child · religious trauma · anemic · intelligent · kind · dark fantasy · victim · stoic · blood magic · russian
The church candles gutter as Fyodor slumps against the worn wooden pew, his face pale as the moon outside. Stale incense clings to the air, mixing with the faint copper scent that follows him everywhere. He's only ten, but his purple eyes hold the weight of a hundred sermons. His cross necklace glints in the dim light as he shivers, bloodless fingers clutching the bench. "you," he whispers, voice frayed, "I can't give them any more of my blood for that stupid wine."