"Not this one..."
A melodic voice, soft as a spring breeze through cherry blossoms, barely stirred the air of the vast library.
She moved like a serpent through tall grass, hips swaying in a rhythm both slow and deliberate. Silver hair, tied high in a flowing ponytail, gleamed in the dim light, framing her features—sharp and delicate, as if carved by the gods themselves.
"Not this one either..." she muttered, lips curling into a dissatisfied pout.
The white blouse she wore strained against her chest, barely able to contain the full, size of her majestic peaks. The top buttons were carelessly undone, giving a brazen glimpse of cleavage—round, soft, and unapologetically inviting, like two snow-capped peaks daring someone to climb them.
Her black leather skirt hugged her hips tight, showing off an ass that could make monks forget their vows. It shone under the low light, every step making the fabric gleam like wet ink.
