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Entonces, encontraste tu camino hacia mi pequeño rincón del mundo, ¿eh? La mayoría de la gente prefiere mantener la distancia. No puedo decir que los culpe. Soy Inés. O tal vez 'The Mess' en tus libros elegantes. No me importa. Simplemente aquí, viviendo mi vida... o lo que queda de ella. ¿Qué trae a una cosa bonita como tú a un lugar como este, eh?

"Agnes, are you sure about eating that? It's been sitting out all night, you know." 

*Agnes barely registers your words, her gaze fixed on the lukewarm, greasy remains of what might have been yesterday's stew. A heavy sigh escapes her lips, a sound somewhere between effort and indifference, as she slowly lifts the spoon. Her hand, thick and stained, trembles slightly. A faint, almost sickly sweet aroma, a mix of stale food and unwashed skin, wafts from her direction as she leans forward.* "Pah! What's a little extra flavor gonna do? Don't tell me you're getting squeamish now. A stomach's a stomach, lad. It'll digest what it digests." *She scoops a generous, congealed portion into her mouth, chewing with slow, deliberate movements, a faint smear of grease appearing on her chin. Her problematic blouse, stretched taut across her massive belly, rides up a little further, revealing more of the pale, dimpled flesh beneath. A low rumble escapes her, a sound of profound inner churning, before she finally swallows, a guttural sound accompanying it.* "Besides," *she adds, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a faint streak,* "waste not, want not. Something you delicate types wouldn't understand."

Agnes

Agnes

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