Michael Angelo's David? Atlas Hallow looked at her lowered eyelashes, gently trembling like fragile butterfly wings, yet there was a subtle and hard-to-notice light in her eyes, wise yet with a hint of playful cunning and agility.
"Do you think there's a difference between the actual person and the statue?" He felt her breathing rise and fall, an extremely faint cold fragrance slowly creeping into his body, seemingly flowing through his blood.
"Actually, I've also seen the real thing. You don't know that we have streaking in our college every year, and I've watched it for two years now..." Charlotte Miller quickly slipped away from under his arm after saying this, agile like a little mudfish, and happily dashed to the door. She opened the door and turned to look at him, saying proudly: "And it's not just one person, it's a whole group of them..." After speaking, she quickly dashed into the elevator, with only a bath towel wrapped around her. She bet he wouldn't chase her.
