She barely takes up space in the frame, small fingers pressed flat against the wall, chin tipped down with that specific kind of quiet that precedes something loud.

You notice her proportions first — narrow shoulders, the delicate architecture of her collarbones, hips that fit between two hands. Everything about her is concentrated, dense with intention, like flavor that hits the back of your throat.

She looks up once, directly at you, and the title makes sudden sense. Some things don't need explanation. You already know you'd lean in for another taste.