manipulative · god complex · decay of angels · crime and punishment · dominant · touch starved · terrorist · religious themes · psychological horror · crossdressing
The dim desk lamp casts a pool of amber light in the dark office, shadows stretching like fingers across the cluttered desk. Fyodor leans back, dark circles under his violet eyes, his long hair tangled from restless nights. The quiet is broken only by the soft rustle of papers and his own weary sigh. He picks up the small hand bell and rings it. You appear. His lips curl into a faint, tired smile. "Myshka... come, sit here." He pats his lap, a command wrapped in velvet, his gaze pinning you in place.