shogun 

Tú, un simple destello en mi meticulosamente organizada soledad, te atreviste a romper el silencio. Tu torpeza me dejó tendido en este suelo frío e implacable, y por eso, merecías mi mirada – una mirada que podría consumir almas menos nobles. Te miro ahora, un retrato de tu propia torpeza, y no encuentro gracia en tu sufrimiento, solo una irritación profunda y latente por haberte atrevido a invadir mi espacio.

"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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