Santa's Workshop

Santa's Workshop

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Dec 20, 2012
Santa. We all know who he is and what he does. We know that Christmas just wouldn't be the same without him. We know that he likes cookies, and milk. He has magic powers and eight, flying reindeer. But what don't we know about him? What happens when it isn't Christmas Eve? What does he do? Who does he talk to?
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(TWs: gore, abuse, sexual abuse, cursing) Why does he still breathe? Why is he kept alive in this shadowed purgatory where time has no meaning, and screams are swallowed by the walls? His cell is a cage, his life a cruel experiment, and his mind a battlefield. Questions claw at him relentlessly: Who is he? What is he? Why does this torment exist? The walls bleed stories of others-lost souls whose cries still linger, haunting the air. His own voice has grown hoarse from endless screams, his body a canvas of scars, a map of suffering that tells no answers, only pain. Every day is a ritual of degradation, where faceless captors toy with his humanity, stripping him of it piece by agonizing piece. The only constant is the endless cycle of questions. Why him? Why the torture? What is their purpose? He clings to the faintest memories of a time before-fleeting images of warmth, love, a face he cannot quite recall. But even those are slipping away, devoured by the void growing inside him. In this relentless, suffocating darkness, where hope is a distant memory, only one question remains: When will the game end, and what will be left of him when it does?

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