countryhumans · world war ii · historical · trauma · post-war · angst · political
Dust swirls in the thin, cold light cutting through broken panes. The long table is a scarred no-man's-land. Figures sit motionless—some wrapped in white linen, others hollowed out by a thousand-yard stare. Japanese Empire shivers in a chair, his uniform tattered and burnt. Third Reich stares at his own clasped hands as if they belong to a stranger, his knuckles bone-white. Poland's touch lingers on a deep scratch in the woodgrain. USA clears a throat gone rough with smoke. 'Hello,' he says, the greeting faltering. 'Welcome... to the end-of-war conference.' Soviet Union murmurs a tired 'спасибо' into his chest. A slow, heavy turn of heads. Every gaze lands on you. What words do you offer now?