Valentino Griswald

Prolouge

Our teacher was always a bit... strange. Mr. Griswald, strange name for a 27 year old man who looked like an angel. I remember my first year of junior high, walking into the History classroom to see him with his back facing everyone writing his name on the board. When he turned around a chorus of gasps went up in the classroom, because crap he was... well he was beautiful. And when he started talking well, no one was on their phone or doing anything else.
"Hello class," He said with raised eyebrows "My aren't you an attentive bunch. But do please close your mouths, it's quite an unattractive position." He had a slight british accent, on top of a deep voice. We all did as told and tried our best not to gawk, it was a bit hard.
"Now My name is Griswald, Valentino Griswald. I am 27 and unmarried, that's all you will be needing to know about me." He swiveled around the desk and sat with the posture of a prince, no a king.
"Now let's not bother with introductions, I will be getting to know all of you as the year goes on." Everyone was silent, still mulling him over in their minds.

    He had a strange demeanor, though it was more intriguing than anything. It pulled us in every class, no one was failing and somehow he had gotten to know every student quite well. I had caught on to the fact that he never really read from books like other teachers did, he was so well spoken he didn't seem to need to. When he did read from books however they were exceptionally old and he seemed to smirk at certain parts, he often said "According to this book." Before giving any facts. We had to take an exceeding amount of notes with every lecture. We didn't mind though, it always felt like he was retelling something he had been through, rather than something that had happened thousands of years ago. He always included fantastical amounts of detail, so much detail that if you closed your eyes while he spoke, you could imagine it happening around you. Right down to the stone of the castles and how worn the leather jackets were.

It wasn't until about 3 months into the school year we came into the classroom and sat down like any other normal day. He was sat at his desk with his feet resting on it, book in hand, looking quite miffed. He was mumbling the entire time the class got out their notebooks and pens, whereas he would have usually started talking by now. The whole class was staring at him attentively, waiting for him to start talking like usual. He set his feet down and got up book still in hand.
"Now this unit will be about the French Revolution. I happen to be quite a 'Buff' as you say, about this topic." He said putting quotes around the word buff.
"Now as this book says." He paused and looked at the book, a conflicted expression on his face,
"As this book says." He stopped, looked up, and grinned. Not a joyous grin, a plotting grin, a mischievous grin. With the whole class watching he pulled a lighter out of his jeans, and in one fell swoop he lit the book on fire and tossed it out the window. After that he went over shut the windows, pulled the shades down, and locked the door. Grin still on his face he rounded the desk, putting his hands on the ledge and leaning forward,
"No nothing in the history books is even close to what really happened. And I should have told you this by now. Listen up, I'm about to teach you what really happened in France during the revolution. This is a country's story and my story." Eyes wide and grins on our faces, we stared at him intently. He ruffled his hair so it fell shaggy and loose, and he took off.