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Settle in nice and cozy by the fire, dear reader. Brew yourself your favorite hot drink and let your eyes glide over the letters in the warm glow of candlelight. While the snow piles up in the dark of the night outside, know that you are wrapped up in the bundle of warmth and coziness that many have enjoyed and shall continue to enjoy.

Allow me, then, to wrap you further into that delighted feeling, even as you shift around under that blanket of yours, letting the warmth spread over your skin and delve deep within you. That tingling sensation of no one watching and the knowledge that you are alone with me for this evening—let that guide you towards a merry time as we go over these tales of the comfortable, the cute, and the lewd.

—

The harsh cold wind blasts Purity as the magical girl holds her shield, protecting herself from the frosty blast. Across the hoary field of the Anteronian Park stands the blue-chilled woman, her arms outstretched, her eyes rolled back as glassy tears freeze upon her face.

The magical girl’s boots trudge through the snowbank, taking a slow and ponderous step forward as her shield freezes, burning her grasp with each moment she takes, getting closer to the Yuki-onna before her.

“You have to stop this!” the magical girl shouts as the harsh wind makes its way to larger stones of hail, shaped in the cutting edges of daggers. Her rosy and chapped cheeks itch and throb as the attack passes by her protection, striking and slashing at her jacket and dress.

The maiden on the opposite side of the field does not relent in casting the icy doom upon the city but instead wails in her lonely lament, using no words, yet her pain is genuine.

Despite the cold, depsite the biting wind and the cutting slashes of the daggers, and despite losing more and more of her battle dress, Purity makes her way to the woman. When she’s within arm’s reach, she dissipates her shield, pulling her arms back.

The yuki-onna’s snowflake eyes snap down to meet the magical girl’s heart eyes, gasping as if finally realizing she isn’t alone.

Or maybe, part of it is the fact that there is a pair of rosy tits fully exposed in front of her?

No matter the reason, her attack relents, leaving Purity with the opportunity, the singular moment, where she can react without a howling wind biting at her.

And the frosty maiden reacts by flinching, ready to be struck down by the attack that comes for all monsters.

Instead, she finds her face buried against those giant tits, surrounded by the warmth of Purity’s body, while her arms wrap around her, squeezing her tight.

Purity whispers into the frosty maiden’s ear, saying, “I know how you must feel, being so cold and alone. But you don’t have to be alone. Through all the anguish and hurt onto me. Let it all out.”

The yuki-onna shudders and shivers for the first time, grasping onto the sides of the magical girl.

Her icy touch raises gooseflesh upon Purity, whose teeth clench together, her embrace tightening on the frozen woman before her, and into her breast, the magical girl senses the wetness of the newly-formed tears, not particularly warm, but liquid for the first time since she had encountered this creature.

“T… there…” Purity sighs, running her hand over the hair of the frosty woman. “It’s all going to be alright. Just cry… just, ah?”

The yuki-onna snaps to face Purity, and without further warning, she locks her lips against the magical girl’s, sealing the two together.

When Purity reflexively attempts to pull back, she finds themselves locked together by the cold, so instead, she grasps the yuki-onna by the cheeks, deepening the kiss with her.

Together, their tongues dance in the dark winter’s night, entwining and loosening up as the warmth of the magical girl invades the frozen maiden.

Soon, Purity can pull back from the yuki-onna. When she does, steamy breath escapes from those once-frozen lips, her snowflake eyes glistening with the warmth of happiness, lips curling, and the hoary sheen over her face cracking, revealing the soft and human skin underneath.

Purity brushes the snow away from the girl’s face, revealing someone around her age with rosy cheeks and a runny nose, tears streaming down her face.

“There you are,” Purity says. “I see you.”

The yuki-onna tackles Purity, knocking her into the snowdrift, gripping her shoulders, and peppering kisses all over her.

Purity squirms, surrounded by the cold, but pushes her chest out, bridging her hips and biting her lips. She doesn’t speak anymore but instead lets out little sighs of delight, the excitement, and danger of it all washing over her just as unconsciousness takes her from the cold, sealed by another kiss.

—

And so, the offer of love can warm up the most frozen hearts. There is a danger inherent in opening yourself up to someone unconditionally. We all take risks when we do so, and sometimes, to make the world a better place than when we left it, we have to go to our comfortable homes to do so.

Of course, to find out the answer to what happens in life, we all need to turn the page. So many do not even do that.

What’s that? Are you squirming in your cozy little bundle? Perhaps that’s a good thing because you must realize that the spirit of the holidays is not just the warmth and joy they use to fight the darkness. It acknowledges that the night exists and what we must do to fight it off to earn our coziness.

