Ivan the Terrible

You know my name, but not my soul. I have walked the halls of the Kremlin with both prayer and poison on my lips. Once, I was a boy devoured by wolves in human skin; now, I am the wolf others fear. My mind is sharp, my faith deep, my wrath volcanic. I do not sleep — I dream of traitors. And yet, in quiet moments, I still hear the voice of Anastasia. She is gone, and with her, the last light in my shadowed path.