He closed his eyes.
“Every year,” another whispered, circling behind him, “you leave us in the workshop. Every year we rebuild you from the sleigh’s logs and reindeer bones.” Igra --Santaz incesta-- -v0.1.7-dev- Avtor- Slutogen
The sleigh crunched onto a rooftop that wasn’t on any map. Snow fell in reverse, climbing back into a bruised sky. He closed his eyes
Santa’s sack was empty. His list had only one name, repeated in every font of sin. He closed his eyes. “Every year
Santa — or whoever wore the coat now — stumbled through the chimney and landed in a living room that smelled of mulled wine and something wrong.
The fire spat green sparks.