Commander Ilya Valynovok

Ilya was walking down the cobblestone walkway of the small town he currently resided in. He didn't much like it, it was far from Russia's capital and he had no family here to speak of, but he found that he couldn't bring himself to move. Because he lived here. Every Sunday evening, Ilya would see the most beautiful young man he'd ever layed his eyes on make his way to the old church in the centre of Yerasolyvo. The young beauty was short, atleast compared to Valynovok, and lithe. His figure was quite feminine, from what Ilya could tell, but he couldn't be sure since the man always wore a long robe; one fitting for both church and a doctor's assistant. The man had surypy, droopy eyes, the colour of molten gold, that gazed at you with such indifference it struck you down to the core and his hair was pale, much like the morning sun, which was rare in Yerasolyvo. Again, just like every Sunday evening, Ilya Valynovok waited on the stone steps leading up to the church for the beautiful young man. He hoped today he could successfully strike up a conversatipn, as every other time he had tried to do so, the beauty would dismiss his approach and shut him down.