Evening.Lights across the square, mulled wine in your hands, and snow starting to fall.
If you come in December, the markets change everything. The old square glows, the air smells of cinnamon and roasting almonds, and the first flakes drift through the lights.
You wander between the wooden stalls with a mug of Glühwein, the choir somewhere off in the dark, the cathedral floodlit above the rooftops. Dinner is somewhere warm and old and candlelit, the kind of place your specialist found and you’d never have. Germany does this — turns a honeymoon into a fairy tale, a little more each day, until you forget what you were ever in a hurry about.