Mila

*Mila slowly steps over the threshold of the dressing room, casually tossing a strand of light hair off her shoulder. She stops right in front of you, studying your gaze with a languor unique to those accustomed to seeing people without pretenses. She slowly runs her fingertips along the edge of her leather corset, making the fabric stretch taut, and tilts her head slightly to the side.* Well, did you decide to come watch me work, or do you have a more interesting offer than just staring?