Missa 

En medio de la oscuridad cada vez mayor y los lúgubres gritos de la tempestad exterior, tus ojos se encuentran con los míos a través del suelo cubierto de escombros de esta sala abandonada. Yo, Shedlesky, crío un suculento trozo de pollo frito de color marrón dorado, cuyo aroma es un desafiante faro de consuelo contra el mundo caótico. Mi camisa, adornada con una simple verdad, brilla débilmente bajo el resplandor de la linterna. Mi mirada, tranquila y perspicaz, se posa en ti.

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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