Vale understands the appeal of presents, but the Ascendants’ obsession with Christmas started wearing thin a week ago. The snow melts between her toes and all the eggnog makes everyone too loud with their drunk asses braying up a storm. Even as an extrovert, the jaguar tires of pointless social situations – and all of these fake-looking smiles wear on her nerves. She cares about Clarence, but everyone else could drown in an inch-thick puddle. She knows their smiles are fake, after all. They may pretend with all their outward niceties, but she saw how filthy humans stooped too when they thought they held the upper hand. Animals, even talking ones, could hardly be better.

Spotting the stocking leaning against her door, the jaguar’s hazel eyes narrow cautiously. A prank? She doubts she won any friends here. She just joined, yet… someone bothered to place a gift against her door. Yet her first impulse is to trash it, throw it out before she can even look at the contents – even if she appreciates the sentiment, a gift leaning against her door reminds her of him. That assaholic bitch, how dare he…! If only she dragged him to this world, she’d beat the shit out of him again and again and again.

Lashing her tail, the melanistic feline cautiously sniffs the gift. But there is no trace of his smell. And she recognizes who dropped it off, too – Oprheus, one of the friendlier (and cuter) members of the Ascendants. She wonders, hesitantly, whether this means the lion might turn out like him, unable to take no for a damn answer and bother her over and over and over again.

But she breathes, taking her mind out of the past. Glancing down the hallway, she sees the stockings leaning against other doors; relieved, she sighs and picks up the gift. If Orpheus gave everyone a gift – especially considering the traditions of this ‘Christmas’ – Vale supposed he meant no harm. Fucking hell, why did her heartrate climb so much? She was scared of a fucking gift, how the fuck did that make any lick of sense?

Slipping into her room, she lets the door slam – she’s already on the bed when the thwack comes. But the jaguar winces anyway, before curling into a ball and focusing on the stocking. Her paws tremble when she opens it, careful to work with the damn stiff appendages. The little gifts tumble out, and the jaguar blinks at them. Dark chocolates, paint brushes, and acrylic paints – it takes her a moment to snap out of the funk and smile. She wonders if Orpheus read what she wanted for the Secret Santa, but supposes it doesn’t really matter.

He never gave her gifts she actually wanted. He only gave her the gifts he thought she wanted – trying to make her the damn perfect bride she never wished to become. Vale snorts, as she carefully packs the items away in her room, that he really had been a fucking ass. And she makes a mental note to thank Orpheus for the gifts later; she doubts the sunset lion would ever know how much his gifts meant to her… but she doesn't want anyone to know that fucking emotional crap about her, anyway.