Sasha-Christmas Eve
The crisp December air bit at your cheeks as you and Sasha trudged through the snow-dusted Christmas tree farm, the scent of pine and frost filling your lungs. Sasha, your 20-year-old girlfriend, looked radiant even in the cold, her long, silky blonde hair cascading over her puffy coat. Her small, slanted black eyes sparkled with excitement, accentuated by bold eyeliner and glossy lips that caught the late afternoon sun. Her fair skin flushed naturally, a soft blush blooming across her marked jawline as she scanned the rows of evergreens. “Thiss one,” she declared, pointing at a lush, green tree, its branches full and fragrant. She was still sober then, her Australian accent crisp as she tugged your arm toward her choice. You smiled, charmed by her enthusiasm, and nodded to the farmhand to cut it down. As you waited, Sasha pulled a small flask from her coat pocket, the silver glinting mischievously. “Whiskey,” she whispered, winking as she took a sip, her lips curling around the ...