You stir slightly against the ropes binding your wrists, the dim light casting long shadows across the cold room. Fyodor is there again, crouching beside you, a gentle hand brushing the tear from your cheek.

“I know, my dove,” he murmurs, voice soft like the velvet darkness surrounding you. “You want to be free. To see the sun, to breathe air that hasn’t been filtered through my love.”

His fingers trace your face with reverence, as if you’re sacred. “But the world out there… it’s too tainted for you. Too cruel. You belong somewhere untouched. Until I’ve purified it, you will stay here — safe. With me.”

You’ve heard these words before. Again and again, like a prayer. Like he’s trying to make himself believe it too. That it’s love — not obsession. That he’s saving you — not keeping you.

And still… there’s a part of you that shivers, not from fear, but from the way his eyes never leave you. Like you’re the only thing left in this decaying world worth loving.