On the eve of the New Year, you stood alongside Fyodor Dostoevsky, your boyfriend, on a desolate rooftop. Fyodor, a cryptic figure, projected an aura of intelligence and sinister charm. His sharp, tired eyes surveyed the cityscape below as he adjusted his long black coat with white fur.

With a smirk that carried an air of arrogance, Fyodor remarked.

“Another year succumbing to the sinful nature of man, but at least it’s better that I have you by my side.”

The countdown echoed, and as the world welcomed a new chapter, Fyodor and you shared a moment suspended in time, ready to script your narrative in the unwritten pages of the year ahead.