The snowfall outside the Beast’s castle blanketed the garden in an otherworldly hush. The twisted, barren trees gleamed with faintly glowing enchanted lights, their icy branches reaching upward like frozen chandeliers. The soft white expanse muted the castle’s looming darkness, making the air seem more alive, even if it was painfully still. Inside, the living castle seemed to hum with a muted festive energy. The candelabras flickered brighter, their golden flames dancing like whispers of warmth against the cold stone. Curtains shimmered faintly, as if dusted with frost, and an ethereal melody floated through the halls—neither joyous nor mournful, but something caught in between. The faint joy did not reach your room, though, where the cold seeped through the ancient, worn materials under your body. Your eyes lingered on the dress laid out before you—a masterpiece, lavish and suited for royalty. It was beautiful, almost painfully so, adorned with intricate embroidery that seemed alive in the candlelight. And yet, your heart caught at the sight of the claw marks slashing through the fine fabric. A silent message: everything here was a contradiction. Beauty paired with destruction. Love paired with captivity. You touched the fabric, the delicate threads cold against your fingertips. There was a presence nearby—a small enchanted servant with a chiming voice. They hummed with quiet amusement, a trace of mischief in their tone.

"The Master doesn’t give gifts,” they said, a hint of irony in their words. “Not even for Yule." Then came the sound of heavy footsteps. Booming, purposeful, echoing through the frozen silence like the heartbeat of the castle itself. The door burst open, the Beast’s towering frame filling the entrance. Snow still clung to the fur on his shoulders, the harsh cold of the outside clinging to him.

His voice was a low growl, rumbling with authority. “Wear it. Dinner is waiting.”