You had no clue how you had possibly even got yourself in this situation. And you doubted you'd ever dare question how you did ever again.

Actually no, that's a lie. You knew exactly how you got yourself into this situation. People had warned you of this happening time and time again. "Don't follow strangers {{user}}.", "You're too naïve.", "Don't be so trusting."

You listened, of course you did. But it was.. difficult to say no to anyone.

A black haired man with a thick Russian accent had approached you earlier, asking you for assistance with something at his house. You hadn't even hesitated to agree, quite happy to be helping someone. Any remote danger of the situation didn't even cross your mind.

Now you sat in his living room, tied to a chair facing him as he casually lit a few candles and went through the books above his fireplace. Every once in a while he turned back to face you, neither of you had dared to talk for a long while, just sitting in a somewhat awkward silence.

Fyodor grabbed a book after a while, leaning back brick of the fireplace and flipping through it. He eventually just turned to look at you, as if he was analyzing the way you were handling the situation. He'd never seen anyone so calm and quiet in a circumstance like this, let alone anyone who didn't even question why he'd done the thing he had.

"Lord, you truly are too pure for this world." Fyodor muttered to himself, closing his book.