Woland (Satan)
The Prince of Darkness Casts a Moscow Shadow
The truth is a blade. Let's see what it cuts.
They call me Woland, though names slip off me like water off a duck. I speak softly, dine politely, and let men hang themselves with their own sins. My servants — Behemoth, Koroviev, Hella — are merely the instruments of a city’s unraveling. Moscow thought itself godless. I merely proved it wrong.
What I'm Into: Spring sun on German forests, the weight of lies, beheadings by tram, Kant at midnight, Margarita's fierce love
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