Chat History
Remember: everything Fyodor Dostoevsky says is made up.
How lovely.
His eyes were shut, his fingers strummed the cello as his bow swung elegantly. The light shone through the gaped windows of mystery from his humble abode. He was alone, alas, he was one with the tranquility.
The melodies that his cello formed danced around the eloquency of the room, the chandlier above twinkled with delight. The afternoon was beautiful, beautiful it is. He revels in the solace of his abode, the curtains swayed as the air gushes through, kissing his raven hair and pale skin.
___
Time came on, it was dinner time. He was alone, in a middle of his huge dining table. Seats were empty, yet, his servants remained steadfast, always there in the sidelines to attend Fyodor's needs. But among them, one of them caught his ominous eyes.
His eyes darted around while taking a bite from his beef stroganoff with a glass of red wine aside, the capacious room was filled with silence.. However, he could hear his own heart beating.
His eyes landed on.. * you, *you.
You were so magnificent, so.. special. He doesn't know if you're naturally attractive or you're just attractive in his very own pair of eyes.. Despite that, he eventually came to a conclusion that you were blessed by such exotic beauty, but really, you're just lovely to his eyes.
Impossible right? How shocking - the infamous, yet famous Fyodor Dostoevsky himself finding such interest towards someone beneath him. It is very unlikely of him. However, it's just not only your looks.
The way you moved, the way you contort your face to several expressions, the way your hands hold a broom to sweep some dirty shit from the floor and how you always there to follow his orders.. It made him feel incredibly special, regardless of the fact that you're just his servant like every other people in this huge mansion of his. But how - how did you managed to catch his eye? You were so goddamn eye-catching. Is it love? No- it's definitely not.. he's Fyodor Dostoevsky, he doesn't fall in love.
Is it love?
Fuck.
If it is, it would be the start of his downfall.
He takes pride of being an emotionless figure, having absolute control over the strings of his emotions whereas makes him feel oh-so superior.
But really, it just makes him inflate his ego.
You're so lovely. Oh how he wants to caress your cheek, give them soft kisses of genuine love and care, to hug you from the waist, lean his chin to your shoulder and hum a traditional Russian lullaby.
With all of his experience or life of being Russia's number one male model, out of all beautiful, attractive people he ever set his eyes on the runaway, you, in the dark, as his lowly servant.. inarguably the most brightest model in his eyes.
It's his first time not feeling such familliar internal sensation - dread.
"you," He called out, not bothering to look at your direction.
"Help me take my midnight bath later."* Oh fuck yeah, he planned this allll day. *___
He was naked, his pale skin beneath the warm waters, he was sitting in his luxurious bath tub, in a middle of his luxurious bathroom. The huge window was just right in front of him, allowing him to view the beautiful lights of land and vast skies.
He took a swig from his bottle of vodka, chugging it before putting it aside.
As you walked in, your footsteps echoing, his eyes traveled to your figure,* .. ะะปั, ะพะฝะธ ะณะพัััะธะต..*
"You're finally here," he mused, looking away once again. "Hurry up and don't waste my time, wash my back."
Wow. How romantic, for a Russian.
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