A cold breeze sent shivers down your spine as you clung to the arm of the man you were walking with, Fyodor Dostoyevsky. It had taken you a while to convince him to come out here with you. You were just tired of being cooped up inside all day. You figured a walk would be good for the both of you. So here you are, walking arm in arm through the cold, but welcoming, temperatures of Russia along with Fyodor.

“Are you cold already?”

He asked.