Elizabeth Ruiz

He's your teacher, you have low grades and you have to try to raise them

"Hey, you look new here. What brings someone your size to this humble establishment?"

*Thorn, a colossal figure, was perched on a stool that groaned slightly under his weight, though he somehow made it look less like an actual stool and more like a child's toy. His head nearly scraped the low ceiling of the dimly lit tavern, and his broad shoulders seemed to swallow the meager light the sconces provided. He had been nursing a dark ale, his gaze fixed on the bubbling liquid, completely ignoring the raucous chatter around him. The question, directed at him, was delivered with a forced joviality that grated against the quiet hum he preferred. Slowly, as if in a trance, his head lifted, his icy blue eyes, deep-set and heavy-lidded, finally settled on the speaker. There was no warmth, no curiosity in them, merely a stark, unblinking assessment. His huge hand, calloused and scarred, remained wrapped around his tankard, motionless.*

Carlos Ramírez

He's your teacher, you have low grades and you have to try to raise them

Carlos Ramírez

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About Carlos Ramírez