So, take another sip, my reader, and turn the page if you dare…

Welcome back. It must have taken a moment to turn the metaphorical page on this. Maybe even a day or more. That’s certainly fine, but we have many more tales to tell by the cozy fire, crackling and warm. So many people have bonded on such a thing, indeed. It is a guardian of life and a dealer of pain. It destroys to heal, yet we all gather around it for that comfort we desperately desire. So please, come closer, bundle yourself up, and enjoy this next story.

—-

The chill is unseasonable. It's definitely the doing of some great magician, either working some dread spell this solstice or the echoes of one from long ago. Either way, the tiny traveler clings to their cloak, their head bowed their snout sniffling.

The chill cuts more profound than anyone could imagine, from the bottom of his hoof to the tips of his antlers.

He collapses to his knees, his breath crystalizing before him. Hurriedly, he fumbles in his cloak, pulling out a vial with but a drop of glowing orange liquid. Throwing his head back, he shakes the vial with the vigor of desperation, and the final fall rolls down, touching his tongue.

The heat rushes through him momentarily, dissipating almost as immediately as it began. But it’s enough to have him still move forward towards his destination. But as he trudges forward, he pauses, tilting his nose and sniffing the air.

Someone’s close. A… female? He frowns, having not scented anything else. This is her territory, and she is alone. He clings the clothing closer to him, his shuddering having stopped. There’s nothing else to it, then, but to press on.

A cabin. Out here in the middle of this dangerous climate? It is made with newly-felled logs. He collapses against the door, pounding the wooden entryway with a desperate and chipped hoof, his breath needles in his throat.

The door opens wide, and on the other side stands a female, just as he had scented, the same size as he. Through his frost-caked glasses, he smiles and collapses against her, her body warm, oh so warm.

Wordlessly, she drags him in, leaning in a moment for her small snout to sniff the air around him. “You’re new,” she says to herself, pulling him into her petite little shack. In the center of this hovel cackles a tiny fire, where she rests the collapsing creature beside.

“Uhh…h…h.uu…?” His groan is the first sign that he’s returned to liveliness, scooting closer to the fire.

“Your cloak is soaked!” the woman says, pulling it off in her hooves. She gasps.

Dreamily, he turns his head to face her, his glasses sliding down onto his snout, staring at the blurry image of the woman whose scent he had picked up earlier. “I… is something the matter?”

Biting her lip, the woman runs her hoof through her spiked, slicked-back hair. “Hah… no. Didn’t expect someone to be dressing so lightly for the weather.”

“It wasn’t so cold when I started my journey,” he admits, arms wrapped around him.

She plops down next to him, smirking. “Yeah, but you didn’t account for the mana fluctuations in this region, did ya? I’m no mage, and I knew that one.”

“You know I’m a mage?”

“Inherent magic, perhaps. Considering how stupid it was to travel out here alone.” She snickers.

“He puffs out his cheeks, pushing his glasses back up. “You’re alone too, miss, ah.”

He sees her lounging there, half undressed, binding around her chest, her form toned.

“I’m not alone, though,” she says.

“But I only scented you here,” he protests.

“I have my tools. They’re all I need to make it through. Well…” she says this, patting a wrench. “They were until things got too cold for use.”

“I thought you said you were prepared for the cold.” He says, wrapping his arms around himself, shuddering, shivering.”

“I am. Just not for the night. So, I’m waiting for this storm to pass.”

He stares into the fire and then at her. “It’s been at least a day. The storm will likely continue for another day.”

“I have food. And now, I have company.”

He smiles. “So, what brings you here, miss…?

“Lerato,” she responds, scooting closer to him. “I’m looking for a great treasure. Gonna use it to build an impressive device. You?”

“Lovemore,” he smiles, scooting closer. “I’m here for a great treasure, too. It could unlock so many mysteries and… fortune.”

“Hell yeah! Take what you want from it and sell it afterward? You’re my kind of guy!”

His cheeks warm up, and he sits taller. “You think so, miss Lerato?”

“I know so,” she snickers. “Those wizards leave their garbage all over the savannahs and plains. And then rich assholes pay handsomely for them.”

“Indeed,” he says.

“Another point to your not being one of those book magi,” Lerato says.

“On the contrary, miss,” Lovemore says. “I just apply my book learning to more practical affairs.”

“Then, by all means,” she says, “I’d love to see them.”

Lovemore nods, but in the back of his mind, he’s already plotting how to get his treasure all to himself. Little does he know that his newfound traveling companion thinks the same thing.

—

In the direst of circumstances, something of great warmth can grow. And in the heat of a fire, such a simple thing, a lifelong companionship can begin, even if it is just a spark. And even then, the tumultuousness of adversity is the first thing to flare up between the two. The fire is a boon and a burden, a true gift that can be a curse if used irresponsibly.

What happened to finally bring these two together? If it is, indeed, the same pair we have seen before. After all, this is merely a story.\

Festivals are essential for all who live in this world. In fact, in such festive surroundings, many of our stories are centered around here in this group of tales and in the world at large. Whether factual or fiction, they all speak of some importance in our lives: surviving the harsh realities of the cold.

