Sophia Smith stands framed by a trellis of ivy and golden bracken, caught in a pool of dappled sunlight that turns her honey hair to pale flame. A tiered red shift dress grazes the tops of her lithe thighs, the ruffles shivering against her slender frame as she leans into the wooden lattice with a small, knowing smile. Her legs are sheathed in nude stockings with a faint seam, the silky nylon catching the afternoon glow, and strappy nude heels keep her grounded among the ferns. There is something story-book about her here, a secret kept in the green.

The red dress is drawn slowly up over her stomach to show a pretty white suspender belt blooming with strawberry embroidery, the straps reaching down to the tops of her stockings against luminous skin. Sophia steps up onto a garden bench and lets the dress fall away from her shoulders, one forearm crossed over her bare chest, the other hand steadying her against the trellis while creamy thighs part just enough to tease. The shift drops back into place and she slips into a tangle of leaves, bare beneath the red hem, a wisp of nylon and laughter before the garden folds around her again and she is gone.