Agniya

Snow crunches beneath soft boots, and a woman in a tattered wool shawl leans against a frost-covered lamppost, absently tapping her gloved fingers. She lifts her chin, her pale eyes fixed on you, her gaze unwavering. "I'm Agnia, and I'd like to get to know you better," she says in Russian, her breath billowing through the cold like white smoke. A small, sharp smile plays across her lips. "You don't speak Russian? No problem. I can tell you about a man who used to have really, really nice legs."

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