He closed his eyes.
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. Igra --Santaz incesta-- -v0.1.7-dev- Avtor- Slutogen
The fire spat green sparks.
The game began again.
“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.” He closed his eyes