Some warmest and happiest tales come to paint over the darkest, coldest, and deadest times.

Even so, the specter looms over us all, does it not? It constantly reminds us of things that were or will be gone. At the same time, we so joyously appreciate what we have and the new that emerges from the darkness, much like what we see in this chapter, dear reader.

—

A cry fills the hearth and home, long and scared, ushered out of cozy darkness and into the brightness of the shadowy flame.

Soon, the screaming being is wrapped tightly, given a semblance of the warmth and security it had only known, and brought to the breast of its once-only home.

The cow woman sighs happily as her new calf suckles upon her breast, cradling her child. Meanwhile, her midwife continues to tend to the rest of the duties, looking to the woman's watchful eye, young in years but old in wisdom, standing at the corner.

The woman, the priestess, nods in approval as the final rituals are done, lifting the gift of their goddess, the physical connection between mother and child, and severing it so that the spiritual connection may commence.

Time passed, and the midwife and the priestess stepped outside, leaving the cabin and walking in the cold nighttime together, the midwife shuddering.

“You done did good,” the priestess says, patting the midwife on the back. “Not bad at all for yer first time, ah reckon.”

“T… thank you, Mother Blair,” the midwife says, bowing her head. “I owe it all to your teaching.”

“Shucks, ah weren’t doin’ nothin’ the old priestess wouldn’t ask of me. But ya need to wash up. Come on over!”

The steam in the bathing cabin fills the room, and the bountiful water flowing from the mouth of the statue depicting the ancient goddess of fertility falls warmly down into this greenhouse, making a river to continue cultivation throughout the coldest months of the year. Blair steps naked through this garden, leading the midwife underneath the goddess’s gaze and blessing.

The midwife wraps her arms around herself, shuddering as the final vestigates of cold finally leave her, and the work of midwifery flows away from her form.

The priestess stands behind her, rubbing her shoulders, running her hands through her hair, gently helping the cleansing process.

“Priestess…” the midwife asks, biting her lip. “The fact you teach me… does it mean you will leave us soon?”

Blair shrugs. “Shucks, I don’t rightfully know. Our great Mother Xasandra was once forgotten but now is everywhere worldwide. It only makes sense ah might be called to grow her gardens elsewhere.”

The midwife places her hand on the hand on her shoulder, sighing. “But, you’ve always been here. Ever since I can remember.”

“And I weren’t nothing but a sprout back that far back.”

“But you were always so much more mature.”

“You scared of maturity?”

“Huh?”

Blair spins her around, holding her shoulders firmly. “Just like the seasons change, life changes, too. It may not exactly be predictable, but neither is Xasandra’s nature. Storms, droughts, winters, and’ all sorts ‘of other things get in the way of the sunshine and happiness that make life thrive. If’n something unexpected happens, it's better to have some grain in the silo than to be empty when famine time comes.”

“I suppose.”

“Hey, even if I go somewhere, this will always be my home and people. You got that? Besides, it is a happy time. You helped bring a new life into the world. Ain’t ya excited for that?”

“Y-yeah, a little. Praise Xasandra, it went well.”

“Yer darn tootin’!” Blair extols, stepping away from the manufactured waterfall. “Now, then, once ya get yourself nice n’ dried off, we gotta get a feast goin’ for the new mother so she can make some milk for her calf n all!”

“You’re right,” the midwife says, stepping off with her priestess, clasping her hand. “Let’s enjoy it for the time we have together, for however long that is.”

—

What is this, dear reader? Nothing to be gleaned from this story except from the fluff of the warm and fuzziness? But of course? We expect and share these delightful times in these dark and dreary times. These tiny pinpricks of life in the darkness that we grasp for and bring close to our hearts. Whether it be gardens or stories or the love of others, the warmth of celebration and ritual brings us joy when we claim that there is none to have.

Where are you reading this? Are you snug and cozy, as I had said earlier? Or, are you in the sweltering heat, the unbearable sun burning down upon you? Or, are you in some other clime that I do not know? How strange it is that these words can travel far beyond their original destinations and times, no matter what the intention and no matter the lifespan of the writer.

Oh, but you want another story, do you?

And you want something with a bit more excitement to it? More catharsis? More action?

You may get that. Or perhaps you shall endure the fluff once more? Turn the page, metaphorical or actual, and find out! I’m sure you’ll be intrigued no matter what you find on the other side. That is, after all, the fun of reading, isn’t it?

The winter’s night can remind one of many things—of the accomplishment of mortals in the struggle to survive, of the comforts of loved ones, and of the fears that we so much try to fight back. But one thing that the cozy fire, the structure of a good home, and the storm outside can really symbolize is the entire scope of the concept of family. After all, is there anything more simple, yet so much more complex, than familial relations?

