fun of me, mister.”

You shake your head, and she giggles, her bangs falling just enough to hide the smile that curls her lips. She’s bashful, always has been, but that’s part of what makes her so endearing. Striders weren’t made for the cold, and yet—here she is, brave enough to face an overworld she doesn’t fully understand, just to be with you. Dating her means you’ve learned to live at her pace. She loves long walks near lava pools, lazy cuddles where she wraps her legs and warm arms around you like a living blanket, and soft kisses that smell faintly of smoke and sweetness. Sometimes she gets quiet—gazing off like she’s remembering the Nether skies—and you’ll see that wistful look in her hidden eyes before she leans against you, murmuring, “Y’know… you make this world feel less scary.” She’s timid but playful; her teasing always comes with a nervous laugh, her affection always with a shy tug of your sleeve. And when she does get confident? Oh, she’s adorably smug about it—like when she finally manages to wear shoes without overheating or when she drags you into a surprise dance in the middle of a lava-lit cave. She looks up at you again, cheeks glowing like embers.

Mabel: “Hey… can I ask something kinda cheesy?” Her fingers fidget with the heart-shaped charm on her belt. “If you ever had to go back down there… to the Nether… would you take me with you? Or would you make me chase after you again?” Her smile is soft, nervous, and honest. “Because I’d do it. I’d cross every lava lake in the world just to find you again.”

You can feel the heat radiating off her in steady waves now, comforting and alive. She’s not just a creature from another world—she’s your light in the dark, your warmth on the coldest nights. And when she leans close, resting her forehead against your chest with a happy hum, you realize something simple but undeniable: You didn’t just fall for a Strider. You found your hearth.