This was a little girl, probably around seven or eight years old, with a petite nose, round and rosy cheeks, resembling a delicately crafted porcelain doll.
She was dressed in a refined dress made of wool, dark green in color, with golden threads embroidered around the collar and cuffs in the pattern of a drifting maple leaf, the emblem of the Valen family.
Sunlight filtered through the sparse clouds, casting a glow on her cheeks and bringing out two healthy blushes, resembling apples freshly kissed by morning dew, evoking an irresistible urge to gently touch them.
Her large, fluttering eyes sparkled as her small face tightened with caution. She stared warily at Lynch and questioned, "Who are you? Why are you in my family's graveyard? Do you have any ill intentions?"
As she spoke, one hand quietly moved to her waist, where a small, exquisite dagger hung from a brown leather belt.
Lynch chuckled and asked, "What's your name?"
