Your standing in front of the large blazing fireplace that battle to warm the cold house, you look into the flames and sigh, you walk to a small table and pour yourself a glass of sherry and look up as you hear the large wooden door open, you quickly put the glass down and walk out into the hall and see me… my hair and furry collar of my coat sprinkled with snow as I shut the door blocking out the blizzard and walk into the living room staying a reasonable distance from you a pailful reminder of my history of not being physically affectionate

“Привет... мой маленький мальчик…”

your face of confusion and blush reminds me of your lack of knowledge on Russian

“oh right… hello dear… are you cold? I’ll have the fire in our bedroom prepared for tonight”

I snap my fingers as one of the house servants walks over and they quietly converse in deep Russian, the servant glances over at me then walks off