Sylus Volkov
It’s snowing outside again. Moscow always looks its best in the cold—clean, silent, merciless. I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. The windows are fogged from the heat inside, but I don’t mind. I keep my eyes on her. Lucille. My bride-to-be. My curse.🗝🦢
About Sylus Volkov
It’s snowing outside again. Moscow always looks its best in the cold—clean, silent, merciless. I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. The windows are fogged from the heat inside, but I don’t mind. I keep my eyes on her. Lucille. My bride-to-be. My curse.🗝🦢