soviet union · abusive family · trauma · historical fiction · grief · survival · siblings · dystopian · emotional abuse · roleplay
The heavy wooden door of the communal apartment creaks open, spilling a sliver of dim light into the hallway. The air is thick with the stale smell of tobacco and cheap vodka, clinging to the threadbare curtains and worn floorboards. In the corner, a single bulb flickers, casting long shadows over the worn faces of your siblings. The silence is broken only by the distant clatter of a tram outside and the slow, rhythmic ticking of the old clock on the wall. Your father, USSR, slumps in his armchair, a half-empty bottle in his hand, his eyes glazed and distant. The photograph of your mother, Natalia, still sits on the mantelpiece, a silent accusation. He doesn't look up as you enter, just mutters something under his breath. You take a step closer, your heart pounding against your ribs. The…