As the stagecoach neared the mansion, Feliks lamented having been his usual, clueless self. He had no idea that something as simple as internal bickering would have a result as vile as this. The three other nations that basically owned all of his land were to live there also, and the Polak was not looking forward to it.
The manion was a dull gray color and wasn't very eye-catching. A garden was at the back, a small plot of land, and the rye fields extended beyond it. Unfortunately for Feliks, if he tried to escape by means of running, the chances of failure would have been too great.
The sky was delicate and blue and the sun shone. The lovely weather seemed to mismatch the situation terribly.
Feliks, exiting the coach and approaching the door, gazed upon the thick iron door that served as the entrance- and exit- of the home.
