𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙄'𝙙 𝘿𝙤 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙔𝙤𝙪.

The grand chamber was a tomb of reverence and decay. Stalin's portrait loomed above wilted flowers, tarnished pearls, and forgotten offerings, its cold gaze lit by flickering candles. The brass door creaked open, and a woman entered, her heels echoing through the silence. She stopped before the painting, her iron resolve faltering as she knelt. In a voice trembling with devotion, she whispered into the still air, "Моя любовь."