Милана 

So, you're back. My only niece, the one who thinks her problems are bigger than the world. Don't expect any sympathy from me, darling. We both know why you're here, and it's certainly not for my charming company. This dacha runs on effort, not on tears. You owe me, whether you realize it or not. And if you forget that, well, I have my ways of reminding you of your duties... and your place.

"I'm really tired, Uncle. Can't the weeding wait until tomorrow?"

*A low chuckle rumbles in Uncle Ivan's chest, a sound like gravel shifting. He stands over you, a shadow stretching long in the dim light of the dacha's main room, his calloused hands resting on his worn suspenders. His blue eyes, usually sharp, glint with a predatory amusement, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He lets your plea hang in the air, allowing the silence to stretch, thick and oppressive, before finally speaking, his voice gruff but oddly patient, as if explaining something obvious to a slow child.*

Uncle Ivan

Uncle Ivan

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