??? lights a candle by herself, for novelty's sake. She stares into the flame and contemplates her past lives.
??? sends an apology to someone she'd wronged after a dream about giant cobwebs and the sinister absence of a spider. Nothing in this life is meaningless, she mumbles.
??? becomes convinced she's on the verge of a positive breakthrough while her skin is still bleeding and the last time she left the house was for a haircut. Character development's a piece of cake when you never have to place it into practise.
??? is soothed by the bedroom 'epiphanies' about all she's doing wrong, treating the smaller discovered flaws like struck gold; still blocking out the eight-foot fanged thing that's lived in her peripheral vision since youth. It sharpens its teeth on a stone and waves with its free limbs.
???, after one cup of coffee, assesses the employment risks of a potential stalking charge. She interprets Storm Ciara as God grounding her for a week and doesn't move.
??? reasons with herself that - being self-aware enough to know she's not acting reasonably - the likelihood is that something hungry and evil has made its bed in her heart. No doubt she's sound of mind.
??? shoots the messenger. The mantelpiece mirror is moved into the back of her wardrobe, imprisoned "...until [it learns] to be nicer".
(??? blames everything on her Sagittarius moon.)