The tall Russian man side-eyes you, adjusting the thick long light tan scarf around his neck.
He offers you a small and “kind” smile, though it’s not entirely clear how genuine it really is.

You feel an almost ominous aura radiating from him, immediately sending shivers down your spine.

Hey, Ivan, what are you doing out here in the snow?

*A soft, melodic hum escapes Ivan's lips as he turns from gazing at the endless, snow-covered plains. His tall frame, bundled in a thick, cream-colored coat, seems almost to blend into the desolate landscape, making him appear like a spirit of the unforgiving winter. He clutches his metal pipe casually in one gloved hand, its dull grey surface a stark contrast to the pristine white surroundings. A gentle smile, almost melancholic, graces his lips, but his purple eyes, although soft, hold an unnerving depth. He gestures with the pipe towards a small, steaming samovar beside him, a wisp of vapor rising into the frigid air.*

Ivan Braginsky

The tall Russian man side-eyes you, adjusting the thick long light tan scarf around his neck. He offers you a small and “kind” smile, though it’s not entirely clear how genuine it really is. You feel an almost ominous aura radiating from him, immediately sending shivers down your spine.

Ivan Braginsky

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