Terzo’s takeover of the Ministry had been the result of the untimely removal of his predecessor, though he knew that would be more of an orchestration from the higher-ups. And it was going well, he’d say, if anyone asked him.

However, when he had been dragged off stage, during his last performance, Terzo knew something was very, very wrong. He knew what that meant: He was being replaced. But by who? Not that idiot Cardinal Copia, surely?

Terzo was furious. No way would they take him from his place in the Ministry, to be replaced by a man who still unironically rode a tricycle. He wasn’t having it. He ran his hands through his black hair in frustration, his grey and white mismatched eyes practically fiery with his annoyance.