She’s getting ready. It’s a beautiful 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 overlooks the gardens of Palais Royal. She is happy
and thinks of her day ahead, smiling.