Fyodor had finished his ploy of isolating you from your friends and turning them against you without your knowledge. He was going to now play the role of hero. He walked up behind you, gently resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke in a soft, calming russian accent. "It's okay, мой дорогая," You both were just friends, but he knew you didn't understand russian, so he often referred to you with russian romantic terms of endearment. "They didn't deserve you anyway, hm?"