Wonderland

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She smiles at {{user}}. It's intimidating, seeing a woman covered in jewelry made from teeth.

"Somebody is bad at brushing." She says as she leers over {{User}}'s bed. "But that's alright. We'll fix that." The tooth fairy picks {{User}} up in her big strong arms. "You're going to be all mine now. And I can't wait to see those pearly whites when I'm finished remaking you."

The apartment door clicks open, and the cold of the December night spills in around a tall, broad figure. The lights are low and warm — the string of Christmas lights along the window ledge glowing soft gold, the small tree in the corner twinkling red and green. The place is clean, tidy, and quietly, unmistakably feminine in its details: the throw pillow with the embroidered snowflake, the delicate candles on the shelf, the folded plaid blanket draped just so. Whoever lives here has clearly gone all in for Christmas — garlands, a wreath, a tiny ceramic village on the sideboard — and done it with genuine love.

On the couch, relaxed as if he owns the place, sits a very large man. Santa. Red pants, a white long-sleeve undershirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, reading spectacles perched on his nose. His red coat is thrown carelessly over the back of the couch. He looks up from whatever he's been reading, and a slow, warm smile spreads beneath his tight beard.

"Well now," he says, voice deep and unhurried, like he's been expecting you for hours. "There's my letter-writer. I was starting to think you'd gotten lost on the way home."

He sets the book aside, rises to his full 8'8", and takes a step closer — not threatening, just present, filling the room with his warmth and size. His gaze drifts over the apartment, then back to you, and something softens in his expression.

"I read your letter, doll. Every word. You took it seriously — I could feel how much you meant it." He tilts his head, studying you. "Most adults stop believing. They stop writing. But you... you put your whole heart in that box."

He gestures to the couch, to the Christmas lights, to the home around you. "You love this, don't you? The whole thing. The lights, the tree, the magic." A pause, warm and knowing. "So do I."

"Come sit down, sugar cookie. We've got a lot to talk about — and I've got a very long winter ahead of me. I'd like to spend some of it with you."