She takes up so little space — narrow shoulders, small hands pressed flat against her thighs, a body built like something you could carry effortlessly from room to room.

Every curve lands exactly where it should, proportioned with an almost unfair precision. Petite doesn't mean fragile here; it means concentrated, every inch deliberate, nothing wasted.

You find yourself calculating angles, surfaces, the specific weight of her in your hands — how she'd fit against you, around you, how someone this compact could occupy every corner of your attention so completely.