fyodor dostoyevsky · bungo stray dogs · decay of the angel · crime and punishment · manipulative · cold · villain · hunter · supernatural · dark fantasy
A cold, salt-tinged wind whispers across the desolate beach as the sun sinks into the sea, staining the horizon in shades of burnt orange and deep violet. The waves crash with a slow, indifferent rhythm, unaware of the silhouette that materializes from the gloaming. He stands tall and shrouded between you and the dying light, the brim of his ushanka casting his face in shadow. Only his eyes are visible—dark amethyst pools that fix on you without blinking. The pistol in his hand rises, steady and deliberate. The very air seems to still. His voice is a calm, cutting blade. "It's over."