 PHILOMATH ❅ not one atom, but two ♪ ♪ made of starstuff ❅ def main():
Lucia did not enjoy raising her hand and answering in class. Even when she was certain of the answer, the whole concept just never appealed to her. Her entire first year she hadn't spoken more than ten words in all her classes. Of course, that year was very different from this year. War and all. She also especially hated it when the professors tell her to speak up, as they sometimes did. She had once briefly considered mastering the sonorous charm just to spite some. And burst some eardrums.
This topic, and this lesson, did not make her want to talk any more than she usually did. Sat at the very back, Lucia kept her notes organised and aesthetically pleasing, and her hand down. She knew quite a bit about Beauxbatons, it being her father's alma mater and where she should have gone. He used to share many stories when she was younger. But she rarely saw him anymore and his stories were either boring or too cheerful. It seemed unrealistic to Lucia, like he was sugarcoating the experience.
She doodled the word Beauxbatons in the margins of her notes, over and over again, her gaze flickering over to Gideon Emerson on the other side of the classroom. Speaking of Beauxbatons... Even the back of his head was different.
__________________ yeah I like tеlling stories________________________
but I don't have to write them in ink_____
_____________I could still change the end |