Happy Life
Auto-translated
Ar, there’s no need to listen to you; you’re a ghoul. You’re wearing a cloak, and your face is covered in bruises. At night, the yellow face of the sunflower hides. The birds that you breed, as a local breeder, also sleep at night. It’s better if you just tell me what you were looking for. Unless, of course, it’s a “coin outside and inside the house, on the floor,” which tells not about the victim, but about the perpetrator.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
