Delicate Snowflake rests in a palm, a minuscule constellation carved from ice and breath. Its six points unfurl like frost-etched petals; the center glows with a pale blue ember that shivers when you tilt it toward a candle. The surface is crystal-clear, each facet a tiny window catching sun and lantern light, yet it feels almost warm to the touch, as if winter itself had cooled its edge just enough to cradle your skin. It is so fragile you almost expect a grain of dust to crush it; instead it retains a steady, patient gleam, like a moment trapped in ice that refuses to hurry. Legends say it crystallizes from a winter spirit’s sigh, or from a child’s whispered wish for warmth during the longest night. Some tell of a snowflake that refused to melt, kept alive by a promise spoken aloud at a festival; others speak of it as a guidepost left by travelers who measured a path through the snow by its glow. The lore is gentle and almost shy, the sort of thing you tuck into a coat pocket while bells ring and snow drifts against the eaves. Its “delicate” label is not a warning but an invitation—to handle with care, to listen, to barter with care for what it might become. Within the world, the Delicate Snowflake is more than a pretty fragment; it is a practical thread in the fabric of winter’s life. During the seasonal celebrations, flakes drift down as quiet blessings, collected by hands that know the loom of craft and the cadence of the market. In the hands of an old itinerant chandler, it becomes part of a resin-lacquered charm that turns into a small ornament for a tree, or into a sigil that glints on the edge of a cloak. In the hands of a newer crafter, it unlocks limited recipes—cosmetic accents, festive trinkets, perhaps a tiny wearable sculpture that shimmers with frost when you move. It is currency of goodwill, a token that says you understand warmth travels when many hands reach out at once. Prices drift across Saddlebag Exchange as merchants weigh supply against the pulse of festival fever; a handful of flakes might fetch a few copper, a few more a few silver, depending on who’s hawking bundles and which artisan hopes to push a new recipe. People trade them in packs, in bundles, for bundles of ribbons and candles, or for unique insignias that declare you kept winter with you. The snowflake’s value lies not only in what it buys but in what it preserves—the memory of a season when strangers shared songs, and a fragile shard could carry a city through a night that finally woke to dawn.