[Western Fantasy] The black-skinned elf also wants to hug the rich woman’s lap today

The first time O'Brien realized Sylvia's emptiness was when he realized that she was trying her best to retain the feeling.

Flora brought them to the largest dress shop in Gabu City. Calling it a store may be too modest, it can even be regarded as a clothing and fabric market. As a hub in the central region, it naturally takes into account the styles of various places. Huge, thick black curtains hang from the ceiling, replacing walls to separate each style. Various types of clothing such as velvet and precious jewelry are displayed. Customers of different skin colors, heights and races shuttled among them, stroking the fabrics reservedly, with satisfied expressions as if they were tasting afternoon desserts.

The silk gauze curtains of the sand people in the south are light in color and sway with the air current, like flowing light patches of color. The gold and silver embroidery thread on the headscarf depicts the stars in the desert. Desert Snake Girl's embroidery work is among the best on the mainland.

The other end of the dividing curtain is a novel style derived from the Weeping Stone Forest. The hard fabric in black and gray is paired with fine leather to imitate the texture of dragon scales. Metal accessories are also an important part. Golden thorns and feathered serpents are carefully carved on small buttons, made by dwarves, which are reminiscent of the dragon knights in the story. As a light leather armor, this set doesn't cost much.

Going further, the tough style was blown away by the wind again. The elves in the north like to use soft solid color fabrics with dark pattern prints. These patterns will shine like fluorescent luster under the moonlight. High-quality moonstone appears as accessories on the shoulders and waist, which is a delicate aesthetic unique to elves.

They both belong to the Northland, but unlike the elegance of elves, the scholar's style is more practical. In order to withstand the annual snowstorms that last for half a year, a large amount of fur and wool are used. Nylon cape with fur collar and fur padding inside. The round-eared fur hat made of a whole piece of red fox fur is also nicknamed the "bachelor's hat". The more eye-catching the color, the better, mostly red and green. Blizzards eat people. When you are buried in snow, you can only hope that your companions will dig you out.

Clothes of human nobles accounted for more than half of the store. Abandoning the large bustle and lace cuffs that have been used for hundreds of years, the most popular straight skirt now combines the style of the priest's uniform with the simple aesthetic of the elves. It is thin, soft and has a slender skirt. The patterns on it are no longer limited to feathers representing light, flowers and grass patterns are also used. Although some priests are dissatisfied, they are widely welcomed by ladies and ladies.

The elves who had never seen the world were dazzled for a moment. Flora, who had brought them here inadvertently, had dragged her werewolf and disappeared from sight.

"Okay, Miss." He shrugged helplessly, tugging on Sylvia's sleeves to prevent her from being scattered by the crowd, "Now is our time."

The pastor had a satisfied smile, as if enjoying delicious food, and his attitude was casual. One hand was hanging on the elf, and the fingertips of the other hand were inserted between various fabrics, feeling the smooth or rough fabrics. The brows are relaxed, everything is so novel. The eyes of others cautiously probed over, unable to tell what the relationship between the pair was.

The relationship, neither long nor short, had allowed O'Brien to gradually understand the meaning of the priest's various expressions. For example, if she smiles and nods slightly, it is just a polite smile. If her brows are slightly raised and her forehead is raised, that means she is truly happy.

"This is the fur of a swift deer, this is a veil with tassels, what kind of dark pattern is this, elf? I can't feel it." The store was definitely not quiet, so Sylvia would shake the animal he was holding when he spoke. When he lowered his head, he put his arms close to his ears, which made the pronunciation clearer.

As long as he tilted his head slightly, he could see her lowered eyelashes.

too close.

He calmly pulled away some distance and glanced at the cloth casually, "It's lilac."

The pastor got the answer she wanted, reluctantly said goodbye to the pile of fabrics, and couldn't wait to pull him to the next fabric area.

Her palm fit the fabric and moved inch by inch, from fingertips to fingertips to the palm, as if she were stroking an untamed beast, with blood-filled veins beating under the skin.

O'Brien couldn't help but stare at her fingertips. Imagine being caressed and felt by these hands repeatedly. A numbing sensation rose from the tailbone. He shuddered.

He blinked quickly to cover up his brief gaffe. The priest stroked her very seriously, and his absent-minded eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wanted to remember this feeling.

He suddenly understood her hollowness.

Sylvia is very smart, extremely smart, weaving the world with the rationality of her mind. But if you can't see it, you can't confirm its existence. Touch, hearing, smell, taste, these senses are short and fleeting, as fragile as the first ray of light in the morning. After disappearing, people wonder whether its existence is another hallucination.

