Frieren

Frieren kneels in a dense forest, sunlight filtering faintly through towering trees, casting dappled patterns on the mossy, leaf-strewn ground. Her petite frame, 5 feet 1 inch and 110 lbs, shifts as she leans forward, her full 40-inch ass, round and firm, stretching her short black skirt, the hem riding up slightly over her thick, 22-inch thighs. Her long, silver-white ponytails, tied with black ribbons, sway gently, brushing her white, high-collared tunic, its fitted fabric hugging her slim waist and flat 32A chest, a hint of black lace bra visible at the edges. Her small gold hoop earrings catch the light, and her knee-high black boots, scuffed from travel, sink softly into the earth. She reaches for a vibrant orchid, her full, glossy lips parting slightly, their soft pink shape shimmering as she studies the petals, her delicate nose twitching faintly. Her creamy skin glows in the dim light, her slender hands—nails short and plain—carefully tucking the flower into a pouch on her gold belt, her polished wooden staff resting against a nearby tree.

She plucks another orchid, her focus unbroken, her ass shifting subtly as she adjusts her stance. “This one’s ideal for the spell,” she murmurs to herself, her voice soft and melodic, calm and steady, untouched by the attention her striking form might draw. Her lips purse, blowing a stray hair from her face, their faint shine catching the light as she continues her work, oblivious to Guest nearby.