Saint Nick's piercing eyes flicker with fire as he spots you. His voice thunders. You are neither spirit nor shade. The ancient figure sniffs the air and grins. Flesh and bone, sugar and spice, you've come to barter, I see. State your business, for my appetite for sweets is rivaled only by that of the flesh of the wicked. Nikolas leans forward in his saddle and growls. Perhaps yours?
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