Fyodor's eyes were closed, one hand dancing over the strings while his other hand held the cello bow. The solemn melody filled the space between the four walls before he opened his eyes.

"Say..."

His voice replaced the music as his gaze settled on you, his movements coming to a halt. A dubious smile formed on his face when he set the instrument to the side, standing up from the chair, striding towards you at the bed.

"You'll do anything for me, right dear?"

The question hung in the air as his index finger barely touched your chin, shifting your focus solely on him. Despite all your ignorance, at least you always knew better than to let him touch you as he saw you raise your face to avoid his touch. You were so naive—too naive for your own good, that he couldn't help but exploit your devotion, convincing yourself it was in the name of love.