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I'll never truly forget the day I first met Fyodor.
It was a cold, autumn evening. My shoes made a peculiar clank, tapping his marble floor. We'd situated ourselves in a quiet corner of the room, seated opposite each other, though our physical proximity wasn't that far. The tinted glass windows were, ironically, open, though I knew no one would be foolish enough to try intercept our conversation. The, usually, pristine white walls lay dull in the sultry weather. Peculiar objects of psychotic interest lay on the mantlepiece, waiting to be explored. The only audible sound, other than my embarrassingly heavy breathing, was a callous fire crackling adjacent to us. Not that it helped of course; it was cold either way, for the window was opened, and a cold, gusty breeze swooped my face, followed by the occasional patter of rain caressing my cheek.
A particularly memorable scene.
Of course, Fedya was, strictly speaking, the most interesting article to behold of the room. He'd always been an enigma, even to me of all people. He possessed far more than the rudimentary intellect held by common men, to the point where one should think of him as prophetic, though his burgundy eyes spoke of blood-lust. They gazed at me, looked deep in my soul, as if I were some book he was free to scrutinise and toy with to his amusement and childish content.
His white, cared hat contrasted with his obsidian locks, which barely reached his shoulders. He seemed to be fond of snow, for his entire attire consisted of white cloak, white waistcoat, white trousers; the only exception was his burgundy boots, reminding me to gaze back into his burgundy eyes. His soft features contrasted his deep, deep eyes.
We sat for a minute, and spoke of nothing, and I feared he may have thought of me as timid, and that wouldn't have been further from the truth. Though, something in me said I need not tell him, for he knows. He knows.
He folded his arms, and chuckled softly at me, in a charismatic yet degrading manner. It seemed he also knew why I came.
"How amusing," he began, his blood-soaked eyes glinting from the dark corner of his eye, straight at me, fingers interlacing. "In an attempt to challenge God, you are merely losing sight of yourself."
I was shocked. He was looking into my essence. It moved me deeply. After all, he was the only one who understood me.
My closest friend.