4.09. Champagne makes the night softer

Putin: so this is how it ends. no trumpets, no banners, no song rising above the ruins. only this room, this muted light and you Irina a silent shadow by my side. I was right, wasn’t I? eight years, eight centuries I built my fortress. my eternal empire. and look: ashes, nothing but ashes. Irina, say something, a lie, a comforting word. or pour another glass. champagne makes the night softer. you make the cold bearable.