These hands were almost too beautiful. The fingers were fair, slender, and delicate—simply gorgeous.
Looking at the hand alone, no amount of poetic praise would have been an overstatement.
But now, this impossibly beautiful hand was emerging from the bottle.
The mouth of the bottle was only about five centimeters in diameter. Now, a hand was forcing its way out from within. The middle-aged man subconsciously held his breath.
He recognized those hands. There was a beautiful red mole on the wrist. He had once held that wrist in the dead of night, kissing that very mole.
But now, seeing that mole appear before him in such a way, he was filled with terror.
His legs were trembling, but no one seemed to notice his condition. He had an overwhelming urge to run. He knew ghosts were real, of course.
But this was the first time he had ever come face to face with one, and he was truly terrified.
