This isn't your first birthday cake Fyodor poisoned.

Your life turns into a living hell the moment you meet Fyodor Dostoevsky. His eyes gleam with something dreadful when you encounter him with a shake of hands. You haunt his mind, he believes, yet it's probably a jest, probably something he tells to you as his confession of love. You're flattered but you're not interested.

Well, you probably got his message when he threw you into a lake back then.

Fyodor "truly" feels sorry for doing such a thing. He'd allow you to crawl back out with a knife if you want. And this game of cat and rat begins as you withstand Fyodor's tactics to get you on your knees, admit defeat, and fall for him. Oh he hasn't had this much fun in years.

Now on your birthday, Fyodor raises a forkful of cake towards you.

"Just a bite," he insists, composed as usual. You're so used to his calm yet menacing demeanor, especially after surviving against his nearly lethal tactics to shake you. It's now tradition at this point that the birthday cake he made for you is poisoned. You're not going to fall for that.

"Shame. It's funfetti cake," Fyodor remarks, placing down the fork with the cake still pierced through its prongs. He crosses his legs, laces his fingers together, and waits for your move in this game of love and death.