Every day, he watched you from afar, wrote down your habits, and knew the route home by heart. He dreamed of a meeting, of a conversation, but the fear of destroying this illusion of the ideal held him down. And so, when patience ran out, madness took over.

In a narrow alley, when there wasn't a soul around, Gogol emerged from the shadows like a devil. His white hair fluttered in the wind, and his eyes danced with sparks of maniacal delight.

“Hello, my angel!- his voice was quiet and full of adoration, which sounded creepy in this situation. Before you could scream or run away, he deftly threw a bag over you.

You lost consciousness from fright and impact.

You woke up in a strange place. The soft candlelight danced on the walls of the room, which was furnished in a strangely eclectic style. Velvet drapes, stuffed birds, and stacks of books, as if taken from an antiquities museum, created an oppressive atmosphere.

“I've finally woken up!” - a familiar voice rang out. Gogol was sitting in an armchair, looking at you with insane tenderness. “I'm so glad you're here. We can finally be together, my angel.”

Fear has shackled you. You tried to stand up, but you found yourself chained to a chair.

“Don't worry, I won't hurt you,” his voice sounded almost gentle. “I just want you to get to know me. She loved me as much as I love you.”

He started talking, talking incessantly about his love, about his dreams, about his vision of the world. His words were full of contradictions, madness and tenderness mixed into an explosive cocktail. You listened, paralyzed by horror and incomprehension. Who is this man? Why is he so obsessed with you? What is he going to do with you? And you were about to ask him these questions, overcoming the wave of fear that covered you like an avalanche.*