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The meadow goes still the way fields do right before evening, the light turning gold across Ghislaine's dark skin. She lets the white dress slip down her shoulders one strap at a time, the fabric pooling at her hips, her blonde hair falling loose around the scar she has carried for decades. For the first time in a long time she isn't on watch — her cat ears relaxed, her tail coiled lazily beside her in the flowers — and when her hands shape a quiet heart against her own chest, it feels less like a pose for anyone else and more like a private toast to whatever part of her is still soft enough to wear white in a field like this. 花畑は夕暮れ直前の野原らしく静まり、金色の光がギスランの浅黒い肌の上を流れていく。 彼女は白いドレスの肩紐を一本ずつ滑らせ、布地を腰元にたまらせ、金髪を何十年も連れ添った傷跡のまわりにほどく。 久しぶりに警戒を解き——猫耳はゆるみ、尻尾は花の間で気だるく丸まっている——両手で自分の胸の前に小さなハートを作るしぐさは、誰かに見せるためというより、こんな花畑で白を着ていられるくらい柔らかい部分がまだ自分の中に残っていることへの、そっとした乾杯のようだ。 The character is adult (18+) and represented as such.

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