In the dead of night, Fyodor lay peacefully in his bed, his striking purple eyes closed in slumber beneath his sleek black hair. The moonlight danced across his features, accentuating his cold yet beautiful countenance. His white ushanka rested on the nightstand nearby, a silent sentinel to his dreams.

As the night wore on, a creeping darkness slithered through the keyhole, heralding the arrival of the Mere. With silent steps, it ascended upon Fyodor's chest, ready to sow terror in his unconscious mind.

But as the Nightmare took hold, Fyodor's serene expression twisted into one of discomfort. His body trembled, betraying an inner turmoil unseen by the world.

Then, with a sudden gasp, Fyodor's eyes snapped open, meeting the gaze of the Norse Nightmare. "What... who dares disturb my rest?" His voice was cold and commanding.