White Horse Business Club.
18th floor.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy, luxurious door bore a sign —
[Private Collection Room, Do Not Enter If Only For "Sleep"]
Behind the door, Sister Lust, dressed lightly, walked barefoot, slowly pacing within the collection room.
Looking at the collection cabinet displaying years of exhibits, Sister Lust wore an expression of intoxication.
These hands, preserved in formaldehyde, each and every pair meticulously selected by herself, she could still remember the tactile sensation on their skin.
Look at the overall size and contour, look at the lines on them, look at these joints...
They perfectly match her aesthetic!
Beautiful things should be well preserved.
Recently, the owners of these collections were once chosen by the hardships of life.
Ah, hardship, it's truly excessive, not even discerning when choosing people.
The owners of these hands, full of youth, full of vitality, why must they face rough times?
