Copper hair catches the light like something that shouldn't exist outside of paintings — but she's here, completely real, the kind of red that comes from genetics not a bottle.

Freckles scatter across her shoulders and chest in patterns you want to trace slowly, each one placed exactly where it should be. Her skin holds that particular ivory warmth that only comes with the territory.

She looks directly at you, unbothered, comfortable in the specificity of what she is — not performing anything, just occupying her body with the quiet confidence of someone who's heard your reaction before.