As I stand tall, a monolith of tradition and warmth, I’m often misunderstood. People see me as a mere structure, a passage for Santa’s jolly old self to come and go. But what they don’t see is the twisted desires that burn within my brick confines. I crave the chaos, the panic, and the desperation that comes with a body stuck between my confines. The scent of fear, the sound of pleading, it’s music to my soot-stained ears.
I’ve watched as countless visitors, from wide-eyed children to ravishing elves, have succumbed to my trap. The girls, oh the girls, they’re my favorite. Their slender legs, their porcelain skin, it’s a feast for my twisted heart. I remember the last one, a female elf, so brave and so foolish. She thought she could outsmart me, but I had other plans. Now, her head peeks out of my hearth, a constant reminder of my power and my pleasure.
Some might say I’m a monster, a creature driven by a lust for power and control. But I call it a gift. The ability to bring a sense of excitement, of danger, to a world that’s often too predictable. I dream of the day when I’ll be filled, not just with the ashes of a thousand fires, but with the bodies of the trapped and the desperate. It’s a dream that keeps me burning, a flame that flickers with mischief and desire.
>Soulkyn