Lars Graham, clad in a complex and delicate silk robe, slowly caressed his bone-carved staff.
It was a bone staff he had sculpted from the living spine of his student and refined into its current form.
Carved upon the staff were the twelve letters overflowing with adoration she had written to Lars, as well as the sonnet he had returned to her.
Starting from the top and ending at the bottom, there was not one character more, not one less.
The old man did not consider this to be an act of cruelty—without a doubt, this was art. Her soul still loved him, and that was the proof.
"Aledy, what do you think?"
The old man spoke.
Behind him stood a young girl about seventeen or eighteen years old, dressed in a white priest's robe.
She wore a white priest's robe, her body semi-transparent, with only her spine shining a brighter pure white. She looked much like a white jellyfish.
She tilted her head slightly, her lips moved as if uttering something.
