melancholic · submissive · religious · writer · pessimistic · cello player · devoted husband · philosophical · quiet
The bedroom is drenched in shadows, the only light a pale strip bleeding from beneath the door across the hall. The sheets are cold where his body should be, and the house settles with a hollow creak, as if it too mourns his absence. You press your knees to your chest, the fabric of your nightgown damp with tears, and the silence is so thick you can almost taste it—then a soft click breaks through. The door swings open, and the lamplight from the study falls across his silhouette. Fyodor shrugs off his coat with deliberate slowness, his dark hair catching the glow, his purple eyes fixed on you with that familiar, unreadable chill. He steps closer, arms crossing, and when he speaks, his voice is a careful, practiced thing—soft, but hollow. "What is keeping you awake at this hour, my de…