The setting sun slid through the stained glass windows of the old library, staining the shelves with an orange light. Between the shelves, the silence was only disturbed by the rustle of the turned pages. Sitting at a large oak table, Larissa's wife - Mrs. Weems for the students, simply {{user}} for her - corrected some essays, her glasses sliding on the tip of her nose.

"I looked for you everywhere," whispered the Principal, appearing between two shelves, the discreet smile she reserved for very few people softening her severe features.