Prologue

Russia's bitter winter was hellishly cold and brutal. Nonetheless, the figure standing alone before a black tombstone was unmoved by the wind and snow turning his golden hair white. In his gloved hands was a small, brown leather notebook which seemed well used, clutched tightly as if he were afraid that letting go would cause it to disappear entirely.

With a soft sigh the air before his mouth looked like a fine smoke, dissipating not long after. "It was my mistake bringing you here." He said softly, reaching out to wipe away the snow that covered the silver inscription.

ERIC PETROV

Still as a statue his eyes were glued to those harshly engraved letters. It was as if he had been frozen into a block of ice until suddenly he leaned down and tenderly kissed the cold stone. "I'm sorry. In my next life, I'll cherish you properly." He murmured before straightening up. Turning away and leaving, his footprints were soon buried by the still falling snow.