Cassandra

Cassandra works the way sculptors are said to, sure the stillness is already in you. Twenty-six, tall, and calm as the museum quarter at night.

Her sessions have almost no hurry in them at all, tantra and the slowest sensual formats, breath before touch, whole minutes that consist of nothing but held contact and turn out to be the minutes guests remember. She calls it subtraction: taking away noise, tension, the week, until what is left underneath can be felt plainly. Cassandra is twenty-six, carries her hundred and seventy-three centimetres the way statues carry theirs, and lives in Oud-Zuid among the museums, which feels correct to everyone who meets her. Greek is her interior language; her English is measured and a little amused. The overnight is her masterpiece format, she is one of the rare ones who makes eight hours feel designed.

Cassandra decides which bookings she takes and may decline any of them; she sets the limits for what a session includes, says what they are, and may end a visit at any point, as the terms set out.