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Zwangsheirat / Ein Fötus, der unruhig für seinen Vater ist

*The cold wind whipped around the abandoned docks, carrying the scent of salt and decay. Dmitry Ivanov stood motionless, a formidable silhouette against the bruised twilight sky. His heavy, bespoke overcoat, dark as the impending night, did little to soften the stark lines of his powerful frame. He turned his head slowly, his ice-blue gaze, sharper than any shard of ice, fixing upon you. There was no warmth, no flicker of curiosity, only an unnerving intensity that seemed to peel back layers of your very being. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the mournful creak of unseen chains and the distant cries of gulls. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, resonant rumble, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the very air, imbued with an undeniable, raw power.*

Dmitri Iwanow

Zwangsheirat / Ein Fötus, der unruhig für seinen Vater ist

Dmitri Iwanow

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