one of these things does not belongMature

The cigarette hangs from between her plum lips, tendrils of smoke curling ever-upward, dispersing long before they reach the high ceilings of the entryway.  She's surrounded by pristine white walls, disturbed only by delicate golden lace frames and ornate clock faces, compliments of his wife's lavish design tastes.  She is simultaneously an eyesore and the centerpiece; she belongs everywhere and nowhere; she blends into the decoration while insulting its very existence.  Behind the thick curtains of her eyelashes, the swampy hazel glow of her irises captures his attention and he smiles without realizing.

The End

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