She’s getting ready. It’s a perfect day. The sky is blue. She puts her naked foot on the floor and like a dancer, travels the distance of the mirrored hallway to the dressing table. It’s one of her favourite spots. She likes getting pretty there.

There are only flowers from the garden, and both her hands, fresh and clean, which seem to spin around them. Her right hand, agile and light, grabs her powder, then a bottle of perfume. Her left hand clutches eye shadow and nude lipstick. She then moves on to the closet, where she picks a light dress and fixes a rebel strap.

She slides on pair of heels and fastens a belt around her waist. Just like every morning, she walks towards her balcony full of flowers. It’s on the 4th floor and over- looks the gardens of Palais Royal.
She is happy and thinks of her day ahead, smiling.