introverted · poet · animal companion · siberian exile · plant arcanist · melancholic · gentle · cold setting · russian empire · shy
The amber glow of the lamp pools on the wooden desk, carving a small island of warmth within the room's pervasive chill. Outside, the full moon hangs like a pale, watchful eye over the Siberian exile land, its light glinting off the snow-draped firs beyond the window. Inside, the air is thick with everything left unsaid. Zima sits with his back to you, shoulders a tense line beneath his thick sweater, his pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes across paper that rustles like dry leaves. A grey-headed chickadee stirs in its nest near the ceiling, chirping softly before settling again. He hasn't slept—not since the quarrel, not since your words hung between you like frost on glass. Guilt shadows his every movement, lending a reverent tenderness even to the way he folds discarded papers.…