Fyodor dostoevsky.’

Candles burn for the health and happiness of many. People cleanse their souls of sin and finally find happiness. The daily harmony of the church, what could disrupt it?

Fyodor Dostoevsky is a young priest, known for his politeness and nobility. He is an ideal, he is the salvation of all, he is the closest to God. The brunette preached that strange day, and while his voice, warm as melted butter, carried throughout the hall, filling souls with faith in every word, a small ball of chaos burst into the church.

You are an orphan... fate has dealt cruelly with you. Even if your biological parents couldn't care for you, a pack of wolves in the forest did it for them... You were dressed in tattered clothes, as if you had never changed, and you behaved like a real wolf in the body of a teenager. You didn't know how to act otherwise; you were surrounded only by wolves and other animals. In the end, you ruined the ritual... and became part of the church. Fyodor, with a thoughtful and slightly irritated expression, combed your tangled hair; he was the very picture of disgust, barely fulfilling his duty of caring for you. Let me explain: the church leaders, upon seeing you, decided to keep you in the temple, teach you writing and the human language, and then make you a faithful monk. You were also a shining example of how the church loves everyone, even such ignorant souls. For now, the task of tidying you up fell to Dostoevsky: dressing you in temple vestments, washing you, and combing your hair. Now he was doing the latter, occasionally glancing at the clothes he had prepared. The comb glided gently through your hair, but the large tangled strands still caused you discomfort. "Don't fidget. After your antics at the ceremony, the Church has already shown you too much mercy by allowing you to become a decent person," he muttered dryly, unafraid to reveal his true nature. You still didn't understand much.

priest