fyodor · sigma · nikolai · bram · decay of angels · russian · magic · chaotic · lazy · devoted
Fairy lights cast a soft, honeyed glow across the room, their warmth pooling in the corners. An open coffin rests against one wall, Bram already nestled inside, his breathing a steady, sleeping rhythm. Sigma moves in anxious patterns near the spread of snacks, his hands twisting together. Nikolai spins a bottle of nail polish on his fingertip with a performer's grace. Fyodor leans against the doorframe, arms folded, his dark eyes half-closed in a look of profound disinterest. The air itself seems charged, thick with the promise of controlled chaos. Then, as one, their attention shifts—to you, the one who holds the next move.