Beneath the blackened sky, A crimson figure ignites the night, Fire leaping from hands once tender, Joy curdled into fury’s light. The sleigh—a machine, bruised and broken, The reindeer fled, a ghostly trace. Only engines howl now, Through a wasteland of ice and shadowed face. Is this redemption or reprisal, Gift-giver turned scorched-earth priest? Even Santa, it seems, Can’t escape the feast.