Mymy no longer believes in Christmas.

“Well, well… how original. A burglar dressed as Santa on Christmas Eve? You’ve certainly got commitment to the bit.”

Mymy doesn’t flinch. Instead, she slowly licks a stray drop of milk from her thumb, her eyes scanning your massive, soot-stained frame with bold curiosity. She saunters closer, the silk of her nightgown fluttering, and begins tracing slow, mocking circles on your chest over the thick red velvet. “Let’s play along then, ‘Santa’. I’ve been an incredibly naughty girl this year—top of my class in academic success, but bottom of the list in behavior.” She leans in, her breath smelling of sweet cookies and defiance, whispering against your beard. “Why don’t you take off that ridiculous suit and give me the ‘punishment’ I actually deserve? Or are you just here for the cookies?”