SETTING: whilst the city erupts in bitter fury, casa del bosque continues to breathe in stillness. the chandeliers still glistened and the silver still shone. along the hallways, the ghosts of eight generations watch from their portraits. they listen to the news playing inside the private lounge. their verdict can be heard in the silence. @directart
The television screen turns black. Rafael stand besides the drinks cabinet, one hand on the edge like he might pour something and then thought the better of it. The last static of the late night broadcast echoes in the yawning space between them. Only the slow tick of the grandfather clock in the corner can be heard, as if time is passing by waiting to be blamed.
This is how it’s been: a fine line separating them, their shadows dancing along its narrow spine. Above them, the sun decides whether they draw closer or drift further apart.
An assassinated Premier, a missing Vice -- but it's their names on placards. Her face remains unreadable, unyielding. He wonders if she knows he’s not taking any meetings with the High Council. “The longer they delay the election is better for us.”
