I feel innocent in white socks [f]

White cotton folded at the ankle, a small deliberate detail that pulls your attention downward before dragging it back up. She knows exactly what she's doing — that particular innocence is performed, rehearsed, and aimed directly at you.

Your eyes trace the curve where the sock ends and bare skin begins, that thin border holding more tension than anything overtly revealed. The white is almost too bright, too clean against warm flesh.

She tilts her chin, watching you notice. The socks stay on. That was never a question — they're the entire point, the quiet provocation dressed up as something harmless.