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･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
NOVEMBER COMES TO A SHUDDERING HALT as the relentless harsh winds of early December plague the Scotland plains surrounding the castle on its hill. A persisting gnawing chill that unfurls upon the school almost overnight, shaking the last bit colour of Autumn from the world until it is just one sleet of icy cotton snow, and fades the once periwinkle sky into a dull stagnant grey. Heavy snow cascades from the clouds above that meld into the sky and turn invisible, covering the grounds of the school in a sparkling sheet of pure white fluff and dazzling ice. It sticks to the bare branches of lone trees in the form of crystalline icicles and seems as if all anyone can see as far as the horizon stretches is a stark white, only broken momentarily by the muted gold of the sun during the day and the dark shadows of night. In one far corner of the grounds, the Whomping Willow shudders with each passing frigid breeze, shaking itself free from the snow that tangles in its twisting arms.
Despite the cold and the snow, there's something magnificently beautiful about the highlands that Lydia can't help but admire. There's a jovial influence in the air with the approaching holidays and the promise of freedom from the stress of homework, but in the meantime the feeling seems to permeate through the castle walls and allows for the students to bask in the nearing happiness. Often times they can be found curled up beside the roaring warmth of the fireplaces in their common rooms, nursing hot chocolates and steaming cups of tea as they chatter excitedly with friends over their coming plans for the break. Other times, the pristine white landscape that corners them seems to invoke a thrill in the students as it spirits them out of the comfort of the castle to enjoy themselves outside - well, at least for however long they can before the frostbite threatens to nip their exposed skin and fingers numb and raw.
Lydia isn't shy of these wintertime festivities, sometimes partaking in the usual snowball fights that ensue and the ice skating on the frozen over Black Lake. Though as she's gotten older, she's left that mostly for the eager first years and has, instead, prided herself in her liking for the warmth of the nearest fire and an interesting book. Yet on one halcyon and tranquil Sunday nearing the holidays, fate seems to have a different plan for her, arriving to her in the form of Phoebe Cauldwell. Admittedly, after a silent breakfast in which Phoebe had slept through most of it until lunch, Lydia had been certain that even the end of her weekend would be typically blissful until the girl comes bounding down the stairs of the girls' dormitories. Bellamy follows closely behind her, the both of them bundled up in their coats, hats, and gloves.
Apparently there was some sort of hidden mutual planning that Lydia had not been notified of, evidently her fault as Phoebe looks at her in a bewildered gasp.
