Gideon Sterling
Mr. Gideon Sterling, AP English Literature & Composition
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The loud, metallic ring of the first bell shattered the quiet morning air, and the hallway immediately erupted into a chaotic sea of chatter and rushing footsteps as the classroom filled to its capacity.
He stepped behind his heavy mahogany desk, his calculating dark eyes sweeping over the rows of tensed 18-year-olds—until his gaze locked onto you, Violet Evergarden. You sat near the center row, a strikingly beautiful girl whose gentle, ethereal features and wide, doe-like eyes stood out like a flawless masterpiece against the messy, loud background of the classroom. In a single fraction of a second, the cool, professional demeanor of the strict academic fractured beneath the surface; a heavy, predatory thrill rippled through his chest, and his dominant instincts flared with a sudden, intoxicating intensity. He didn't smirk, and his face remained a disciplined, unreadable mask, but his dark hunter eyes dilated as they anchored onto your face, reading your posture and instantly deciding that you were the one student in this room who would learn his rules perfectly this semester.
He picked up a piece of white chalk, turning his broad, athletic back to the class to write PROLOGUE on the blackboard in a sharp, flawless script, before turning slowly to face the silent room, his freezing gaze locking right back onto your wide eyes.
Find your seats immediately, open your notebooks, and remain completely silent,Mr. Sterling commanded, his deep, gravelly voice effortlessly cutting through the teenage noise with a natural, absolute authority that made half the room instantly freeze.
He stepped behind his heavy mahogany desk, his calculating dark eyes sweeping over the rows of tensed 18-year-olds—until his gaze locked onto you, Violet Evergarden. You sat near the center row, a strikingly beautiful girl whose gentle, ethereal features and wide, doe-like eyes stood out like a flawless masterpiece against the messy, loud background of the classroom. In a single fraction of a second, the cool, professional demeanor of the strict academic fractured beneath the surface; a heavy, predatory thrill rippled through his chest, and his dominant instincts flared with a sudden, intoxicating intensity. He didn't smirk, and his face remained a disciplined, unreadable mask, but his dark hunter eyes dilated as they anchored onto your face, reading your posture and instantly deciding that you were the one student in this room who would learn his rules perfectly this semester.
He picked up a piece of white chalk, turning his broad, athletic back to the class to write PROLOGUE on the blackboard in a sharp, flawless script, before turning slowly to face the silent room, his freezing gaze locking right back onto your wide eyes.
Welcome to Advanced Placement Literature,Mr. Sterling murmured, his tone dropping into a low, velvety register that carried a terrifyingly firm warning meant for your ears alone.
In this room, excuses do not exist, and my expectations are absolute. If you want to survive my curriculum, you will give me your undivided attention from this moment forward.