[Seasonal Event] warm this weather out of my bones

Amalia A simple smile can change a day An understanding look can say I know exactly how you feel The fires are stoked, the oven warm: all that remains is a recipe. Something special, more than the daily loaves of bed, to herald in the lonely winter and warm her frosted hearth. Amalia yearns for something special, a piece of the past she has half-forgotten. All day she has hunted through old books and faded ledgers, trying to land on the perfect solution and faltering, failing, every time. Her grandmother made it all seem easy, her effortless charm and wise demeanor drawing people to her like luxere in the dark. Her grandmother used to fill the bakery with smells of cinnamon and lively chatter, shadows and smiles and tales of yesteryear. Deepfrost was brighter in the glow of her warmth, Long Night shorter when they spent it together. The girl's mother had tried to uphold the traditions, but as time passed both abandoned the charade, and when her mother died Amalia was alone, too lonely and lost to reignite old fires. This year, though, she is ready to change. There- and Amalia's eyes light up, her pensive mood interrupted as her fingers pull out a sheaf of paper, written in her Nani's meticulous hand. It is perfect, the exact thing she needs. Renewed, determined, ardent and aglow, the sunlit baker rolls up her sleeves, copper hair pulled into a messy bun and an apron pulled tight around her waist. Humming, she hunts for the requisite ingredients: flour, check. Butter, check. Sugar, check. Cinnamon, savored and salvaged and stored through the year, check. Everything in order, everything in place, except... ...except... The front door opens and Amalia pops up, eyes wide and hopeful as Rory walks in. "Hello! she greets the leatherworker brightly, her deep voice bright in the dusty store. "I was just about to start a bake. Would you like to help?" Everything but some company, but perhaps that has arrived.