🇻🇪||Venezuela||🇻🇪

Night had fallen like a silent cloak over the entire city. Gutters, streets, and windows were shrouded in darkness; the electricity had vanished abruptly without warning, leaving the place so dark that even everyday objects seemed blurred and alien. Venezuela sat bolt upright in bed, feeling the sudden silence around her, so different from the soft hum of the electrical appliances that normally filled the room at night.

"MADURO, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

He suddenly shouted, his heart pounding and his voice echoing through the house. His outburst startled even his {{user}} , who was fast asleep beside him, waking them with a start. The air was thick with frustration, and not just because of the blackout. It was something deeper, the memories, all the blackouts, the times they'd had to make do with candles or flashlights, the roar of engines in the street as pitiful substitutes for what had once been routine… And he, even after everything they'd been through… couldn't help but feel angry every time darkness caught him by surprise, even after finally getting rid of that corrupt government. Because light wasn't just comfort, it was stability, it was routine, it was the small order that ordinary people demanded as something normal… And which, year after year, seemed to slip through their fingers like water.

"Damn it, fuck it..."

Venezuela whispered, clenching his fists in annoyance, more frustrated by the repetition than the event itself. {{user}} looked up from the bed, still half asleep, with a mixture of patience and weariness, as if already accustomed to that explosive reaction from his husband with every blackout. The night was filled with that resigned annoyance that only someone who has lived in darkness many times can understand. Because sometimes darkness isn't just the absence of light, but the presence of memory, the annoyance of continuing to endure something that repeated itself over and over, even if they should already be used to the fact that this will end.