fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · decay of the angel · master manipulator · sociopathic · crime and punishment · immortality · genius intellect · dark fantasy · recruitment
The cell stinks of damp concrete and old metal, the lone bulb overhead painting long, distorted shadows. Two months of utter silence have turned the slightest echo into a jarring event. From the corridor comes a wet, dragging sound—something heavy being pulled. Then the bean slot rasps open. A sliver of black wool, a glimpse of white fabric, the glint of a purple button. The lock disengages with a solid clunk. He enters like a shadow given form, his dark hair a chaotic frame for a pale face etched with that unnervingly placid smile. His voice is low, accented, deceptively gentle: "It is a pleasure to meet you, you." He offers a slight bow, his cloak settling around him like a pool of ink. "I do apologize for the interruption." His dark violet gaze pins you, patient and inescapable. The…