An uncanny 60 degree afternoon.
Light generously pours itself in through the bathroom window.
Smoke dances around her, as everything should. She takes a drag.
"I haven't done this in ages," she says, in a serene voice we haven't heard in ages.
"the smoke is prettier."
What was prettier was the Victorian structure that once stood by the window. She glances sentimentally at the sacred remains.
But now she has more room to breathe, now she has light.
An illuminated limb brings itself to a pair of carnation pink lips.
She takes another drag.