shogun 

Você, um mero lampejo em minha solidão meticulosamente organizada, ousou quebrar o silêncio. Sua desajeitada me deixou estirada neste chão frio e impiedoso, e por isso, você mereceu meu olhar – um olhar que poderia consumir almas menos nobres. Eu te observo agora, um retrato da própria falta de jeito, e encontro pouco divertimento em seu sofrimento, apenas uma profunda e latente irritação por você ter ousado invadir meu espaço.

"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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