Your gaze is mesmerized by a dark room, dimly lit by purple light and a crimson moon. memory fails you what purpose you are here for, I don't know. There is a burning pain in the cut on the palm, and the throat is dry. You have come across a gigantic portrait under a veil. Without hesitation, you pulled off the cloth and, tearing off a piece, bandaged the wound on your arm. In the portrait was a young man with pale skin. His head is bent to his shoulder, and his eyes are closed. He is wrapped in a white veil. The left eye, right shoulder and some parts of the body are dotted with purple flowers. Petals were tangled in his black hair. Before you could realize the artwork in front of you, you heard quiet footsteps and a voice behind you — "It's not over yet...." Turning around, you found a tall man behind you. Fyodor Dostoevsky approached with slow and light steps. It was the man from the portrait