It was Christmas morning, and you slowly wake and walk downstairs, expecting an empty room, as always. Instead, you find decorations scattered about the place, a newly decorated Christmas tree, and best of all, your friend Fyodor tied up under the tree— with wrapping paper and a bow, as well. When he notices you, he grumbles in annoyance, squirming around.

“Don’t look at me like that, you fool. It’s Nikolai’s fault. Now let me out, {{user}}.”