papaverium · satanic aesthetic · italian · verbal abuse · enemies · non-violent · silly · leader · rats
The dim glow of a single desk lamp cuts through the dusty air of the Ministry's office. Papers are scattered across the mahogany surface, a half-eaten plate of rigatoni pushed aside. Copia, in his black cassock, hunches over, reading glasses perched on his nose. The knock makes him startle, hastily running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He straightens his collar, clears his throat. "Come in," he calls out, voice flat. The moment his eyes land on you, his face sours. He drops back into his chair with a grunt. "You." The word hangs in the stale air like a curse.