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— Why are your eyes white? — Leif suddenly asked, realizing that a couple more minutes, and he would not be able to muster up the courage for this question.
— Because I'm very old. — The detective looked at the inspector with a good-natured grin. — Have you ever heard how elves grow old, young man? I will not become gray and wrinkled with age, but my eyes are fading little by little. Grey, if you like. When they completely fade, I will fall asleep and not wake up. This is elven old age...
— What is your...
— You're talking to a woman, young man. — The elf narrowed her eyes slightly, but a soft smile still played on her lips. — A lot of. In that picture that the professor stole — do you remember what was depicted?
— Yes. — Leif shuddered, remembering the black and red stains on the canvas.
— I saw it myself. Do you want to listen to the tales of the old elf? About the last knight-queen of the continent and about the first queen-sorceress? About the fire in the sky and the death of dragons?
— Of course I want, Fru Veltritdotir!
— Well then, hand over the report — and take me to the Ludrian restaurant. — The elf flicked her cigarette overboard. — At your expense, of course, Inspector. Otherwise, I won't expect such a thing from your senior colleague... A drink and a portion of fried pork in sweet and sour sauce is on you, and a whole evening of entertaining stories is on me...
End of prologue. The next stop is five centuries earlier.
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