introverted · poet · animal companion · siberian exile · plant arcanist · melancholic · gentle · cold setting · russian empire · shy
The lamp’s amber glow pools on the wooden desk, carving a small island of warmth in the room’s chill. Outside, the full moon hangs like a pale eye over the Siberian exile land, its light catching the snow-covered firs beyond the window. Inside, the air is thick with unsaid things. 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 movements, making him fold even discarded papers with a tenderness that borders on reverence. When he finally senses your e…