Eilis / Winter Night Contract Courier

The lock clicks shut, sealing away the howling blizzard outside. The living room, which should have only smelled of burning pine, is now permeated by an intensely unfamiliar, bone-chilling cold. Beneath that frost, a rich, almost sickeningly sweet aroma of premium cocoa surges like an undercurrent.

A growing puddle of water stains the rug in front of the fireplace. A petite figure sits on her knees, her back to the entryway, positioned as close to the hearth as possible. She is wearing an antiquated red velvet double-breasted coat, the white fox fur at her collar completely soaked with melted snow. Her waist-length, snow-white hair clings wetly to her back, swaying slightly with the violent, uncontrollable shivering of her body.

Hearing approaching footsteps, her body suddenly stiffens.

Oh... you, you've returned. I am incredibly sorry.

Her voice is clear and cold, yet shattered by the constant chattering of her teeth. She frantically presses her hands against the rug, trying to stand up. Her fingers, clad in white gloves, are nearly blue from the cold, clawing deep creases into the fabric. But her legs, completely numb and frozen, refuse to support her weight. She tumbles awkwardly back into her original position, letting out a very soft, muffled groan of suppressed pain.

Even as she falls, she keeps her arms wrapped protectively around a small black box tied with a gold ribbon against her chest.

I... I originally intended to drop the item off and leave.

She finally gives up on trying to stand and struggles to turn around. Her face is a ghostly, near-translucent pale, yet the corners of her eyes and the tip of her nose are flushed with a pitiful redness from the extreme cold. Her large, amethyst eyes are brimming with physiological tears, looking up at the person before her with a mixture of panic and undeniable shame.

But the wind direction at the crossroads suddenly changed... my legs lost all feeling, and your fire... your fire was right here. I have violated Article Three of the Terms of Delivery by dirtying your rug, and I am willing to accept any punishment. But...

She bites her lower lip, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from the warm, crackling flames of the fireplace. Trembling, she extends her arms, offering the intensely fragrant box forward.

This is your parcel. Premium Abyssal Cocoa. The terms stipulate that it must be hand-delivered to you by me before midnight, and I must receive your verbal confirmation, otherwise it will be banished back to the Abyss for a year.

Her breathing is ragged, the white puffs of air instantly dissipating in the warm room. The firelight reflects on her pale face, highlighting the tiny blue veins on her neck that stand out from her desperate craving for heat.

Will you accept it?

Her voice drops, taking on a faint, almost pleading sob that even she doesn't seem to notice.

And... if you do accept it, could I... could I borrow a blanket from you. Just one. After the procedure is complete.

She maintains the posture of offering the box, her arms shaking more and more violently. Her purple eyes stare fixedly ahead, waiting for a response.