The mansion was alive with a flurry of activity, its once solemn halls now filled with the cheerful sounds of Christmas preparations. Survivors bustled about, their faces glowing with anticipation as they set up decorations, trimmed the tree, and filled the rooms with the warmth of the season. It had been months since they had something to truly celebrate, and now, as the snow fell gently outside, there was a sense of hope and renewal in the air.
George stood at the center of the main hall, overseeing the grand Christmas tree they had brought in from the nearby woods. It was a towering evergreen, its branches reaching up toward the vaulted ceiling of the mansion, and it smelled of pine and winter. Decorations were being unpacked from hastily wrapped boxes, most of which had been scavenged from nearby towns or handmade by the survivors. The tree was already adorned with strings of lights they had salvaged, and the soft glow illuminated the room in a warm, golden hue.
