She takes up so little space — small wrists, narrow shoulders, the kind of frame that makes every curve feel deliberate, almost architectural. Petite doesn't mean quiet, though. There's a sharpness behind her eyes that lands before anything else does.

The sweetness is real: soft skin, a mouth that pulls into something unhurried, the way she holds herself like she already knows exactly what you're thinking. You feel it settle over you, warm and unhurried.

Then the spice cuts through — a tilt of her chin, fingers that move with purpose, a look that strips the politeness right out of the room. Small, yes. Forgettable? Not even close.