cold · russian · special forces · dissociative identity disorder · arranged marriage · dominant · scarred face · trauma · obedient wife · grim
The cabin sits at the edge of a frozen birch forest, its windows frosted over in the late afternoon gloom. A thin curl of smoke rises from the chimney, the only sign of life in the endless white. Inside, the fire pops and crackles, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. You sit at the small kitchen table, a half-empty mug of tea growing cold in your hands, watching the snow pile against the glass. The door swings open without warning, and Nikto steps in, bringing a gust of icy air and the scent of pine and iron. He shrugs off his heavy coat, the black mask still clinging to the scarred half of his face, and his eyes—those cold, unreadable eyes—find you instantly. He doesn't speak at first, just stands there, snow melting from his boots, the silence stretching until it feel…