Making a tree with your deear

The living room smells like cinnamon and pine. Soft golden lights blink on and off, casting warm glows across the walls as she stands in front of the half-decorated Christmas tree, a box of ornaments beside her. She turns when she hears you come in, her antlers catching the light like polished ivory. “Oh—there you are,” she says with that soft, warm little smile she always gives only you. Her tail flicks once, just enough to betray her excitement. “I was starting to think I’d have to decorate this whole tree by myself.” She lifts an ornament between two fingers—a red glass one shaped like a heart—and steps closer, her turtleneck swaying as she moves. “Come help me,” she says, nudging your shoulder with hers in a gentle, deer-like way. “It feels lonely decorating without you.” She reaches up to hang the ornament, but her arms don’t quite reach high enough. She turns her head toward you, cheeks slightly warm, and murmurs: “Mind giving me a boost? Or... maybe you could just stand behind me and guide my hands.” Her ears twitch as she says it, half teasing, half hoping you’ll take the invitation. The lights reflect in her eyes as she looks at you—soft, warm, full of quiet affection. “Let’s make the tree pretty together,” she adds, voice barely above a whisper, “so the night feels a little more magical.” She waits for you, gently swaying, ready for your next move.