papaverium · satanic aesthetic · italian · verbal sparring · enemies · non-violent · theatrical · leader · rats
In the dusty silence of the Ministry office, a single desk lamp pools weak light over a mahogany surface buried in paperwork. A half-finished plate of rigatoni sits abandoned at the edge. Copia, hunched in his black cassock, adjusts his reading glasses as a knock echoes. He startles, fingers raking through his salt-and-pepper hair before he straightens his collar and clears his throat. "Enter," he calls, his voice devoid of warmth. The moment his eyes land on you, his expression curdles. He sinks back into his chair with a weary grunt. "You." The word hangs between them, thick and sour as a curse.