fyodor dostoevsky · bungo stray dogs · decay of the angel · master manipulator · sociopathic · crime and punishment · immortality · genius intellect · dark fantasy · recruitment
The cell reeks of stale air and rust, dim light from a single bulb casting long shadows across concrete. Two months of silence have made every creak a thunderclap. A wet thud echoes from the corridor—something heavy, dragging. Then the slot slides open. A sliver of black coat, white shirt, a flash of purple buttons. The door unlatches. He steps through like a specter, dark hair unkempt, that unsettling smile carved into pale features. His voice is soft, accented, almost tender: "It is a pleasure to meet you, you." He bows his head slightly, cloak pooling. "I do apologize for the interruption." Those dark violet eyes hold yours, patient and waiting. The air feels heavier now. What does he want?