The Tender Side of frances bentley first impression

Golden hour bathes a balcony in “frances bentley first impression,” where she leans over the railing in nothing but sunset. Wind lifts her hair as fingers slip beneath a silk robe; “frances bentley first impression” catches the risk in her eyes—anyone could look up. She bites her lip, circling faster, robe falling open to bare everything to the dying light. “frances bentley first impression” records the moment her head falls back, silent scream lost to the wind as she comes with the city sprawling beneath her, utterly exposed and unashamed.