Her eyes, once dull and weary, now shone faintly with a mixture of surprise and admiration.
She reached forward, her fingers brushing against the surface of the skinned meat.
Her touch was gentle, reverent even, as if afraid that pressing too hard might somehow ruin the perfection before her.
The flesh was smooth, almost glistening under the shop's warm light. She could see the precision in every line, the clean separation where blade had met muscle. It wasn't just good—it was immaculate.
"Besides…" she murmured softly, her voice carrying a hint of awe, "the way they were cut… I've never seen anything skinned this cleanly."
Her brow furrowed slightly as she leaned closer, inspecting the meat.
Even she—after more than ten years working as a butcher—couldn't skin a rabbit this flawlessly.
The lines were neat, the cuts precise, the removal so thorough that the meat almost seemed to shine.
It was beautiful work.