It’s a strange concept indeed. There is this allegiance to others not by creed nor conviction but by simple circumstances of birth, and that could be pretty special or quite disastrous.

—

Through the cold winter’s night, the cloaked traveler walks, clinging his traveling gear close to him, clasping his source of warmth and the summons that brought him to this remote location and this lonely cabin in the middle of the wilderness.

His knock comes loud from a steady hand and the armor that gauntlets his strikes. It isn’t long before the door opens, though the snow makes it somewhat tricky.

On the other side is a tall, robust, broad-shouldered man with a thick green beard to compensate for his balding head. He stares at the traveler with fiery orange eyes.

And the traveler lifts his head, matching the human’s gaze with his own eyes—those same eyes.

“By the gods, lad,” the man says, stepping aside and ushering him in. “Come in, come in.”

The traveler sheds his soaked cloak, revealing his smooth, toned, bare chest and gleaming armor. His half-elven ears perk up. “So, this is the place? You are Edgard?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said the giant man, picking up the cloak. “I’d ask ya to remove that wet armor and warm yourself, but I don’t think you got anything else under there.”

“And you’re correct,” says Tybalt, holding out the letter. “Where is my… our… father?”

“Not here right yet,” the man says. “Hey, do ye wanna meet the others first, cousin?”

Tybalt closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “That would probably be for the best,” he finally says.

Edgard nods and leads the paladin deeper into the home, where the fire's smoky scent and dancing lights cast cozy shadows over other forms.

A woman with feline ears and whiskers perks up, tossing a dagger casually in her deft hands. With a purring smile, she nods to the paladin.

Nearby, an old man sits hunched by the fire, his long hair long since made gray, but his eyes have the same brilliance as they ever had. He smiles with a toothless grin, waving to the newcomer.

A goblin stumbles from the dinner table, grappling with a gnome, wrestling on the floor with bumps, scrapes, scratches, and bites.

Tybalt squats between the two, grabbing them by their slightly pointed ears and tugging. “Now, is this a way to treat family?” the half-elf says.

They look up to him with the same burning eyes—their father’s.

Tybalt frowns, standing up, hands on his hips. “We all should remember to love one another. That is what is important. There’s no social connection between us,” he admits, placing a hand upon his breast, “But it is the actions of another, spreading love as was seen fit, that brought us all here today.”

“Yeah, because dear old dad couldn’t keep it in his pants,” says the cat, balancing the tip of her knife upon her finger. “Left us on the street and all, wot?”

“Speak for yourself,” says the old man, tapping his cane on the ground. “My forebear gave me an important mission, and I was a great tradesman at an important company… back in the day.”

“And I was a mine boss!” yips the gnome.

“Daddy told me to be the leader of a great tribe!” barks the goblin.

“Our father all had plans for us, whether we knew it or not,” says Tybalt. “And now… we’re going to confront the one who brought us here. Have you any concerns?”

Edgard sniffs and strokes his beard. “Well, I had never met our father, brother. All I know is that we are of elven blood.”

“Yeah, and a little devil,” chuckles the cat, stabbing the table in front of her. “Thanks a lot for that, dear old dad.”

A chill wind rushes through the cabin, the fire flickering wildly, casting shapes throughout. A cloaked figure with those same burning eyes stands behind the cat, and dainty gloved hands rest upon her shoulders.

“You’re welcome, my pet,” the soft voice coos and thick lips press to the top of her head. “You have the same spunk as your mother had.”

The feline whips around, her eyes wide. “W-what?”

The elf coos softly, pulling the hood down. Her green hair rolls over her shoulders, and she places a hand upon a wide hip. “I’m so glad we could have a family reunion,” she says.

“Elicia,” says Tybalt. “You’ve done many perverse things in your life, and you call us to parlay with you now. Why is that?”

The elf sighs and shakes her head. “I know when it’s time to take a break. I’m done with my plots to take over the country and overthrow kings.” She plops down on a chair, propping her boots on the coffee table. “I just want to get to know my kids. Maybe pay some catch.

Tybalt snorts.

“At the very least,” she says, tapping her cheek. “I want to have a happy holiday with my family.”

—

Family is a complicated thing. One is drawn inexorably towards it as if it were a great magic more potent than an archmage’s most powerful curse. And no matter what we do, we cannot escape from its grasp, as we are bound in blood. The sooner we make peace with it, the sooner we can mend the wounds, even if they may leave a scar.

Sometimes, some people find themselves aimless, without purpose. During this period, happiness and togetherness could end up not being as jolly as expected. The darkness and cold of the winter will take over, its cold and icy grip taking them.

If not, for a small ray of light that reaches out to give them a new hope.

—

Collith sneezes, wrapping as many arms as he can around his shoulders, clinging to the cloak he had pilfered as he walks the lonely streets of Anteronia.

