The reason Luca was taken aback was because he had always thought of Mavis as the tiniest centaur.
Shorter legs. Smaller frame. A little tail that barely reached her knees.
Everything about her was petite, compact, almost doll-like.
Everything, that is, except her breasts!
They hung from her chest like two ripe cantaloupes, heavy and utterly disproportionate to her otherwise slender frame.
The moonlight traced silver lines across their pale, unblemished surface—not a single scratch, not a single scar, despite the fact that Mavis worked near open flames every day with her cleavage perpetually on display.
The skin was so smooth it seemed to glow.
Her nipples were a delicate pinkish-red, standing slightly at attention now that they were exposed to the cool night air. They were tiny compared to the massive swell of her breasts like rosebuds resting on mountains.
