“Is something the matter with me?”
“N-no. It’s nothing.”
Before I knew it, Rutina and the others had returned to the room. Had I accidentally blurted something embarrassing out loud? Why had I wasted so much time staring into space?
But as I looked around, I realized I was in paradise.
White stockings—they were good.
Magnificent.
The absolute best.
“How do they look?”
“They’re good.”
They were chaste yet suggestive.
Pure yet enchanting.
Dainty yet voluptuous.
A harmony woven from innocence and sensuality.
Black was great, but white was also hard to pass up. Everyone was different, and every one of them was wonderful.
This was the best.