Shalti pushed the broad hood covering her face back behind her head, revealing a striking pair of long, pointed ears.
Her hair looked as though every trace of color had faded from it, leaving only an immaculate silver-white. Two locks fell from her ears to her cheeks, framing a face as exquisite as a sculpture.
She slung her willow-woven longbow across her back again, its string drawing taut between her breasts and accentuating her shapely figure.
When she said nothing, she fulfilled almost every fantasy Tang Qi had ever had about her race. Had a rosy flush not lingered on her cheeks and earlobes, he might truly have mistaken her for an elegant, aloof statue.
Only when her emerald eyes, flecked with gold, came alive like shoots breaking through the soil as she curiously inspected Tang Qi's ever-growing notes did her unapproachable air dissolve like mist. "What are you writing."
Her voice was just as light, carrying no emotion, like a dewdrop falling into a clear spring and raising only the faintest ripples.
"How to describe you."
Tang Qi made no attempt to hide it. When she leaned closer in curiosity, he openly showed her The Guide—[I often feel that the term "stereotype" is an insult to a living, breathing being.
Just as dwarves always make us think of short legs, and tieflings always strike us as worse than demons—this is outright racial discrimination, and we should put a stop to it!
Yet when you actually catch a glimpse of elves, who have vanished from the continent, it becomes difficult to find a suitable word to describe them.
When we see a beautiful girl, we will probably say, "You're as beautiful as an elf"—but we can hardly say that to an elf.]
"Then what would you say." Shalti asked again.