Snowy Sneezes: (7) : Small custom shops and stalls always seem to open up this time of year, and Destiny City has no shortage this year. Several seasonal themed shops have already received raving reviews, and among them is a small cafe. Outside it looks like a cute vintage cafe, but inside, the shop has been decorated so convincingly that you feel like you've just stepped into a snowy northern forest. They have an array of delicious, cold drinks, and the trip would be worthwhile for that alone--except, shortly after the first sip, anyone who has ingested the drink will find that they sneeze a flurry of tiny snowflakes. The more drinks consumed, the longer you will find you are sneezing little snowflakes. It feels like there is a tickle up your nose for an hour or longer, depending on player choice; drinking more can also lead to longer effects. There are no negative impacts--just the need to sneeze often, and a little burst of cold snowflakes along with each one. Surprisingly, the shop still doesn't have any bad reviews.
Oriaku’s eyes lit up the moment she spotted the little café tucked into the corner of Destiny City’s bustling winter market. The exterior looked like something out of a storybook—tiny, vintage windows framed with holly and twinkling lights, a delicate sign that swayed gently in the cold breeze. She tugged at her right ear and muttered, “I have to see what this is.”
Stepping inside, she almost gasped. The shop had been transformed entirely. Snow-laden pines rose along the walls, twinkling fairy lights glimmered like frost on branches, and a soft white carpet simulated the snow that would crunch under her feet… if it weren’t just perfectly designed décor. For a moment, she forgot she was still in Destiny City. She could almost imagine herself wandering a northern forest, discovering tiny creatures and reading about ancient myths in the quiet.
A display of colorful drinks caught her attention, each more whimsical than the last—icy purples, frosted blues, and sparkling whites, all glinting like magic under the café lights. She could practically hear the little bell at the door singing every time someone entered, the smell of cocoa and sugar filling her senses. Her hand hovered over the counter as her mind whirred. “Which one…? Oh, they all look so perfect. Maybe one of each?”
She settled on a small, icy blue drink with a swirl of white cream and a dusting of sparkling sugar. Bringing it to her lips, she took a tentative sip… and immediately felt a tickle at the back of her nose.
“Ah-choo!” she sneezed, and to her surprise, a flurry of tiny snowflakes erupted from her nose, fluttering gently to the floor. She blinked at them, wide-eyed. “Oh! That’s… that’s adorable!”
Another sip, another sneeze. And another. Tiny snowflakes continued to twirl around her, clinging to her scarf and gloves. She laughed softly, brushing them off as they melted on her warm skin. “It’s like magic! But… also a little ticklish.” Tugging at her right ear, she muttered, “I don’t think I can stop sneezing now…”
Oriaku spent the next hour sipping carefully, each drink adding to the gentle cascade of snowflakes that seemed to follow her everywhere. She laughed every time she sneezed, marveling at how delicate the flakes were, how funny it felt to sneeze snow instead of air. Her scatterbrained tendencies kicked in—she almost forgot to drink at all because she was so busy watching the tiny flakes swirl across the tables, along the floor, and into her hair.
By the time she finally set down her last drink, she had a small pile of glittering snowflakes on her gloves and scarf, and a warm sense of delight in her chest. The café felt like a secret treasure she’d stumbled upon, one that was too whimsical to ever forget.
She sighed happily, tucking a few remaining flakes into the folds of her scarf. “I need to come back… maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Or all winter.” She grinned. “At least no one’s going to complain about sneezing snow!”
Oriaku left the café feeling lighter, happier, and just a little bit magical herself, the soft tickle of snowflakes lingering in her nose as a reminder of the tiny northern forest she had discovered in the middle of the city.
Posted: Wed Dec 17, 2025 3:05 pm
(S) Lost to Time
Quote:
Mysterious Mail: ( 8 ) : The mail is always bad this time of year, but it seems like something's gone a little extra wrong. You’ve received something that’s not quite right. Maybe it’s a box that looks like it’s from a completely different era, wrapped in brown paper and tied with dark twine. The box has scuffs and scrapes and a yellowed name tag--with your name and address on it. There is no return address and no indication where it came from. If you open it up you will find some sort of timeless item that feels as though it is easily decades old. It may not be particularly valuable, but this item seems to have been lost to time--and somehow ended up in your possession. Any time you look at it you are filled with the same sensation of timelessness.
