He closed his eyes.
“Tonight,” the third said, untying the velvet rope from the tree, “you remember why we call it incesta .” Igra --Santaz incesta-- -v0.1.7-dev- Avtor- Slutogen
“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
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. He closed his eyes. “Tonight