Late-autumn sunlight slips in from behind, cool and grainy, tracing a warm rim along her flaxen hair and letting fine dust drift honestly in the air. She looks about twenty-six, East Asian, with an unforced purity in her features. Real skin texture shows on her cheeks, and there’s the slightest trace of worn makeup beside the nostrils. A dark beauty mark beneath the outer corner of her right eye anchors the whole look. She doesn’t meet the lens; a few wind-tossed strands rest against her face. An open, deconstructed cropped patchwork jacket sets rigid denim against soft shearling, while a fitted knit dress underneath falls close and clean. She leans back on her weight and turns half sideways toward a display window, eyes bright with sincere surprise, lips parted mid-gasp, hands empty and swinging naturally, fingertips gently curved. The commercial street behind blurs into colorful shapes.
