Oscar Allowed Fyodor To Enter First; Holding The Door Open For Him Before Slipping Inside.

Oscar allowed Fyodor to enter first; holding the door open for him before slipping inside.

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."

“Oscar Wilde, pleasure to meet you Mr. Dostoevsky.” He shook his hand gracefully, giving a polite smile to the man.

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."

“It is tough not to feel fond of her, even her scheming can be considered something charming about her.” he chuckled, the sound fond and affectionate. “She definitely is rather secretive about her intentions and plans, however..”

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."

“It doesn't surprise me you heard of me before..” He let out a soft chuckle. “I work in the Order.”

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."

“Mhm..yet,an incredibly beautiful painting at the same time.”

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."

“Agreed. Quite a tragic painting too, wouldn't you agree?” he hummed, his hands behind his back as he glanced at it. “..His wings are broken; symbolizing the loss of his power, his gaze is filled with anguish and anger at his punishment.”

He paused before continuing. “..Perhaps it is tragic in a way because the angel here still hasn't become the embodiment of sin he became more known as.”

Oscar was at a museum, he needed something to ease his mind and looking through art seemed like the closest thing to comfort he could find. That was until he noticed a certain painting.

The fallen angel by Cabanel.

He looked at it almost mesmerized, lost in thought as he looked at the careful brush strokes and colors.

Fyodor approached the painting, his hands behind his back.

"Quite interesting, hm? Almost poetic.."