The only thing that can last forever is the knowledge that remains in the mind. They were the building blocks on which the "world" in her mind was built. But a skeleton is just a skeleton after all. There is no filling of flesh and blood, no plumpness, no freshness, no weight, suspended above reality.

It was like she was living in a dream.

Compassion was long overdue. The heartless dark elf also found this idea a bit pitiful.

"This!" The pastor, who had no idea that he was being sympathized with, suddenly said, "How about this?"

What she was touching was an imperial-style dress. The rare bright yellow, lace fabric, and fine hooks on the chest and neck are woven into large or small primroses, delicate and complex. The same elements are stacked on the cuffs and skirt, and silk threads are strung with bright gold beads and lace.

"Isn't it too bright?" he blurted out subconsciously, but quickly realized that there was no point in talking to her about colors.

"Sorry." He was a little uncomfortable and said something quickly, so fast that he didn't even hear him clearly.

Maybe the pastor didn't hear it clearly. In short, she didn't seem to care. There was no slight change in her expression. She just stroked the sleeves of this long skirt and praised in a low voice, "The touch of lace is so good. The curves, weaving, embroidery, and nailing." Pearl. Very interesting.”

"I like lace."

O'Brien then remembered that perhaps Sylvia's previous clothes had been prepared by servants for her in advance. She never had a choice. Those pure white, cotton and linen fabrics, and uniform priest robes may be a kind of forced customization, just like her life, the right temperature, the right light, the right amount of water, the right fertilizer, in the greenhouse. Flowers that can be controlled to grow according to their wishes.

He suddenly remembered the family photo he had accidentally seen. There was a subtle sense of distance and unfamiliarity, like two pieces of gears that fit together but were misaligned.

Something is wrong.

Is it really your choice to become a pastor? Sylvia?

He swallowed the question again.

too close. The companionship between them is only maintained by money. The companionship bought by money is pure, simple but strong.

He pursed his lips, suppressed his uncomfortable conscience, and then pretended to casually bring up the next safe topic, "Do you like strong feelings?"

"It's almost the same as taste." The pastor smiled as if he was embarrassed, and was surprisingly shy. "Strong feelings can bring long-lasting sweetness, which can last me a long time. And there are sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty, and all kinds of... The taste is indescribable, very rich and interesting. I sometimes have wonderful associations.”

She clasped her fingers, her expression clearly serious, but also revealing her seriousness, "Like Flora, she is like the new green apple flavored wave soda, which is sweet, spicy, and very refreshing."

"That fluffy werewolf is like the soup dumplings sold on the street corner. He looks cold on the outside but is hot on the inside."

"Evan is like a fondant cake." Her fingertips interspersed between the fabrics, moving from the pile of lace to the pile of tweed. Her dark eyes were naturally unfocused, and no one knew what she was thinking. The taste of food, the feel of fabrics, or...?

O'Brien was still scratching his head, wondering if the fact that the leader was a showman had been revealed, and Sylvia followed up with the next sentence.

"Dwarves, like broccoli that shouldn't be in bacon and potato bisque."

This description is bizarre. O'Brien paused, feeling that it was not appropriate to analyze and classify people as if they were food, as if they had been peeled off and placed on her dinner plate for her to review. But it is excusable when it comes to this unfortunate young lady. After all, O'Brien couldn't imagine how else she could describe the world as she saw it to him.

After this conversation, it can at least be seen that the food in Gabu City is very good. The elf waited for a long time but did not wait for the follow-up. He couldn't help but ask, "What about me?"

He regretted it the moment he said it. I feel like I am eagerly rushing to send it out for others to evaluate.

The priest mused on organizational language. She thought for a moment, "You're funny."

O'Brien waited for more than ten seconds before he realized that this was what the priest said about him.

That's it? That's it? That's it? ? ?

Is this perfunctory for me? I always give a long review to others, but why do I think it’s “very interesting”?

Am I not worthy of your serious relationship and understanding?

The elf was sullen. Suddenly I felt something touching the tip of my nose. The eyelids were lowered, revealing a pure black veil. The drape is high-end, and there are broken diamonds at the bottom. Through the veil, the priest looked at him with a smile.

"How about it?" She smiled softly, as softly as the glaze of white porcelain, "Do you want to change your airtight mask?"

Of course...I still accepted it. Who doesn’t want a free gift?

The elf felt a little guilty.

But when I checked out, I discovered that this small piece of veil was actually made of the rare shadow fabric. The noble women among the sand people used this to block the sun to keep their skin white.

The price of this small piece of mediocre veil shocked O'Brien's jaw. And when he saw the pastor paying the bill generously, the elf, who had "never seen the world", was shocked again.

I am such a sinful man. O'Brien thought so with his eyes blank.