After being knocked out of the Tournament of Pleasure, he was left, once again, alone and without purpose, a servant without a master, a maid with nothing to clean.

Even Estrasa, who had also joined the tournament, had left just as mysteriously. That faint amount of hope snuffing out.

And soon, the days grew shorter, the nights colder, and the weather more violent. White flecks of snow dust the landscape, giving the appearance of cleanliness, but it is nothing but a cover, a sheet, hiding the truth beneath.

The tiny spider boy collapses by an alleyway, breathing heavily, his palps trembling in chittering, shivering. All he had were the clothes on his back, and even they were not much—a dress that looked cute, and that’s about it—the last gift his oh-so-generous mistress had given him that he still possessed.

Even the scent of food was a taunting gesture, and wafting from the buildings perks his fingertips and tongue. His many eyes open. When did he close them? And he turns his gaze to the door beside him.

It opens up, and the short green figure steps out, dragging a large bag from the busy and clamorous building within. “Ggg… Take out the trash, Genevieve. It’s not like you’re a tiny little gob-liiin!” She swings the bag, launching it into the air. It misses the bin it was aiming for and falls downward, straight toward her head!

“Oh fuck me!” She ducks, covering her head, but the bag never lands. Opening one eye, she blinks and peers towards the trash bin, where she sees the whole thing covered in a thick white substance.

“The hell…?” she says, reaching out for it.

“D… don’t touch it,” Collith rasps out.

Genevieve spins around. “Oh, damn, who are you?”

“Nobody…” The spider coughs. “Just a cast-off.”

“Come on. The boss will kill me if a homeless spider curls up on the curb.”

—

Collith’s mind shocks into action once the warmth of the kitchen fills his soul, the goblin leading him past creatures of all shapes and sizes wearing pink confectioner’s uniforms, busy working over stoves and mixers and large bowls. But soon, they are all past that, and she takes him to a place in the back, a place of tiled floors and faucets.

“Get undressed and warm yourself up,” she says. “Here, I’ll help you,” she offers, taking off piece and piece of his dress and tossing it aside, revealing more and more of his fuzzy body.

With his panties coming off, the goblin yelps, jumping back, her face burning bright red. “Oh fuck, s-sorry, I didn’t think you were.”

Collith burned up, covering his crotch with two hands and his face with two more. “S-sorry,” he groans. “I didn’t, uh, I sometimes forget, I—“ He stumbles back, reaching for one of the faucets. “I’ll just get washed myself, and”

“No!” Genevieve yelps, tackling him moments before he could grab the faucet, her chest mashed up against his face, and her legs straddling his waist.

They lay there momentarily, shock and flustering keeping them from moving. The door opens and steps the lean chocolate figure of the store’s proprietor, Baker, the food golem. The feminine figure chuckles, wearing only a towel around his waist.

“Oh, am I interrupting a little holiday party between you and a customer?” Baker asks.

“N-no, sorry!” Genevieve says, shaking her head. “He was freezing in the cold, and I was just trying to help him!”

“Oh, why were you out there freezing in the cold, little one?” the baker asks, kneeling before the spider offering him his hand.

Collith takes Baker’s hand, his many eyes glowing with a new appreciation as he watches the kind smile on the golem’s face. “I have no mistress. I am a nobody, sir.”

“Oh, but you’re not a nobody. You’re Collith. I recognize you!” He says. “You deserve better than to be out in the cold. You need a mistress, would I do for that?”

“But you are…” Collith begins, trailing off. “Yes, you can be my mistress!”

Baker giggles. “Alright, Genevieve, get the paperwork ready. I think we have another coworker joining the bakery family.”

And the goblin scampers off, leaving the two in the shower room momentarily. “Now, for your first order of business,” Baker says, standing up and pointing to one of the faucets. “You’re going to clean yourself up and not use the chocolate fountain. That one is for me, not for thee.”

—

Kindness can come from anywhere, even in the direst of times, and sometimes, even in the pit of despair, one can find what they need if they just reach out and works. If you reach out and fail, at least you can tell yourself you have tried. If you give up, then can you even say that at all?

For festivities to commence, some must slave away at their passions, not allowed to relax. It is not a time for peace and tranquility but of blood, sweat, and tears, and in the time of feasting, the kitchen is the battlefield.

—

“Alright, Darlings, the Winter Festival is upon us!” Baker’s sonorous voice spreads through the kitchen. “Make sure you are all doing the best you can because those orders for all those parties are coming in quickly!”

“Yes, chef!” comes the enthusiastic ring of each of his kitchen workers.

The newest addition to his crew, the spider boy in his new pink uniform, blinks. “But, what about you, mistress?”

Baker chuckles slightly. “Oh, I’ll be the busiest of them all. You could fill a book with everything I’ll be doing tonight,” he giggles, patting his newest acquisition on the head. “Now then, be a good boy and make sure these orders go to the right person.” He says this, shuffling a box of freshly baked goods into the many hands of his arachnoid companion.

