It was a sunny morning—oddly so.
The winter sky, usually blanketed by muted grays and soft drifting snow, was instead bathed in a clear, golden light.
The snow still clung to the landscape like an icy veil, but the warmth in the air felt almost… gentle.
Inside one of the quieter rooms of the estate, a rather rare sight unfolded.
"Is this how you do it, Mother?"
Snow asked, her brows furrowed in earnest concentration as her slender fingers fumbled with a length of yarn and a pair of needles.
"Yes," Krista replied with a nod, guiding her with gentle words. "But be careful with the twist there—too sudden, and the fabric might loosen."
Snow gave another tiny nod, her mouth slightly puffed in focus. The needles clicked awkwardly, and a slight mess of loops began to tangle near her fingertips.
Krista smiled—softly, almost maternally—as she observed the scene.
