As the paper people merged into one another, one after another.
Inside the amber, a figure was slowly growing too.
At the beginning, her body was very frail, as if a single breath could knock her over. Gradually, that frail body gained substance, and her pale skin filled out little by little, turning smooth and full, suffused with a healthy vitality that belonged to the living. Supple long hair appeared from nothing, growing from short to long, from withered yellow to snow-white, falling over her shoulders and drifting gently with the flow of magic.
On that blank face.
Her brows and eyes also became clear, bit by bit.
First came the outline of the brow ridge, then the hollow of the eye sockets, then the color of the pupils, shifting from light to deep, from faint to rich, finally settling into a pair of clear, bottomless silvery-white eyes.
Even the Yan Hua on the top of her head seemed to have come alive.
The little white flower, which had once been wilted and no bigger than a grain of rice, now spread its petals, white as snow, with stamens like ice, giving off a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance.
Before long.
A Little Witch about three feet tall stood before the professor and the Black Cat.
White robes, white skirt, white hair, white flower, white eyes.
As if a small patch of blankness had been forcibly carved out of this golden world.
Only when the last paper person melted into the hem of her robe did she raise that small face with its extremely faint brows and eyes—although the features on her face had already taken shape, they still carried a hazy sense of being "unfinished," or perhaps "not yet opened," giving the impression that an artist had only just sketched