She offers the explanation before you can ask — a small purple mark blooming just below her hip bone, tender against pale skin. Your eyes find it immediately, then struggle to leave it.

Everything about her is compact, deliberate — narrow shoulders, a waist your hands could nearly circle, legs that taper to delicate ankles. The bruise becomes the most interesting geography on an already fascinating map.

She watches you stare at it with something between embarrassment and satisfaction. You want to press your thumb there, gently, just to see her breath catch.