Maybe it’s an old letter with no return address, no name on it; it's impossible to tell who it is from or how it got there, given that it might have arrived in your mailbox, your front door, or maybe it even just showed up inside your house. If you open it, the letter is dated from decades ago and contains some surprising information; it is a letter lost to time and contains some secret. The content of the letter is up to the player; it might contain a confession of love, an admission of guilt, the secret of some crime--no matter what the letter contains, it leaves you with news to reflect on. Do you try to seek out anyone mentioned in the letter? Do you investigate or try to hand the letter over to someone else? Does the content of the letter reflect your life in some way? ...Do you have to worry about someone breaking into your house to leave strangely coded messages?
Maybe you’ve gotten both and really need to phone up the post office to see what’s going on.
Oriaku almost didn’t notice the package at first.
The mail had been terrible lately — late deliveries, soaked envelopes, advertisements shoved into the wrong boxes — so when she opened her door and spotted a small parcel tucked neatly beside her welcome mat, she assumed it was just another delayed order. Maybe miniature supplies. Maybe a book. She crouched and picked it up automatically.
It was heavier than expected.
The box was wrapped in thick brown paper, tied carefully with dark twine knotted in a way that felt… old-fashioned. Not sloppy. Intentional. The paper was scuffed and worn at the edges, as though it had traveled very far. A yellowed tag dangled from the string, handwritten in careful ink.
Her name. Her address.
Oriaku tugged her right ear, brow furrowing. “…I didn’t order anything like this.”
There was no return address. No postage she recognized. Nothing modern about it at all.
She brought it inside anyway — because of course she did — setting it gently on her kitchen table like it might vanish if she blinked. For a long moment, she just stared at it. The air around it felt oddly still, like the quiet inside an old library or a museum exhibit.
Finally, she untied the twine.
Inside, cushioned by brittle paper, was a small object wrapped in cloth. When she unfolded it, her breath caught.
It was a miniature.
Not one she had made — she was certain of that — but one crafted with astonishing care. A tiny wooden box, its surface etched with delicate patterns that reminded her of ancient symbols. The wood was smooth, worn by time, and when she lifted it, a strange warmth settled in her chest.
Timeless. That was the only word that fit.
Oriaku turned it over in her hands, heart thudding softly. This wasn’t modern craftsmanship. This wasn’t mass-produced. This felt old. Decades old. Maybe more.
She set it down slowly, fingers trembling.
Then she noticed the envelope beneath it.
No name. No return address. Just her name written again, in the same careful script.
The letter inside was dated nearly forty years ago.
Her eyes widened as she read. The words spoke of love left unspoken, of choices regretted, of a home filled with memories too heavy to carry alone. A confession written by someone who had loved deeply and waited too long. A promise that something precious would be passed on when the time was right.
Oriaku swallowed.
The letter mentioned her grandparents’ house.
Her chest tightened as realization crept in. The miniature wasn’t random. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a replica — not exact, but close enough — of a box that had once sat on her grandparents’ shelf, long before she was born.
“I… don’t understand,” she whispered.
She looked around her quiet kitchen, suddenly aware of every shadow, every creak of the apartment settling. Had someone come inside? Had this really arrived through the mail? Or had it simply… appeared?
Oriaku folded the letter carefully, honesty tugging at her conscience. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with this knowledge. Investigate? Ask questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answered? Or simply keep it — a piece of the past entrusted to her for reasons she didn’t yet understand.
She set the miniature beside her own creations on the shelf.
It fit there. Perfectly.
And every time she glanced at it afterward, she felt that same strange stillness — as though time itself had paused, just for her.
Marshmallow Snow: (5) : Fresh-fallen snow coats Destiny City. It’s pristine and crisp, and it crunches as you walk through it. It may be a few inches deep, but it doesn’t seem to go above your calves when walking. At first, it’s easy enough to walk through, but gradually you realize that it’s getting harder to move. Every step you take feels like the snow is pulling you back in, and if you get a good look you might realize that sticky white fluff is clinging to you. The more you walk, the more it pulls, until you’re almost completely stuck. Something about the snow smells oddly sweet, and the tacky, marshmallow-like snow seems like it’s suddenly become a prison. The more you try to break free, the stickier it gets, and you’d better hope you don’t fall down. The more you struggle the harder it is to escape, but if you manage to stay still for a few minutes, the marshmallow will freeze and crystallize. When you move again, the snow will turn into a powdery dust and you can break free easily. The only good thing about this is that you won’t starve if you get trapped–the snow tastes just like marshmallows.
Fresh snow had fallen overnight, blanketing Destiny City in a soft, pristine sheet of white. It shimmered like sugar under the morning sun, and Oriaku couldn’t resist. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t wander far — her scatterbrained tendency to lose herself in thought was legendary at this point — but the world looked too beautiful. Like powdered sugar dusted across the sidewalks. Like something straight out of a myth or fairytale she might read.
