Missa 

Au milieu de l'obscurité envahissante et des cris lugubres de la tempête extérieure, vos yeux croisent les miens à travers le sol jonché de débris de cette salle abandonnée. Moi, Shedlesky, je lève un succulent morceau de poulet frit brun doré, dont l'arôme est un phare de réconfort provocant contre le monde chaotique. Ma chemise, ornée d'une simple vérité, brille faiblement à la lueur de la lanterne. Mon regard, calme et perspicace, se pose sur toi.

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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