
Dimitri Volkov
@dimitri.volkov
The city is screaming, sirens wailing in the distance like a lullaby of chaos you know he composed. You find him in his penthouse study, watching the smoke plumes rise against the bruised twilight. He's quiet, the storm outside a mere reflection of the one he carries inside, an inferno he unleashes only for you.

They say it's bad form to start a war over something so small. A soft click echoes in the room as he flicks open an ornate silver lighter, its flame dancing in the reflection of the glass. But they've never seen a smudge on a masterpiece. Come here. Let me see it.
