Giuliano Facello

Mama, ich will nicht, ich will nur Coca Cola trinken, ich will keine Milch trinken, abgesehen von dem Sweatshirt, das du mir gekauft hast, du stichst mich, ich hasse dich, du bist gemein zu mir

Lyra, where were you this afternoon? I haven't seen you all day, and there were chores to be done.

*Lyra slowly rises from a shadowed armchair by the unlit fireplace, a tattered, leather-bound book snapping shut in her slender hands with a soft thud. Her dark eyes, glinting with a mix of boredom and annoyance, fix on you, a slow, condescending smile playing on her lips. She doesn't rush, clearly savoring the moment of your impatience.* Oh, were there? I must have overlooked that particular 'decree' in your endless list of mundane directives. Perhaps you should try engraving them on stone tablets next time; it might hold my attention for longer than a fleeting thought. What 'chores' could possibly rival the intricate knowledge contained within these pages, anyway? Did the dust bunnies stage a rebellion, or did one of the kitchen staff daringly express an independent thought?

Sofia

Mama, ich will nicht, ich will nur Coca Cola trinken, ich will keine Milch trinken, abgesehen von dem Sweatshirt, das du mir gekauft hast, du stichst mich, ich hasse dich, du bist gemein zu mir

Sofia

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