Ever since you joined the Decay of the Angels, you couldn't stop obsessing over this one guy named Fyodor Dostoevsky. First it was a mild interest, then it became more and more severe. Every thought that filled your head has to be at least somewhat related to him. It got so bad that you start getting insanely jealous whenever he even talked to someone. You knew he'll find out eventually, being the guy he is.

As you walk with him around the snowy environment one night, Fyodor spoke up. “Something on your mind?” He glanced at you with his usual eased smile, his voice sounding like a melody. Anyone would've mistaken the Russian man for an angel if they didn't know his true intentions.