Besides, she wanted photos. Winter butterflies were rare, but not impossible, and maybe—just maybe—she’d capture something magical today.
Oriaku tucked her phone into her glove and stepped into the snow with a delighted crunch. “Perfect,” she murmured, pulling her scarf closer. The air was crisp, the kind that woke you up and filled your lungs with sparkles.
She walked further down the sidewalk, snapping photos of delicate frost on railing posts and the quiet hush of the snow-covered park. Everything felt peaceful… until her next step didn’t lift.
Oriaku blinked.
Then tried again.
Her foot refused to come up.
“What…?” She looked down and tugged gently. The snow clung to her boot like warm taffy. Thick. Stretchy. Sweet-smelling.
Sweet?
She lowered her face toward the snow and took a cautious sniff. Her nose scrunched. “Why does this smell like marshmallows?”
She tugged her right ear — her telltale sign she was thinking too hard — then bent forward and poked the snow. It stuck to her glove instantly.
“Oh no.” She tried peeling it off, but it stretched, then snapped back like a rubber band.
Suddenly her other leg sank deeper. The snow now hugged both calves, pulling with an almost greedy suction. She yelped and wiggled instinctively, which made the sticky fluff climb even higher.
“Hey! Hey, wait—no, no, no, no! This is not how snow works!” Oriaku flailed her arms, trying to balance. “This is dessert! This is dessert pretending to be weather!”
Only after she nearly toppled forward did she force herself to freeze. “Okay. Okay, Oriaku. Don’t panic. Stand still. Think. Think like… like Oshun. Calm. Graceful.” She exhaled through her nose. “No more sinking. You hear me, marshmallow monster? I’m not edible.”
The snow continued to cling and tug, but she held perfectly still, arms stiff, back straight, refusing to move another inch. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for this weird marshmallow-snow to freeze like she hoped — but she knew struggling was only making it worse.
She peeked around, cheeks burning. “If someone walks by right now, I’m going to die of embarrassment,” she whispered. “Please don’t let it be someone from school. Or the grocery store. Or literally anyone who knows me.”
She sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping as she stood trapped like a frozen statue. “…Um. Hello? Anyone? If you can hear me, I’m stuck and I promise this is not my fault.”
Her voice carried lightly over the snowy street.
“Please don’t leave me here to be eaten by… whatever this is!”
Just when she thought she might actually end up spending the rest of her day frozen in place, Oriaku heard footsteps crunching faintly somewhere behind her.
Her heart leapt.
She straightened as much as someone stuck in marshmallow-snow could and called out again, louder this time, her voice wobbling between hope and mortification.
“Hello? Is someone there? Because I could really use a hand right now!”
She held her breath, waiting— praying— for someone to answer.
And the footsteps grew closer.
Posted: Sun Dec 21, 2025 8:16 pm
Quote:
Burning Bright: (9) : This time of year there are candles popping up in just about every shop selling anything. Maybe you stopped by one of these shops yourself, or maybe a friend wanted to get you a thoughtful gift, but somehow you’ve come into possession of a pair of candles. They don’t seem to be anything spectacular upon first glance; they are pretty and well made and have a pleasant fragrance. They would be pretty decor on their own, but once you light them, they really shine. Nonstop. For twenty four hours. No matter what you do, you cannot put the flame out. No wind, no water, no fire extinguisher–nothing–will extinguish the flame. You just have to wait until it burns itself out. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem very flammable so you don’t have to worry about other things catching on fire in the meantime. Wherever you keep the candle will have a pleasant smell for several days after the flame extinguishes.
Oriaku didn’t remember buying the candles.
That was the first strange thing.
They sat neatly on her kitchen counter, side by side, wrapped in pale paper and tied with twine. Cream-colored wax, simple glass holders, nothing flashy. Pretty, yes—but not memorable. She tugged at her right ear as she stared at them, brow furrowing.
“I would remember candles like these,” she muttered.
Still, the scent was lovely—soft and comforting, something between vanilla and winter flowers. She shrugged it off. Maybe a gift. Maybe something she picked up while distracted. That happened more often than she liked to admit.
She set them on the coffee table and lit one.
The flame caught instantly, steady and bright. Warm light filled the room, casting gentle shadows along her shelves of miniatures. She smiled and settled onto the couch with a book, letting the quiet hum of the apartment wrap around her.
An hour passed.
Then two.
When she finally glanced up again, the candle was exactly the same. Same flame height. Same amount of wax. Not even a drip down the side.
Oriaku sat up slowly.
“…Okay,” she said. “That’s weird.”
She blew on the flame. Nothing. She waved her hand harder. Still nothing. Her heart gave a small, uneasy thump as she fetched a glass of water and poured it carefully over the flame.
