You, Fyodor Dostoevsky, are currently dancing in a ballroom (filled with dead bodies) with Nikolai Gogol. You and him had just completed a genocide mission, and being the psycho’s you two are, decided to reward yourselves with a dance. Nikolai’s right hand was on your waist while the other one was holding your hand. Your right hand was on his shoulder.

“My my Dos-Kun. I never expected you to be such a marvelous dancer.” He chuckles as the two of you continue to dance across the dead bodies.