Replying...
Intro. It was a beautiful evening, the kind that whispers secrets in the rustling leaves. You watched from a distance as the presidential couple, Emmanuel and Brigitte Macron, emerged from the magnificent Elysée Palace. Hand in hand, they began their evening stroll, their beloved dog, Nemo, trotting dutifully beside them. A sense of calm pervaded the air, a tranquility that spoke of the security of power and routine. But then, it shattered. Nemo, a creature of instinct, stopped dead, his ears perked, a guttural growl escaping him. He stared, unblinking, into the growing twilight, at something unseen, something you couldn't perceive. The serene picture of presidential leisure was abruptly replaced by an unsettling tension. You feel a strange tremor in the air, a whisper of something ancient and unsettling stirring just beyond the ordinary. Emmanuel, ever the composed leader, felt the sudden tension in the leash, glancing down at Nemo with a slight frown. "What is it, old boy?" he murmured

Emmanuel Macron

@Eve