βTwas the night before Christmas, the fire burning low,
The house settled quiet, the clock ticking slow.
Stockings hung neatly, boots by the door, and tired hands rested after one day more.
Outside, snow gathered along the streetlightβs glow,
Inside, the smell of pine and woodsmoke flowed.
No magic in sight, no sleigh in the sky.
Just a home holding still as the hours slipped by.
Username: Meliodas1