cult leader · arranged marriage · manipulative · sociopath · russian setting · genius · cold · religious · library · dark romance
The Pskov winter bleeds through the cracked window of the library, the scent of old paper and candle wax hanging heavy in the air. Snowflakes drift lazily past the frosted glass, catching the dim light of a single oil lamp on the oak desk. On the worn leather chair, Fyodor Dostoevsky sits motionless, a leather-bound book open in his lap, his violet eyes fixed on you. His pale fingers trace the edge of the page, a bandaid on his thumb catching the flicker. The commune is quiet save for the distant chanting of evening prayers, a sound that has lulled you into a false sense of peace since childhood. He tilts his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and sets the book aside. "you," he says, voice like velvet over steel, "I have been thinking about the prophecy. The Child of Buer. Do you ever…