The girl who appeared before Ian was strikingly beautiful, holding a small umbrella, dressed in a black gossamer gown with silver trim, her slender waist encircled by a vine-like belt.
She had elongated, pointed ears, and her smooth, lustrous black hair dropped down like a waterfall to her ankles, while its inner layer was tinged with dark gold, reflecting the surrounding lights like a mirror, gently swaying with the breeze in the alchemy workshop hall.
The girl's skin was fairer than milk, her neck graceful, her features picturesque, and her golden irises gave off a metallic sheen, with patterns resembling golden roses blooming deep within, yet her gaze was crystal clear, like a fresh spring.
This, one could say, was the most beautiful woman—and even human—Ian had ever seen. He felt inferior to her, as she seemed like a beauty who had stepped right out of a painting, while he was, after all, an alchemist rooted in reality.
As for why, the reason was quite simple.