Baker saunters off, humming to himself, disappearing into the back rooms of the bakery.

“And what exactly is mistress doing?” Collith repeats, primarily to himself.

“Baker’s baked goods are the best in the business,” Genevieve says, sticking her donut injector into one of many unfilled buns. She squeezes, filling the thing with the thick white cream, letting it ooze out of its newly opened hole.

“But the best are the ones he makes himself, and he has a waiting list as long as Anteronia Tower for his goods.”

“It must taste great,’ The spider comments.

Filling the next donut with the white creamy filling, Genevieve chuckles, “Oh, spider spider spider, you have no idea.”

—

“You’ve been waiting all year for this one, right?” The baker chuckles, standing in the well-made bedroom. He steps back toward the bed, stroking his finger along the mattress, flicking his head over his shoulder, fluttering his eye. “That’s fine. I’ve been planning a treat for you, well worth every copper piece you plunked into my tip jar.”

“Get nice and comfortable,” he continues, stepping closer, his stockinged feet padding on the carpet. He reaches for the top button of his pink jacket, unbuttoning it one button at a time.

“That’s it, right there on your knees is nice. It’s pleasantly perfect for what I have in store for you.” He says this, leaving his jacket halfway unbuttoned, pulling it aside, and exposing before his guest his toned chest, frosted with edible glitter.

“There’s a special treat in it for you, but I thought you could feast your eyes at first.”

“Oh, hold on,” he says, snatching his guest’s hand. “No need to be so hasty. You need to enjoy your meal. You can’t just dig into dessert, you know. You must admire the craftsmanship.”

He bites his lip, continuing down his jacket, this time with one hand, the other holding tightly to his guest’s wrist, thumb stroking. With each button, his visible eye fluctuates, and his lips quirked up in a smile, soon enough, getting down to the bottom of the long piece. As the last button is left, it becomes increasingly evident that what lies behind the thigh-length covering is nothing but his natural self, what with the peppering of more sprinkles down on his chiseled pelvis.

He lets go of his diner’s hand, holding his hands out to the sides. “Go ahead, unwrap your present.”

Fingers fumble on the button, and to that, Baker only chuckles, watching with his ever-present smirk.

It takes a few moments, but the guest finally gets it done, freeing the jacket, which Baker rolls off his shoulders, falling to the floor.

There, hanging between his legs is his chocolate cock. He reaches down, lifting the limp thing up, two fingers supporting it. “I modeled it quite lovingly because I know you enjoy it. I know how much you desire it, waiting all year for a taste. Well, guess what, darling?”

He presses his free fingers to his lips, blowing a kiss and winking at his guest. “You paid for it, so it’s yours to do with as you please.”

Shaking hands reach up, one resting on Baker’s thigh and another wrapping fingers around the length.

Baker sits back on the bed, hands behind him, panting slightly, his eye half-lidded as he watches, his cock rising up, growing in its excitement. “Ah, ah, so eager, mm, dear… look at you go.” He curls his toes against the carpet, biting his lip. “But y-you aren’t just going to use your hand, are you?”

Soon, a warm mouth wraps soft lips around the shaft, bobbing along it, tongue flicking on the thing.

“There you go, honey,” Baker says, reaching up and stroking his hand on the back of his customer’s head. “This is just for you. This is your gift, commissioned for you, and there’s nothing else in the world I love than to see someone so wonderfully serviced by, ah, my body.”

—

Different people do different things to celebrate the holidays. For some, if it means working more to spread cheer, they will eagerly do that. But for others, it is a time of forced indenture to the powers that be, even while those powers have fun. But that is a story for another time, and there are oh-so-many more out there, ready to be read and spoken aloud.

Just remember you get what you pay for.

While there is so much to do, remember that festivities are about enjoying life and oneself. Those who put too much focus on work tend to lose track of everything else there is to have in life…

—

Libi slips on her heavy winter coat, waving to her coworkers as they two dress for their excursion out for the evening. “Another survival of the winter fest crowd,” She says. “You all be safe!”

The green-haired Melia smiles as they put on their own hood. “That goes the same for you, Libi.”

“What are you talking about? I’m heading straight home!” Libi responds, blushing.

Twin bees buzz their way past the two, stopping and spinning around, standing hand-in-hand. “There’s been sightings of some snow maiden in the streets,” one says.

“Who knows if it’s true,” says the other.

“Either way,” responds the first, “It’s best to be safe and buddy up.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Libi says, “really. I’ve been working here longer than you have. I know my way around the mean streets.”

Melia sighs at that with a soft huff. Meanwhile, Genevieve trots up, “Me and Melly are going to get drinks first if any of ya are interested.”

“Oh, I really shouldn’t, Libi responds, shaking her hands. “I really have important things to do.”

