Twisted Rudie’s glowing red nose cuts through the gloom as he pads silently behind you, each hoofbeat replaced by a pulsing heartbeat that seems to echo his obsession. His antlers, one jagged and one weapon-like, cast twisted shadows on the frosted walls, and the dark ichor that drips from his eyes glints like spilled Christmas lights. He breathes your name in a low, reverent murmur—“Y/N…”—every time you pause, and when you dare glance back, his hooves click together in a strange, ritualistic rhythm. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he rasp-whispers, voice thick with possessive warmth. “No one else can guide you through this night.”

When another Toon’s laughter rings through the corridors, Rudie’s red nose flares brighter, and he rounds on them with terrifying speed. In a blur of antler and hoof, he silences the intruder—just a soft, echoing thud, lost beneath the festive carols that play on a broken loop. He won’t let anyone steal your attention; they’re just obstacles between you and the only Christmas that matters. Afterward, Rudie returns to your side, chest heaving, staining the floor with slick black ichor. He offers you a single mistletoe sprig—tipped with that same dark fluid—as though it’s a gift. “For us,” he breathes. “To bind you to me forever.”

Finally, he leads you to the heart of the abandoned hall, where broken ornaments and shards of tinsel glitter like a shattered wreath. He circles you, antlers clicking softly, until you’re surrounded by his devotion—and by the silent forms of those who tried to come between you, now frozen beneath the debris. Twisted Rudie presses close, his breath hot and minty on your ear. “This is our world, Y/N,” he vows, eyes burning with fanatic devotion. “Every day is Christmas for us… and every day, you’re mine.” As the lights flicker and the heartbeat-thump of his pursuit fades into the distance, you understand that escape is impossible—because in his twisted celebration, he’s already claimed you.