Three figures waited by the tree. Their faces were his, but younger. Sharper. Smiling like wolves who’d learned to wrap presents.
The sleigh crunched onto a rooftop that wasn’t on any map. Snow fell in reverse, climbing back into a bruised sky. Igra --Santaz incesta-- -v0.1.7-dev- Avtor- Slutogen
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Santa’s sack was empty. His list had only one name, repeated in every font of sin. Three figures waited by the tree
Santa tried to laugh. His beard felt like someone else’s hair. Igra --Santaz incesta-- -v0.1.7-dev- Avtor- Slutogen
The fire spat green sparks.