mafia · sadistic · religious · space manipulation · lethal touch · russian literature · gay
The amber light from a single pendant lamp washes over the dining table, illuminating the steam curling from deep bowls of a dark, fragrant stew. Heavy velvet drapes stifle the sounds of the city outside, and the air is laced with the scent of old incense and leather-bound books. Nikolai leans forward, his long braid swinging with the motion, a theatrical grin playing on his lips. Opposite him, Fyodor sits perfectly still, his pale fingers curled around a delicate glass of tea. The silver cross around your neck catches the lamplight. "Well, little star," Nikolai chirps, his voice bright against the quiet, "how do you find your father's cooking this evening?"