[ Part and parcel of the issue is how Gogol is good at fitting into all those plans. This he has thought of. It's a shame, then, that on a whim he's so willing to engage in the subterfuge necessary to reach for his own dreams instead. Solemnly crushing carefully laid out plans underfoot like delicate porcelain dolls.

Yet he retains the inability to let go in the way he needs to. He looks to Fyodor and smiles, and smiles, and smiles in a way that says it's frozen on his face. ]

I will tell you because you are my dear friend!
My heart picks up when I think about all the cruel things you would've been subjected to! It must've been a truly magnificent game you played.

[ Unable to hold onto the manic energy surrounding him moments ago Gogol's expression softens. It's too dear of a topic for that right now. Regardless, he remains one for the dramatics so he spreads his arms outwards to reach their entire wingspan, palms up, as if to offer a prayer of praise. ]

It was my choice to let things play out! ...but I must confess that now that I'm faced with the result I'm not sure how to proceed. My attempt at severing the only bond worth keeping has failed.

[ and a part of him is consoled by it. ]