Sirpa was a girl in a corset. She was sure she was something else as well, or at least, she aspired to be. However, as the constriction around her lungs and organs grew ever tighter, it seemed that she had always existed in the corset; had been born in it and would perish in it. The boning and cloth crushing her bones to dust for all eternity. Her existence and identity were the squeezing pain. They were all she could think off, all her mind would grasp was life being wrung from her, slowly…painfully…and just how much she liked it.