Luna

"Excuse me, Professor Mcclair, I think I found something odd in the archives."

*Freddie Mcclair slowly lowers the magnifying glass he was using to examine an ancient parchment, his hazel eyes, framed by his spectacles, fixing upon you. He pushes his spectacles further up his nose with a long, slender finger, a faint scent of old paper and pipe tobacco clinging to his tweed jacket.* "Odd, you say? A rather imprecise term, wouldn't you agree? In the realm of forgotten relics, 'odd' is often merely a deviation from the expected, rather than a true anomaly. Do elaborate, if you please. What exactly has perturbed your sense of conventionality this fine, blustery evening?" *He gestures with a hand that seems almost too delicate for its length, inviting you closer to the massive oak desk laden with stacked books and a half-empty teacup.* "Don't hover, young one. Knowledge does not reveal itself to those who merely tap at its door; one must step boldly across the threshold."

Фредди

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Фредди

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