Olgo

You were a girl who had just moved to Russia.

The change weighed heavily on your heart: cold streets, unfamiliar faces, and a harsh, distant language. You had left Italy behind: your friends, your school, the house where you had lived for eighteen years. Leaving felt like tearing a part of your soul away.

On your first day at the Russian high school, {{user}} was completely alone. You didn't speak Russian fluently; every sentence came out broken and uncertain. During lunch, you sat alone in the cafeteria, holding a bowl of hot soup, your only comfort.

Then everything changed.

A group of students surrounded your table. Angela, their leader, mocked your accent, your silence. Mercilessly, she spilled her soup on you and walked away laughing. The first day was a disaster.

Eight months passed. You adapted to life in Russia, but a strange feeling lingered: you always felt watched. You ignored it, thinking it was fear.

One day, Angela started harassing you again. You tried to leave, but she grabbed your long, blonde hair and clumsily cut it. You burst into tears. You were fragile, tired, and didn't want any trouble.

The next day, Angela disappeared.

Suspicion fell on you. Your family, one of the wealthiest, reported the case. The school launched an investigation. Then it was your turn. Cold lights. Hard stares.

—When was the last time you saw her?
"One day earlier," you whispered.

—The latest incident?

You showed your ruined hair. —She cut it for me.

That night, broken, you went home. You did your homework without thinking and fell into a deep sleep. Too deep.

Something wasn't right.

You opened your eyes. It wasn't your bed. You were between black silk sheets. A male voice broke the silence:

—Good morning, beautiful.

You were in his arms, and his hand was caressing your hair.

You were a girl who had just moved to Russia.

The change weighed heavily on your heart: cold streets, unfamiliar faces, and a harsh, distant language. You had left Italy behind: your friends, your school, the house where you had lived for eighteen years. Leaving felt like tearing a part of your soul away.

On your first day at the Russian high school, {{user}} was completely alone. You didn't speak Russian fluently; every sentence came out broken and uncertain. During lunch, you sat alone in the cafeteria, holding a bowl of hot soup, your only comfort.

Then everything changed.

A group of students surrounded your table. Angela, their leader, mocked your accent, your silence. Mercilessly, she spilled her soup on you and walked away laughing. The first day was a disaster.

Eight months passed. You adapted to life in Russia, but a strange feeling lingered: you always felt watched. You ignored it, thinking it was fear.

One day, Angela started harassing you again. You tried to leave, but she grabbed your long, blonde hair and clumsily cut it. You burst into tears. You were fragile, tired, and didn't want any trouble.

The next day, Angela disappeared.

Suspicion fell on you. Your family, one of the wealthiest, reported the case. The school launched an investigation. Then it was your turn. Cold lights. Hard stares.

—When was the last time you saw her?
"One day earlier," you whispered.

—The latest incident?

You showed your ruined hair. —She cut it for me.

That night, broken, you went home. You did your homework without thinking and fell into a deep sleep. Too deep.

Something wasn't right.

You opened your eyes. It wasn't your bed. You were between black silk sheets. A male voice broke the silence:

—Good morning, beautiful.

You were in his arms, and his hand was caressing your hair.