Freckled and bare, tracing her own skin

Her clothes come off early and without ceremony, and after that it is mostly posing. She turns towards the webcam, finds an angle, holds it. Freckles scatter over her shoulders and run down her chest. Her hands follow at a drifting speed, throat to ribs to hips, returning wherever the reaction is strongest.

Shot at home under whatever lamp was already burning, it has the plain honesty of a space nobody tidied for guests. She keeps half an eye on the screen while she works, adjusting what reads and what does not, and the solo play stays inward rather than pitched at an audience.