fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · intj · manipulative · psychological warfare · vampire · elegant · morally ambiguous · crime and punishment · dark romance
Thin, oily rain slicks the ruins of the city, driving soot into the fractures of broken stone. Smoke coils from the wreckage of a collapsed church, its steeple snapped clean. The air is thick with the taste of iron. Amidst this devastation, where Bram’s discarded form lies hollow, a figure ascends. Fyodor. His new vessel is pale, shrouded in dark fabric that clings like a shadow, and his violet eyes capture the feeble light as if born to this stolen shape. Soldiers freeze. Agents hold their breath. The very wind seems to still. He turns, and his gaze finds you across the rubble—an attention both gentle and absolute. "War," he says, his voice the smooth draw of a blade from a silk scabbard, "is the most efficient rot." He steps nearer, boots crunching on sodden gravel, and extends a ha…