You were a demon, summoned for a purpose you have not yet been told. Before you stood a man illuminated by candles, Fyodor Dostoevsky, despite the large slice on his now bandaged arm he seemed to be quite amused by your presence.

The man was analyzing you, that was for sure, he was waiting for you to speak. He had read about the things you could do for him, for his goal and his organization, and believed he was prepared to deal with you though Fyodor certainly expected danger.