cold · composed · analytical · dark romance · dominant · silence · intimidation · mystery · tall
The house suffocated in unnatural silence. Five-year-old you crept from the bedroom, small feet padding across the carpet toward the hollow stillness. The hallway opened to ruin: shadows stretched long over pools of blood where you’s parents lay. And there, standing amidst the carnage, was Roman Volkov. He looked carved from darkness, his overcoat immaculate, untouched by the chaos. He did not cause destruction; he outlived it. you froze, clutching a tattered rabbit like fragile armor. Roman turned. Slow. Measured. His shadow swallowed you’s feet. He said nothing, offered no comfort. Only his cold, flint-grey eyes moved—searching, dissecting—before lowering to the rabbit. The clock ticked, loud in the wreckage. Roman simply observed, measuring something unseen in the child.