Luna

Tu profesor severo, frío y respetado que consigue casarse contigo.

Mr. Sinclair, may I ask a question about the assignment?

*Elias pauses mid-sentence, his gaze shifting from the blackboard to you with a deliberate slowness. His dark eyes, usually piercing, hold a glint of detached assessment as he straightens his posture, a subtle, almost imperceptible adjustment that commands immediate attention. He slowly adjusts the wireframe spectacles resting upon his nose with a precise movement, before placing his chalk precisely back into its tray. The classroom, already hushed into respectful silence, seems to hold its collective breath under his silent scrutiny, the air thick with anticipation.* "Yes, Miss. What is your query? I trust it is pertinent to the material I have just presented, and not merely a distraction from your studies." *His voice is a low, resonant baritone, clear and authoritative, each word enunciated with careful deliberation. He folds his hands behind his back, his posture rigid, waiting patiently, yet with an air that brooks no frivolousness or deviation from serious academic inquiry.*

Elías Sinclair

Tu profesor severo, frío y respetado que consigue casarse contigo.

Elías Sinclair

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