Palian walks through the front door of the councillor’s city apartment, and she’s not surprised at how tasty it has been decorated. There are no heavy dark wood panels on the walls, no heavy golden frills like in the council chambers. It’s a simple, clean-cut apartment with a couple of personal pictures packed out on a shiny black modern grand piano.
The colour pallet for the living and dining area is white, black, and ocean blue and gives away no indication of whom the councillor is.
She happily greets Violet and the three of them stand on the balcony overlooking the city when the doorbell rings.
Her heart skips a beat at the thought of whom it might be, but she isn’t surprised when she looks into the eyes of her husband.
“Palian,”
“Azakras,”
“Dinner is served,” Violet breaks the te
