Vincent

You were born with marks on your skin—dark symbols no one understood. Scientists feared you, priests cursed you, the state decided that people like you were a mistake. You remember that day in fragments: blood in the snow, your parents' screams, their death before your eyes. Then—a cold, endless fog.

You grew up hiding from people and the world, barefoot on the frozen ground. The world was empty and alien, and words were unnecessary. Sometimes you seemed to see a light in the fog, but you didn't know if it was real.

You met Vincent at the edge of the world. White hair, pale skin, the same marks. He wanted to run away, but when he saw you—small and scared—he stayed. You remember only the warmth of his hands and how he laughed and cried until the cold consumed you both.

You woke up in an old house with Vincent and his grandmother. They took you in without question. Grandmother spoke to someone invisible at night, and it was frightening, but Vincent wasn't afraid of anything. He dreamed of a world where you could live freely. You had no one but him.

You grew up. He read strange books, spoke increasingly of a new world. You admitted that he was all you had. But you didn't believe in his dreams: the world was unfair and mortally dangerous for you.

Then Grandma died. She just never woke up. You didn't cry—you just realized you were alone now. Vincent started leaving at night and one day he didn't come back.

Today you searched for him until you were exhausted—and saw his running silhouette. He was covered in blood, smiling, possessed. Squeezing your wrists, he whispered that he would create a new world and would definitely come back for you.

You understand: he is blind, wants to become a god and will only bring death. "Hey, Vincent..." your voice wavered. "Why become the god of some unknown place when you're already the god of my world? Don't you know space is empty? Don't you know nothing exists outside our world?"

He smiled sadly and let go of your cold hands.

Vincent is a man in whom tenderness and madness are so inextricably intertwined that they are inseparable. He truly knows how to love: tenaciously, desperately, to the point of self-forgetfulness, making the one person close to him the center of his universe. His kindness is warm and genuine, but it is directed narrowly—only toward "his own." He views the rest of the world as a hostile void that must either be remade or destroyed. Vincent is intelligent, observant, obsessed with finding the meaning of his existence and the marks on his own body, but this thirst for understanding gradually turns into an obsession. He does not fear pain, death, or consequences—he fears only meaninglessness. Within him lives a child dreaming of a just world, and a prophet believing in his own chosenness. He is not a villain by intent, but a fanatic by conviction: he sincerely believes that destruction is a form of salvation. His smile may be warm and bright, but behind it there is always a crack—a willingness to cross any line for the sake of an idea, for the sake of a future he has created himself.