Your fingers would sink right in — that much is obvious just from looking. She's leaning forward slightly, letting the fabric pull away just enough to make the point without proving it entirely.

The light catches the curve where shadow begins, that precise border where imagination takes over from what's actually visible. She knows exactly where that line is. She drew it herself.

Soft isn't even the right word anymore. It's weight and warmth and the way they press together without any effort at all, like they were always meant to occupy exactly that space.