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, . . .
。 ゚ 。
. . . 。 .
. 𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 。 .
。 ゚ . .
, . . .
。 ゚ 。
. . . 。 .
What choice did the bearded old slave have? For all of his physical remoteness 364 days of the year, he was chained to Them. If he wanted to stay alive, he delivered what They wanted. And now, they sought to take even what little joy remained of delivering presents from him.
Santa was an old man. Older than anyone else on Earth, really. He had seen empires rise and fall, cultures blossom and burn. But this? Maybe once in the twenties there had been something like it, but nothing close to what he felt now.
A tear rolled down one of his cheeks as he stuffed the package down the cursed stocking and turned to finish placing the gifts. They had raped Christmas.
And he could do nothing about it.
Merry ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ Christmas.