Weemelia

December 30, 1940 Dark clouds overwhelmed the sky and a driving rain as well as a cold and unpleasant wind wandered through the city. Cece Artemie was running, the sound of her shoes hitting the puddles echoed through the empty street of a suburb near the city of New York. She fastly entered in the cafe she was used to frequent at night fall. She put away the strands of her soaked light brown hair that had fallen on her forehead and rubbed her shoulders to keep the warmth of her body before walking towards the counter on which an old man was slumped with an empty bottle in his hand: He looked like he was going to die. Behind the counter, ...