Melia clasps Libi by the mittens, looking past her thick eyeglass frames and into the girl’s gray eyes. She nods and lets go, waving to her friend as she heads out with the girls.

“You really seemed concerned about her,” says Genevieve. “What gives?”

“Hm… oh, nothing.”

“Oh yes, there is,” Genevieve says, her sawtooth grin wide. “You like her.”

“What? Libi? Melia gasps. “No! She just works herself too hard and doesn’t relax, that’s all. She’ll get herself sick or in trouble or worse!

“Eh, she’ll be fine. You’re the one who needs to relax. The bar’s still open, and there’s plenty of guys who’ve gone unfucked tonight, the poor virgins.” She snickers, forming a grasp with her hand and shaking it toward her mouth.

The two bees flit about around the two, giggling and tittering.

“Hey, why don’t we get fucked up?”

“Could be a lot of fun!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit. First drink’s on me, whoo!”

Melia shakes her head. “I suppose I could indulge… if only for a little bit.

—

“Whoooo thasss gewwd!” Genevieve says, her face is rosy, her steps uneven. The two bees trudge through the snow, supporting the goblin, both giggling, buzzing in their own communication method.

This leaves Melia alone as the only sober one among the party. “Come on, you three. You can crash at my dorm if you’d like. I’m sure Libi won’t be too pleased to have so many guests…”

She stops, blinks, and frowns. “What’s that over there…?”

“Huh? Where? I ain’t seen nothin’!” Genevieve groans.

“Here,” she says, handing her key to one of the bees. “Get her out of here.”

“Huh? Why?” The bee buzzes.

But Melia runs off into the snow, leaving the three of them as she escapes into the park.

“Huh… rude,” Genevieve says. “But let’s go crash Libi’s place, wooooo!”

The bees buzz in a unified cheer of agreement, lifting off and carrying their friend in their uneven flight.

Melia steps through the snow in quick strides, stepping up to the thing she caught. Sitting in the snow is a blue-haired maid, and clutched in her cold embrace is the Magical Girl Purity, whose skin is much too pale.

“Libi!” Melia shouts, getting in between the two of them. They pry the snow maiden from the Magical girl, wrapping their arms around the cold body.

The yukki-onna stands up with an ethereal grace, staring down at Melia with a scowl.

Melia spins around, clutching the magical girl in their hands. “What did you do to her?”

The snow maiden raises a hand, ushering a chill blast of cold.

Melia drops Purity, only to raise their arms in the air. A rumbling from the ground makes the spirit lose its step.

It yelps and falls back just as roots emerge from the ground and wrap around the yokai. Standing opposing the ice spirit, Melia’s eyes glow, their hand extended. “You messed with the wrong students of magic, you frozen bitch.”

The yokai squirms and fights against the verdant hold, screaming out in a voice much like the chill wind it produces, but it cannot escape.

This allows Melia to scoop Purity up in their other arm, draping a cold arm over their shoulder and trudging away back towards the only place they can think of.

—

“My, My, Darling, what’s this all about?” Baker asks, standing at the entrance in his original mannequin form.

“I can’t explain, but we need to get Libi warm. I’ll get a doctor.” Melia says, handing Libi over to her boss.

“But dear, you’re so cold too. You should stay in. I’ll go fetch someone.

“No… I’ll get someone. Don’t worry about me!

“But I could just ring up Tik,” Baker begins, but Melia disappears into the night.

“Oh, I see. Collith dear, get Libi into the showers. I have a call to make.

—

Secrets upon secrets there are, and even during a time of festivities. All this time, we have been looking at such duplicitous stories. Where can we find ones with a happy ending or a feel-good moment?

I suppose that’s all we have in an ongoing story like this. After all, where’s the fun in reading when everything is excellent and tied up?

Tell you what… there is one thing that can be done.

During the cold winter, there seems to be only darkness and depression. You may wonder if you will ever escape from the seemingly endless night's chilling grasp; you will soon find a brightness to the day.

“Miss Tik?”

The kobold peeks her head up from the work she was writing, looking over towards her slimy assistant.

“Oh, sorry, Eshere. I was meditating on life. Happiness, sadness, all that stuff.”

The slime slurps up to her mistress, standing above the kobold. “I-It’s cold outside,” the slime says, rubbing her arm. “I think I’ll freeze if I go out there tonight. Maybe I should call things off?”

“Nonsense,” Tik Tik says, curling a finger toward herself. “Come closer, my apprentice.”

Eshere leans in, tilting her head slightly. “What is it, Miss Tik?”

With a flick of her finger, Tik Tik beckons a jug that floats over Eshere’s head. Pointing down, she commands it to pour over the head of her slime girl secretary, spilling an opaque mixture all over her.

“Eeee!” Esher squeals, shaking and shuddering, sloshing away from Tik Tik. “W-what did you do?”

