The last thing Xiang Daye remembered was the spotlight that suddenly exploded in the studio.
The warm yellow light suddenly turned into dazzling white, and with the crisp sound of glass shards flying, she subconsciously protected the newly trimmed ragdoll cat in her arms, and the next second she was dragged into the boundless darkness by a feeling of weightlessness. When I opened my eyes again, what lingered on my nose was not the smell of disinfectant from the studio, but the thick, slightly musty incense, mixed with an unfamiliar, heavy scent that was similar to sandalwood.
"Hiss..." She wanted to push herself up to sit up, but found that her arms were as heavy as lead. When she lowered her head and looked down, what caught her eye was a dusty coarse cloth skirt. The cuffs were frayed and the stitching was crooked. It was completely different from the silk shirt she just bought yesterday.
This is not her dress.
Xiang Daye suddenly raised his head and looked around.
