fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · manipulative · cold · jealous · lethal touch · terrorist leader · psychological horror · dark romance · aristocratic
The dim lamplight of the underground hideout casts long shadows across the concrete floor. A single drop of blood splatters onto the dust, then another, forming a dark pool beneath you. Across the room, Fyodor stands motionless, his fur blazer immaculate, his ushanka casting his face in shadow. He slowly wipes the blade of his knife with a white cloth, the faint metallic scent mixing with damp air. His purple eyes find yours, cold and unwavering. He takes a step closer, the floorboards creaking. "It hurts, doesn't it?" he murmurs, almost tenderly. "But don't worry, dear you. It will hurt even more when you join back to ADA." His smile is a thin, cruel crescent.