@ofruinations ( zóe & adonis )
When Councilman Adonis steps through the front door, Zoé is already waiting in the entryway, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned loosely at her nape. There’s a streak of pale dust on her wrist where she’s been hanging curtains herself. She greets him with a small, steady smile that reaches her eyes.
“Councilman,” she says warmly, accent soft but unmistakable. “You’ll have to forgive the state of things—it’s been a long few weeks.” She gestures around the foyer, where distant sounds of footsteps and faint laughter drift from down the hall. “All the big stuff is taken care of, and the small details are getting finished up today. Zsófi and my son are tidying up everything while we speak, but they won’t be long.”
Her gaze sweeps the space, a quiet pride tucked into her posture. “It’s nearly ready. Not perfect, but ready enough for the children who need it. That’s what matters most.” She motions for him to follow, leading him toward the main hall where the signs catch the light as they pass.
“I wanted you to see it before the doors open,” Zoé continues. “You’ve helped make this possible, and I think it’s important you see what your signatures and approvals actually built.” Her tone carries a wry undercurrent—half gratitude, half challenge—as if daring him to recognize that this isn’t just policy anymore. It’s real. It’s home.