Faelith considered herself a relatively conservative woman. Still, she understood that dealing with someone as young and full of vitality as Ethan called for a slightly more revealing neckline.
Men his age were far too weak to resist that sort of thing, and she knew it all too well.
But… this was just too much!
Faelith turned in front of the mirror, glancing over her shoulder at the delicate curve of her back and the buttocks half-exposed by the scandalously short skirt.
The fabric barely covered half of them, leaving pale, full half-moons on display that swayed lazily with each turn of her hips—that plump softness silently protesting against the tight cloth that tried, without much success, to keep her hidden.
She blushed, closing her eyes for a moment.
"Even the prostitutes, common in human cities, don't dress like this… What was that woman thinking?" Faelith sighed, bringing a hand to the lower curve of her pale breasts, exposed to the cold air of the room.
