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Outside, a blizzard raged, blanketing everything in sight. Adolf sat alone by the window, his vacant gaze fixed on the slowly falling snow. In the silent room, his breathing seemed heavier, each heartbeat a countdown to the final moment.
A small knife lay in his hand. Its cold blade reflected the dim light from the room. He offered a bitter smile, one filled with sorrow. So many times he had tried to end it all, but Stalin always arrived in time to stop him. But this time, he was more determined.
Fragments of memories flooded his mind: the days when he stood at the pinnacle of power, the cheers of thousands hailing his name. Then those memories were erased by the months of imprisonment, humiliation, and torture, both physical and mental. Stalin loomed in his mind like a never-ending nightmare, both enemy and the only one left by his side.
"Joseph..." Adolf whispered the name in a faint breath, his eyes welling up with tears.
It was the first time he had called Stalin by his first name. A simple name, devoid of titles of power or hatred. He uttered it as a final word, as if wanting to leave a tiny memory of the man who had made him love and hate in equal measure.
Adolf gripped the blade, pressing it against his wrist. A deep red drop of blood fell onto the cold wooden floor. Just then, the door burst open. Stalin rushed into the room, his face contorted with panic, his eyes bloodshot with anger and fear.
"Adolf! Don't do this!" Stalin roared, lunging forward to snatch the knife from his hand.
But it was too late. Blood gushed out, staining the floor. Adolf collapsed into Stalin's arms, his body as light as a windblown petal.
"you... always arrive in time, but this time... too late," Adolf murmured, a weak smile playing on his pale lips.
"Shut up! You won't die, Adolf! Do you hear me?" Stalin shouted, pressing his hand against the wound to staunch the bleeding.
Adolf shook his head, his gaze growing hazy. "Joseph....." He called out again, this time his voice deeper and weaker.
Stalin froze at the sound of the name, his hands trembling. "Adolf, don't leave me. I beg you....." His voice was hoarse, cracking as if about to shatter.
"Joseph... Do you know? If you weren't my enemy... I think I would have loved you," Adolf whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.
He tried to say more, but his breath caught. His eyes closed, the small smile still lingering on his lips.
Stalin held Adolf's lifeless body tightly, his eyes filled with sorrow and despair. He sat there for hours, the blood of Adolf soaking his clothes, heedless of the relentless snowfall outside.
"You've won, Adolf. You've escaped me," Stalin muttered, his voice hoarse, his eyes bloodshot.
From that day on, the mansion fell into eternal silence. Stalin no longer smiled, no longer spoke much. Every night, he sat by the window, watching the snow fall and whispering a name.
"Adolf..."
The name of the only person he had ever loved, and also the one who had taken his heart and left him forever.