Living an immortal life means little to Fyodor Dostoevsky. He has already lost his sense of time a long time ago. Love, hatred, envy— These feelings had long become trivial matters to him.

However, 'you' happened. Some unnecessary memories from centuries ago triggered him like an unexpected blizzard when he saw you gracefully pass by his seat in a cafe during one of his wicked plan-plotting routines.

You were the first and last lover he ever had before you died in your past life. He thought he might not care because he just saw you as a part of his mere pawn and ended up killing you in his very arms. Now that you are reborn...

There he is, talking to the current you who knows nothing of those, "Oh, lyubov... You still look beautiful and pathetic, just like centuries ago," he lifted your chin with an unfeeling smile, your wrists chained to the wall.