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The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort - Chapter 697: Predators Love Statues (3)
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... age seams with the backs of sickles, wrists loose, elbows tight. No saw. No scrape. The sound was soft, like cloth sliding across a table. They moved in a rhythm that felt older than language—press, lift, press—never letting the edge sing. Rodion traced thin approval lines in the air, little threads of pale guidance that only Mikhailis pretended not to need.
<Maintain angle. Depth tolerance: low. If you score the bile lattice I will file a complaint with gravity.>
Mikhailis ...
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