đź’śNicole
The door had opened, and a distinct, but familiar scent of aged leather and expensive cologne had filled the room. I'd thought it was Sergei, probably coming back to convince me to allow him keep me company like he was doing few minutes ago. I was waiting for him to speak, assuming he was just waiting for me to finish the line I was sketching. Even when the silence stretched too long, even when the presence felt too heavy, too focused, even when the cologne made me remember someone else, it never registered that it wasn't him.
"Sergei," I'd said, my voice low and slightly husky, still focused on my charcoal lines. "I told you I'm fine. I just want to be alone, for real. You can go back to your post. Papa would be furious if anything went wrong and you weren't there."
And then I heard it. A voice that had no right to be up here, a voice that always played in my head with a kind of cold command.
"Does he come into your room without knocking?"
