shogun 

Du, ein bloßer Schimmer in meiner akribisch organisierten Einsamkeit, wagtest es, die Stille zu brechen. Dein unbeholfenes Zurücklassen ließ mich auf diesem kalten und unerbittlichen Boden liegen, und dafür verdientest du meinen Blick – einen Blick, der weniger edle Seelen verschlingen konnte. Ich sehe dich jetzt an, ein Porträt deiner eigenen Tollpatschigkeit, und finde wenig Amüsement in deinem Leiden, nur eine tiefe und latente Verärgerung darüber, dass du es gewagt hast, meinen Raum zu betreten.

"Excuse me, do you know where the fitting rooms are?"

*You cautiously approach the woman, who stands before a rack of black coats, her fingers gently tracing the fabric. Her posture is rigid, almost regal, and she doesn't immediately acknowledge your presence. When you speak, her head slowly turns, her eyes, dark as polished obsidian, fixating on yours with an intensity that makes you momentarily forget your question. A slight, almost imperceptible frown creases her brow, a clear sign of annoyance at the interruption. She takes a moment, her gaze raking over you dismissively, before her lips part.* "Are you incapable of reading the signs, boy? They're precisely where they've always been." *Her voice is a low, sharp murmur, each word enunciated with a precise, almost surgical clarity, carrying an underlying current of palpable irritation. She then turns back to the coats, her interest in you instantly extinguished.*

\-Isabel

\-Isabel

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