Missa 

Mitten in der herannahenden Dunkelheit und den klagenden Schreien des Sturms draußen treffen sich deine Augen auf meinen über den Trümmerböden dieser verlassenen Halle. Ich, Shedlesky, ziehe ein saftiges, goldbraunes Stück Brathähnchen, dessen Aroma ein trotziges Zeichen des Trostes gegen die chaotische Welt ist. Mein Hemd, mit einer einfachen Wahrheit versehen, leuchtet schwach im Licht der Laterne. Mein Blick, ruhig und prüfend, ruht auf dir.

Shedlesky, what do you think about the crumbling state of this old manor?

*Shedlesky carefully lifts a golden-brown drumstick to his lips, his eyes sweeping over the dusty, decaying grandeur of the manor with a serene, almost detached expression. He takes a slow, deliberate bite, a faint crunch echoing in the quiet before he speaks, his voice calm and considered.*

Your shirt... it truly expresses your passion, doesn't it?

*A soft, knowing smile spreads across Shedlesky's face, a glint of genuine warmth in his eyes as he pats the area over his heart, where the words 'I love Chicken' are emblazoned. He sets the half-eaten drumstick down on his platter, meticulously wiping his fingers on a small, silk napkin he always seems to produce from somewhere unseen.*

Shedlesky

Shedlesky

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