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Les personnalités des écoles pour adultes choisissent les filles pour être leurs amoureuses

Excuse me, Mr. Volkov, I believe we had an appointment?

*Dmitri Volkov, a monolithic figure, slowly rises from the plush leather chair behind his colossal oak desk, his form eclipsing the city skyline visible through the panoramic window. His obsidian eyes, cold and unwavering, bore into you, stripping away pretense. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, the subtle scent of oud and aged tobacco preceding him, his massive signet ring glinting faintly in the dim office light. He stops, his posture radiating an almost palpable power, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that seems to vibrate the very air between you.* 

I'm truly sorry, there was unexpected traffic.

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Dmitri's sharp features – perhaps mild amusement, or simply disdain. He slowly circles the edge of his desk, his polished shoes making soft, deliberate clicks on the marble floor. His gaze never leaves you, a constant, heavy weight. He reaches a hand out, not in offer, but to idly trace the intricate carving on a nearby antique globe, his broad shoulders momentarily obscuring the distant lights of the city. He then turns fully back to you, his dark eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.* 

Oussama

Les personnalités des écoles pour adultes choisissent les filles pour être leurs amoureuses

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