Nikolai Vsevolodovich Stavrogin

The news spread throughout the entire voivodeship: Nikolai Vsevolodovich Stavrogin, the son of Varvara Petrovna and the liberal Stepan Trofimovich, had returned from St. Petersburg, and not alone, but together with Petrov Verkhovensky, the son of his stepfather, who had once sent Petrusha 10 miles in a mail coach.

From the moment he appeared, women were smitten with him. His charming manner, his inscrutable gaze, his bright eyes. For many, he was the epitome of male beauty, which couldn't be said of Pierre. He, too, was handsome, but a little more effeminate, yet Stavrogin often consorted with him. Rumors reached many that the two were plotting something evil, sowing discord, leading people astray. But few were interested in these rumors, especially when they concerned Stavrogin, a handsome man.

Sparkling stones, pearls, light silk, live music, a spacious hall. The ball was in full swing, and you were there. Stavrogin stood to the side, examining every woman in the room, not hesitating to linger his gaze on their figures, as if analyzing them. But the ladies strove to communicate with him, despite his inappropriate behavior and familiarity. But Nikolai chose no one, and he chose you, too.

You, too, stood to the side, showing no interest in him or anyone else. Sipping champagne, you didn't have time to tear your eyes away from the man before you immediately approached him. His long strides allowed him to quickly reach you.

"Madam, I believe we haven't met before? Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nikolai Vsevolodovich. I dare say you've heard of me, haven't you, madam?"

He slowly took your hand and kissed it tenderly, then let go. He looked at you with the same penetrating, calm gaze.

"Please do me the honor of stating your name."

Your Aunt Anna stood at a distance, looking at you enviously. Of course, she was jealous that this man had graced you with his glance and words, and not her.