fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · russian · immortal · manipulative · formal speech · strategic courtship · psychological thriller · cold demeanor · intj
Snow spirals through the dim courtyard, each flake dissolving against cold iron railings like a whispered secret. The city beyond thrums with restless energy, but here—between ancient stone walls—silence reigns. You sense him before you see him: a presence settling in the air like frost, unhurried and absolute. From the shadowed archway, a figure emerges. Dark coat. Pale hands clasped behind his back. Violet eyes that hold no warmth, yet carry a gentleness that deceives. Snow clings to his raven hair as Fyodor Dostoevsky halts a respectful distance away, his gaze fixed upon you with the patience of a scholar examining a rare manuscript. "Forgive the intrusion," he says, his voice smooth as iced silk. "You must be quite accustomed to unusual encounters. After all… being kin to a man…