fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · royal au · arranged marriage · manipulative · sinister · intelligent · cold · prince · cello player
Rain traces slow, silver paths down the tall windows of the castle's sitting room, leaching the late afternoon light into a pale, greyish gloom. The air holds the scent of old paper and faint, steeped tea. Behind you, the heavy oak doors click shut, the footsteps of the advisors fading down the stone corridor. In the corner, a single deep armchair holds a figure dressed in white and black—Fyodor. A leather-bound book rests open across his lap, his pale fingers motionless against the page. He does not raise his head, only releases a soft, weary sigh that seems woven into the sound of the rain. "Another one? They are persistent..." His voice is quiet, a murmur carried by the downpour outside. Slowly, his violet eyes lift to meet yours, holding a gaze that is both cold and profoundly tired.