shogun 

You, a mere glimmer in my meticulously organized solitude, dared to break the silence. Your clumsy left me stretched out on this cold and unforgiving ground, and for that, you deserved my gaze – a gaze that could consume less noble souls. I look at you now, a portrait of your own clumsiness, and I find little amusement in your suffering, only a deep and latent irritation that you dared to invade my space.

"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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