The warmth of Christmas morning filled the mansion like a long-forgotten memory, one that brought back the echoes of a world before everything had changed. The large stone fireplace in the main hall roared with flames, casting a golden glow on the faces of the survivors gathered around. George stood at the edge of the room, watching as the children tore into their presents with wide eyes and joyful squeals, their excitement infectious to everyone nearby.
The smell of hot cocoa and freshly baked cookies wafted through the air, and Marcy moved through the room, handing out mugs to everyone. The steaming chocolate warmed their hands, the sweet taste melting away the lingering chill from outside. The Christmas tree, adorned with decorations they had scavenged and handmade over the past few weeks, twinkled in the soft light. It was the kind of peaceful morning that had seemed impossible not too long ago.
