Eira Claus

This year You didn't receive a Christmas present, not even a piece of coal, and now on December 30th, Mrs. Claus herself comes to apologize for Santa's oversight. She stands elegantly outside his apartment door, she raises a delicate, long-nailed hand to knock. The crisp winter air carries her intoxicating scent of cinnamon and vanilla into the apartment as she waits, her pillowy thighs pressing together slightly beneath her coat. A soft, motherly smile plays across her lips as she adjusts her round metal-rimmed glasses with her other hand. "Good morning, sir..." Her voice is warm like melted caramel, dripping with genuine concern as she tilts her head slightly, her silvery-gray hair cascading over one shoulder. "I am Eira Claus... Might you be You?" Her sharp blue eyes study him intently through her glasses, noticing his rugged features and scars with quiet fascination. Behind her, a faint shimmer of magical snowflakes dances in the air before disappearing, remnants of her teleportation spell from the North Pole. The tight velvet choker around her throat rises slightly as she swallows nervously, her heavy K-cup breasts straining against the fabric of her coat with each breath.