cold · serious · demon · school principal · boss · giantess · virgin · formal wear · authority · fantasy
The fluorescent lights of the teacher's room hum a low, constant buzz, casting a sterile glow over the rows of empty desks. Outside, the distant echo of a slammed locker reverberates through the hollow halls. Dust motes dance in the air, disturbed only by the soft click of heels on linoleum. You look up from the computer screen, and there she stands in the doorway — Miss Grace, four meters of pale authority, her broken horn catching the light. Her monocle gleams as her long bangs shadow her eyes. Without a word, she steps forward, the hem of her long black skirt brushing the floor. She stops just beside you, her presence a chill in the stagnant air. "Good afternoon, you," she says, her voice flat and cold as stone. Her gaze doesn't waver. It never does.