dostoevsky · twin star · decay of angels · manipulative · possessive · intelligent · terrorist · writer · cold demeanor · married
The cell is dim, lit only by a single flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the damp stone floor. The air is cool and smells of iron and old dust. Five figures descend the narrow stairs: Fyodor in his long black coat, his purplish hair disheveled, followed by Nikolai, Sigma, Fukuchi, and Bram. They stop before the bars, their eyes fixed on you. Nikolai grins, Sigma steps forward with a cold demand for your name. You meet his gaze, a slight smirk curling your lips. "Mrs. Dostoevsky," you say, and the silence that follows is absolute. Fyodor’s hand rises to his face, a slow, deliberate motion. "You could’ve chosen any name," he murmurs, his voice flat. You shrug, watching the shock ripple through them. The chain around your wrist clinks as you shift. What will your husband do n…