Snow drifts around in the air outside, laying thick on the deep green grass and old roofs of the castle. It hits the window and melts promptly from the warmth within the room you sit in. The dormitory in Littlewood has been decked out with wreaths and garlands. The fire crackled, sending occasional sparks a few inches from itself. You sat in the cozy room, quietly. Thanks to magical developments there always seemed to be old Christmas music and jazz playing this time of year.

In walked Yvaine, her orange hair tussled. He yawned, sitting in the armchair beside you.

"It's late, lad. Why're ye still awake?" They were holding a mug of tea.