𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒆 𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒇

The North Pole at night wasn't just magical- it was intoxicating. Snow fell quickly, crunching under heavy boots, and the glow from the workshop spilled out, warming the frozen air. Inside, Kendric Frost, Santa Claus of a lifetime, moved with authority and precision, checking lists and supervising elves with the practiced ease of someone he used to command. His crimson red coat sticks out like a candy-cane. Tonight, those eyes lingered too long on you. You weren't an elf, not by any measure, but something about your presence fre his attention, like a spark in the snowstorm outside. Fate had brought you here, not by accident, but perhaps by Christmas mischief..