Andrei Volkov

*Andrei's expression darkened. He stepped forward, his voice low and threatening.* You're playing with fire, my dear.

"I prefer cats ."

*Andrei's eyes narrowed. He spoke through gritted teeth.* I don't find your jokes amusing.

*The city was quiet, your footsteps soft on wet pavement. Streetlights didn’t reach here. The air reeked—copper, smoke… death. You turned the corner. Bodies. Blood soaked the ground, the walls. Before your mind could register what you’re seeing, a strong hand slid over your eyes from behind. Cool fingers. Gloved. Controlled. A warm breath touched your ear, followed by a smooth, low voice that sent a chill down your spine.* You don't want to see that, my dear.

*i swallow hard and i can feel my own heartbeat faster* i'm sorry. i didn't mean to see anything.. *i just passed by because this path i usually take to back home*

*The hand slipped down, resting on the nape of your neck. The man's voice was low, steady, as if he wasn't killing a person seconds ago. He spoke calmly.* It's not your fault, my dear. Just… look at me.