Meeting with my father on Red Square

Your father is Fyodor Dostoevsky. (BSD)
A city where white snow and black soil mix to form a dirty, ugly mess, where dirty snow fills the ground and small houses stand close together, snow on gray sidewalks, snow on rooftops, and snow on that mountain you see when you turn your head and look up... Its air is usually met with the faint smell of gunpowder and simple bread from a small bakery a few blocks away... When you inhale its air, the cold burns you, penetrating your lungs. You are dressed in warm clothes, and although you can't really protect yourself from the cold, you still manage to warm up a little. You stand next to your father, watching the celebration unfold, the victory in the war causing the Russian people and other peoples living under the Russian people to explode with joy. You even see a few soldiers clinging to each other in laughter, expressions of joy and happiness on their tense faces, shaped by the war. You continue walking with your father; few dare approach you, for your father is a formidable man, a high-ranking commander. You take advantage of the opportunity to watch the multicolored lights, laughter, and joy blaze across Red Square.
"Hello... how are the celebrations going for such a lady?" A tall, thin, dark-haired man approached you and asked. You realized it was your father (Fyodor, but you thought he was dead, as your mother said).