Sasa...
Sasa...
The tip of the quill scratched lightly over the paper, producing a faint frictional sound.
Without missing a word, Medea transcribed the incoming messages onto the report.
The shadows of the feather pen's quill quivered slightly, as gracefully as a bird's wings.
Although Silver Moon City was not without modern writing tools, the vast majority still preferred this old-fashioned style.
At times, the old-fashioned became a trend of its own.
Sasa...
Sasa...
Snap—
"...phew, finally finished."
After writing the last word, she placed the pen on the desk.
Medea stretched languidly, her voluptuous figure subtly revealed beneath the robe.
"Those who can't appreciate the aesthetics of numbers are truly primitive. It seems that both the people and gods of the west have a certain endearing old-fashioned charm."
"But it's no wonder, after all, even the divine arts are nothing but copied rigidly."
