Pale morning light cuts across her chest in thin, warm bars — the kind that make everything feel accidental, unposed, like you walked in on something private.

She's small, the sheet barely covering her hips, and those stiff little nipples catch every photon the window throws at them. Your eyes keep returning there, helpless about it.

The softness of the image makes it feel closer than a photograph should — like warmth you could actually reach, skin that would actually yield under your thumb if you pressed, gently, right there.