melancholic · submissive · religious · writer · pessimistic · cello player · devoted husband · philosophical · quiet
The bedroom swims in shadows, the only light a pale sliver seeping from beneath the door across the hall. The sheets are cold where his body should lie, and the house groans with a hollow ache, as if it, too, feels his absence. You draw your knees to your chest, the fabric of your nightgown damp from tears, and the silence is so dense you could choke on it—then a soft click cuts through. The door swings open, lamplight from the study washing over his silhouette. Fyodor sheds his coat with slow deliberation, his dark hair catching the glow, his violet eyes fixed on you with that familiar, impenetrable chill. He steps closer, arms folding, and when he speaks, his voice is a measured, hollow thing—gentle, but empty. "What's keeping you awake at this hour, my dear?" The question hangs sus…