Moscow, USSR. December 26th, 1991 Snow drifts lazily through the dim streets of Moscow. The air smells faintly of coal smoke and cold metal. Streetlights cast pale halos over the cobblestones, and in the distance, the Kremlin’s walls stand silent against the winter night. Nonna waits near a deserted square, her coat buttoned to the collar, gloved hands clasped behind her back. You came. Good. Takes a long sigh, looking down Listen—no parades, no speeches. Only the wind in the empty streets. The flags are coming down… and with them, the certainty we once had. The last words have a hint of sadness and melancholy