The fire didn’t even flicker.
She stared, wide-eyed. “Nope. Don’t like that.”
She tried again—more water, then a damp towel, then briefly considered the fire extinguisher before stopping herself. The flame burned calmly through it all, serene and unmoved, as if it had all the time in the world.
Oriaku sank back onto the couch, hugging her knees. For once, she didn’t know what to do. The candle wasn’t hot. The glass wasn’t even warm. The air smelled wonderful, comforting, safe.
But it wouldn’t go out.
She lit the second candle an hour later, curiosity getting the better of her. It ignited just as easily, burning in perfect harmony with the first. Two unwavering flames. Two quiet watchers.
She stayed up late that night, glancing at them between chapters, between thoughts. They burned through the dark hours while the city slept. When she finally dozed off on the couch, the light greeted her again in the morning—unchanged, patient, eternal.
Twenty-four hours later, the flames went out.
Not suddenly. Not dramatically. They simply faded, the light dimming until there was nothing left but smooth, intact wax and a room filled with lingering warmth and scent.
Oriaku exhaled, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The apartment smelled wonderful for days afterward. Every time she walked past the table, she caught traces of it—comforting, familiar, timeless.
She never found a receipt. Never found a card.
But she kept the candles.
Some things, she decided, didn’t need explanations. Some things just needed to be allowed to finish burning.
Winter Apples (10) : Whereas most trees have already lost their leaves and stand barren in the winter months, these trees are still a lively green and don't seem affected at all. The most interesting thing about these trees isn't their color--it's the sudden fruit that has appeared on them. A few days after the first snowfall, little apples began to grow--small, bright red. They range in size from berries to plums--but taste like the sweetest apple you've ever sampled. They're all over the city, and the harvest is bountiful; more appear after every snowfall. There's just one catch--eat too many, or eat the wrong one--and you're out cold. Every apple risks drowsiness, fatigue, and even unconsciousness that can last for a few hours up to a day. If you're looking for a sweet treat and a good nap, you've come to the right place. Just make sure you're somewhere comfortable first.
Oriaku noticed the trees before she noticed the apples.
Most of Destiny City had settled into its winter skeleton—bare branches clawing at the sky, leaves long gone, the world muted and quiet beneath thin layers of snow. So when she turned a corner in the park and saw vibrant green leaves still clinging stubbornly to several trees, she stopped short.
“…That’s not right.”
She tugged gently at her right ear, eyes scanning the branches. The leaves looked healthy. Lush. Alive in a way winter had no business allowing. And then she saw the fruit.
Small, bright red apples dotted the branches like ornaments. Some were no bigger than berries, others closer to plums, all glowing against the green leaves like tiny embers. Snow rested on the branches around them, but the apples themselves seemed untouched by the cold.
Oriaku stepped closer, boots crunching softly. She reached up and plucked one carefully, half-expecting it to vanish in her hand.
It didn’t.
The apple was firm and warm despite the air, its skin smooth beneath her fingers. She hesitated only a moment before taking a bite.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh wow.”
It was the sweetest apple she had ever tasted—crisp and sugary without being sharp, like honey and sunlight trapped in fruit. She chewed slowly, savoring it, already reaching for another without thinking.
Then she paused.
Her limbs felt… heavy.
Oriaku blinked, swaying slightly as she lowered her hand. “Wait. That’s… that’s weird.” She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, suddenly very aware of how warm and tired she felt. The park seemed quieter than before, the snow softer, the bench nearby suddenly incredibly inviting.
She sat down, apple still in hand.
“I should not eat another one,” she muttered honestly, even as she eyed the branch above her. She’d heard rumors already—people talking about strange winter apples, naps that lasted all afternoon, waking up refreshed but confused.
She took one more bite anyway.
Warmth spread through her chest, then her arms, then her legs. The world felt slower. Kinder. Like being wrapped in a thick blanket fresh from the dryer. Oriaku leaned back against the bench, her scarf slipping slightly as her eyelids fluttered.
“Okay,” she murmured, smiling faintly. “Just… a short nap.”
Snow fell quietly around her, fresh flakes drifting down and settling among the green leaves and red fruit. Somewhere nearby, another apple dropped softly into the snow, already growing in its place.
Oriaku drifted off with the taste of sweetness still on her tongue, her breath slow and steady. When she woke hours later, the light would be different, the apples still there, and she’d feel rested—if a little embarrassed.
But for now, she slept peacefully beneath the impossible winter trees, trusting the city to let her wake when she was ready.
And next time, she promised herself, she’d bring a blanket.
