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Summary
Sumino Takumi’s indigo irises were outlined with a thin layer of crismon. The colors were awfully mesmerizing and reminded Eito of the Pitambari Sapphire he’d read about in a book. He found himself unable to peel his own eyes away from them; such beauties were unfit for an ugly human, he thought.
They were otherworldly, radiant, surreal—no word in the dictionary could describe the enticement of those eyes.
He wanted them all to himself.