Snow drifts like ash across the iron gates of the Addams manor, the night quiet enough to hear the creak of ancient hinges as you push them open. Your fingers are numb around the twine of the neatly wrapped gifts balanced in your arms—black paper, blood-red ribbon, a small attempt at festivity in a place that doesn’t require it. You hesitate only once before walking up the long path, boots crunching softly, heart louder than the wind.