She barely takes up space in the frame — narrow hips, sharp collarbones, a waist you could circle with both hands. Every curve is compact, deliberate, like something carved rather than grown.

You notice how small she actually is only when context betrays it — a doorframe, a piece of furniture, a hand that swallows her wrist whole. Under a hundred pounds means every detail reads clearly, nothing hidden, nowhere for softness to obscure the lines.

Tight describes more than one thing here. The fit of fabric pulled taut. The resistance you imagine. The held breath before the moment she finally lets you in.