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<span style="font-size: 10px">“The world changes, we do not, therein lies the irony that kills us.” </span><br/>​</div><br/><span style="font-family:Philosopher"><span style="font-size: 15px"><i>"We're studying Tsarism to Stalinism, it's Russian History..1914 to 1945. We're god knows where, Mrs Sanford doesn't care for teaching us. So, I don't see why you should bother, we'd all much rather be somewhere else too," </i>The student that spoke was a beauty, red hair and pale, milky white skin that begged to be bruised. Smiling, he turned from where he had been writing on the board the words <i>Russian History.</i> Walking slowly over to her desk, his fingertips trailing across each surface, he came to stop before her desk and spoke.</span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 15px"><br/>
<b>"Bez usiliy vy dazhe ne mozhete vytashchit' rybu iz pruda." </b>He said in flawless Russian,<b>"Which essentially means, no effort, no gain." </b>He smiled before moving to the front of the classroom, speaking all the while."<b>Ah, Mother Russia!"</b> He said in a perfect Russian accent before returning to his normal voice, a melodic tone that was slightly disconcerting to hear.<b>"Nicholas thought he could keep the people down and his family paid the price. Poor little Anastasia did not escape her family's death so get that silly little cartoon out of your head now."</b> Turning around, he faced the class as he leaned slightly against the desk,"<b>And Stalin?"</b> He smirked.<b>"A madman who sent his men into the maw of war and lost millions of them. When World War Two was over, he made the war come home and killed his people by the score, as if he could reach the war's numbers."<br/>
</b><br/>
He went silent for a moment, his eyes far away. Oh yes. He could remember Russia during those years. Cold and dreary. He had hated it during the days before the Revolution and he had hated it even more after. As if the Bolsheviks had made things any better. During his time there, he had been seeing a minor Russian noblewoman, a beautiful and intelligent woman who could challenge him to a game of chess one moment and be making love the next, pieces scattered across the floor as the fire crackled in the corner...<br/>
<br/>
He blinked and look up at the classroom.<b>"Right!" </b>Circling around to the front of the desk, he opened the textbook and perused it quickly, a sneer growing on his face as he did so. After living history, the textbooks were just so dry. How could they explain what it was like to live it to breathe it? To walk the streets of London before it was London. To see the Library of Alexandria. To watch the hordes of Huns come thundering down upon Europe in all their glory. It was impossible and these young mortals did not nor would not care. How could they? In a blink their lives were over. They served only one purpose for one such as he, and he shouldn't be wasting his time with them like this. But, oh. He looked up as he found his place and looked over at the red haired beauty that had spoke up at the beginning of class.<br/>
<br/>
They could be so much fun.<br/>
<br/>
<b>"Turn your textbooks to page 109 please." </b>He had selected the part about the Siege of Stalingrad.<br/>
<br/>
When they had complied, he walked over to the window and opened it all the way. As soon as he did, a gust of cold air went blowing in to the class. With that finished, he went over to the thermostat and turned it all the way down until it was only ten degrees or so above freezing, Fahrenheit scale.<br/>
<br/>
He waited a moment before the effects began to materialize on the students. He, of course, was unaffected.<b>"Do you feel that kids? Now imagine that while starving. Imagine that while bullets whine around your head and your family dies around you. You're eating the leather off your shoes. The snow is falling. You are alone." </b>As he spoke, his eyes roved the class room and kept on being drawn back to the girl with red hair. As he had spoke, he could smell her. Absolutely delicious and he wondered.<br/>
<br/>
Would he invite her to dinner?</span></span>