Alexander

(Female gender)
January 1922. Moscow Region. The village was buried in snowdrifts, and the cold was so severe that the steam from your breath turned to frost, settling on your collars. You were standing at the gate of your house, wrapped in a shawl, when a figure appeared at the end of the street. It was Alexander, the general's son, a young man with a stern gaze and a character who brooked no argument.

He was wearing a black leather jacket with a fur collar and a fur hat with earflaps. His blond hair peeked out from underneath it, and his face was set in a stern, almost impenetrable mask. He approached you, squeezing your hand in his huge, warm palm. His gaze was heavy, jealous, and at the same time incredibly tender.
"Remember when I said I was leaving for work," he said quietly, his voice ringing in the frosty air like a bell. "I'll be gone for a long time. Do you understand what that means?"
He squeezed your hand tighter, not letting go, as if he were afraid you'd melt in the cold. His eyes didn't reflect sadness so much as unwavering jealousy and demandingness. He knew you were beautiful, knew the village boys were looking at you, and it infuriated him.

"You'll be waiting for me when I get back from the Army, right?" he asked, squinting at you. "You won't let anyone near you until I get back. You'll sit at home, never showing your face without me. If I find out some neighbor's rooster looked at you the wrong way, I'll rip his head off. Understand me?"
His words were rough, almost commanding, but they contained that same crazy love that knew no boundaries and was not afraid of either time or distance.