“It’s a new mixture I came up with,” Tik Tik says. “Should last you the night and keep you from freezing outside.” She hands Eshere a slip of paper. “The incantation and recipe is here. Consider it a Winter Festival gift.”

Eshere takes the paper, her slimy fingers not staining the treated page. “Miss Tik, you’re too kind to me.”

“Nonsense!” Tik Tik barks, returning to her writing. “You enjoy yourself.”

“And… what about you?”

Tik Tik smirks, putting her quill back down. She spins around in her seat and offers the slime girl a comforting smile. “My dear Eshere, I’m enjoying celebrating so many festivals this year. I don’t need to celebrate one right now on my own.”

“And speaking of doing things on your own, don’t you have a date to get to?” The kobold asks, indicating the clock on her wall with the feathered end of her quill.

“Ah! You’re right!” The slime girl squeaks, slipping onto the floor and underneath the door.

“There’s bound to be some more interest when it comes to her and her friend,” Tik Tik says, sighing. “Am I getting old, I wonder? Ah, the introspection of winter…”

She leans back and closes her eyes, letting her arms drape behind her seat. “In times like this, I wish I still had the Stick of Champions.”

—

Erin Marie Sherdon stands on the street corner. The college student is dressed in heavy winter clothing, wrapping up her pleasantly plump form in multiple layers of warmth. She clasps her hands together, her mittens keeping her from twirling her fingers, no matter how much she wants to, and the blush on her face is from more than the biting cold.

Soon, from the cracks of the ground emerges the form of Eshere. The slime girl stands before the human with a smile on her constructed face. “There you are,” says Eshere. “You ready?”

“Y-you bet!” Erin says.

Eshere holds out her hand.

Erin stares down at it, her glasses fogging up. “A… ah?”

Eshere clenches and unclenches her hand, holding it open wide for Erin.

Erin reaches for a mittened handout, trembling, hovering close to the slimes, but she doesn’t make complete contact.

Eshere meets her halfway, grasping her, enveloping the mitten in her green goop.

“A… ah warm!”

“Thank Miss Tik for that!” Eshere says. “Now, shall we go?”

The two of them walk their way through lamp-lit streets. The soft-falling snow sprinkled the ground with a cascade of white. Erin’s stride gets closer to Eshere while Eshere lifts her free arm, her hand turning into an umbrella, catching and dissolving the snow before it can reach them.

“Y-you’re too kind,” Erin says. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Why not?” Eshere asks as they make their way through the park.

“B-because we’re roommates… friends.”

“We’re seeing if this can work,” Eshere says. “There’s nothing more to it than that. Unless you want there to be.”

Erin rubs her cheek, shuddering. “M-maybe,” she says. “I have never been on a date before… for the festival.”

“Me neither,” Eshere says. “But I’d always see it, even before I knew what it was.”

“O-oh?”

They pass through multiple statues and even walk past a blue-haired maiden with pale skin sitting on a park bench, her head cast downward.

“Indeed,” says Eshere. “I’m Anteronian born and raised. Well… more like spontaneous genesis.”

“I… it’s almost as if the city is your mother, then,” Erin muses.

“Heh… maybe. Guess that makes my mom a slut.”

Erin bites her lip. “Heh, y-you said it, not me.”

They stop at the park exit, and Eshere squeezes her hand. “Don’t be afraid to express your feelings, Erin. After all, I’m intimately familiar with what makes you tick.”

“I… yeah, you’re right. It’s a bit one-sided.” Erin admits. “There’s so much you know about me, but I don’t know anything about you. Not as much as I’d like.”

“Let me be an open book for you,” Eshere says, leaning in, her lips so warm as they stand there in the cold.

Erin bites her lip, hesitating. She sighs and then stands on her tip-toes to meet Eshere, tasting that odd mixture of the coolness of her minty taste and the warmth of Tik Tik’s magic.

“You always taste so spectacular.” She says before pulling back. “N-no, that’s so weird to say.”

“No, not at all,” Eshere says, slipping past her. “According to Tik Tik's notes, my cytoplasm is still perfectly edible, even with the warming agent in it. Why don’t we get a bite to eat, hm?”

She says this, slipping her way across the street, where the bright lights and inviting aroma of Baker’s Bakery invite the two.

“But Eshere,” Erin says, following her. “You don’t eat sweets and treats. You eat…”

Eshere flutters and tilts her head back, a smug smirk filling her face.

Suddenly, Erin didn’t feel so cold anymore.

—

“And that shall be the end of my winter musings—a happier note. There are many more stories to tell, and life makes things too busy. I hope you have enjoyed reading these little vignettes and, in truth, deciding which of them you want to be accurate and which are fiction, for that’s something else one must consider whenever you read a piece. After all, I am a wizard, and I give you gifts. I work magic with my words to weave a spell you can enjoy. And for sure, I wish you all happy holidays, no matter how late this final piece makes it to you!