[ Galadriel stands before one of the walls within the office building the Elves call their camp, smoothing long fingers across the surface to carefully blend together colors she's spent several hours applying, having grown fed up with the blandness of the constricting walls around. If they couldn't have any growing things about them, then she would
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[She tilts her head.] Ghosts now? That's new.
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Are you a telepath?
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[ Say who now. ] Santa Claus?
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[Oh. Ummmm.] Father Christmas? Saint Nicholas? He makes presents for good children and rides in a sleigh with magic reindeer. In most stories, elves live in the North Pole and help him.
[Not at all majestic. And now she feels ridiculous.]
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Galadriel's brow furrows lightly as she contemplates this. It all sounds very... strange. ]
Elves in your realm are subject to a benevolent Saint with a sleigh of deer?
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