Arms above your Head.

The model began to move. Every step was fluid — a dance of poise and power. Her bare feet glided soundlessly over the cracked floor, the faint shimmer of silk never daring to touch her. She weaved between the ropes like a phantom of grace, body bending and turning with impossible control.

Mia froze mid-crawl, eyes wide, breath caught in awe. How… how is she doing that? The model didn’t even look — her every motion seemed guided by instinct, as if the web itself bowed to her will.

When she finally reached Mia, she circled her once — close enough that Mia could feel the warmth of her skin, smell the faint trace of perfume and dust. The model’s voice was low, smooth, and certain.

“Up,” she commanded softly. “Stand. Arms above your head.”

Mia hesitated, but the model’s gaze left no room for refusal. Slowly, she rose, arms trembling as they lifted skyward.

The model’s fingers brushed the hem of her shirt — the very one caught by the silk moments before. She toyed with it gently, tugging upward just enough to make Mia shiver.

“Such a pretty piece,” she murmured, eyes glinting. “But the web has spoken, and its price must be paid.”

Her hands slid higher, gathering the fabric inch by inch, tracing Mia’s sides in featherlight strokes. “You wear your losses well, little one,” she whispered near her ear, “as though the silk was made to undress you.”

With one final lift, the t-shirt was gone — drifting from Mia’s body like a shed skin before landing neatly in the waiting basket.

The model stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “Better,” she said simply, voice warm and amused. “The web knows what suits you best.”

Clothing Status

Mia: Shorts, sports bra, thong, socks

Basket: Hoodie, Sneakers, T-shirt