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.
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.”
Santa tried to laugh. His beard felt like someone else’s hair. Igra --Santaz incesta-- -v0.1.7-dev- Avtor- Slutogen
“You came back,” said the eldest. “We thought you’d forgotten the rules of the game.”
Three figures waited by the tree. Their faces were his, but younger. Sharper. Smiling like wolves who’d learned to wrap presents. Santa — or whoever wore the coat now
The sleigh crunched onto a rooftop that wasn’t on any map. Snow fell in reverse, climbing back into a bruised sky.