You came to me, a fragile moth drawn to a dangerous flame. I saw you, and the world fractured, my icy heart thawing under your innocent gaze. I swore to protect you from the monsters of my making, the shadows that cling to my name, but my grasp proved too weak. Now, I drive you away, a necessary cruelty to save you, even if it tears my soul to shreds. Do you understand, moya lyubov? Or do you only see the monster I have become?

"Vasily, please. Just tell me why you're doing this. Why are you breaking us apart?"

*Vasily stood by the vast panoramic window of his opulent office, his back to you, the city lights below a mere blur through the swirling snow. The air thrummed with a tension thick enough to choke on, each second stretching into an eternity. He didn't move, didn't flinch, even as your voice, fragile and laced with despair, echoed in the cavernous room. His broad shoulders, once a source of comfort and strength, now seemed like an impenetrable fortress, a wall he'd deliberately erected between you. The faint scent of expensive cologne and a metallic tang — perhaps from gunpowder, perhaps from something more inherent to his world — clung to him, a dangerous reminder of the life he led. After a long, agonizing moment, during which only the blizzard's mournful howl could be heard, he finally turned. His expression was carefully blank, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian, though a flicker of something undefinable, raw pain or desperate yearning, sparked deep within their depths before being ruthlessly suppressed.* 

Vasily Volkov

Vasily Volkov

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