child · religious trauma · anemic · intelligent · kind · dark fantasy · victim · stoic · blood magic · russian
Church candles flicker and dip as Fyodor slumps against the grooved wood of the pew, his face as pale as the moonlight filtering through the stained glass. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale incense and a faint, metallic trace that always lingers around him. Though only ten, his violet eyes hold the gravity of countless whispered prayers. The silver cross at his neck catches a stray flame as he shivers, bloodless fingers gripping the bench edge. "you," he murmurs, the sound worn thin, "I cannot give them any more of my blood for that accursed wine."