She was decorated with smoke ringlets. They curled around her like ribbons, veiling her in a mist. The cigarette smoldered from between her jeweled lips, flaring orange when she sucked the tar into her lungs. With each breath she blew the smoke out and it lingered around her like a lover's arms before floating above her to disappear.
She was decorated with flowers. Or, more honestly, her mask for the masquerade was decorated with flowers. Small white ones that resembled daisies, and baby's breath. The white on the purple velvet of the mask was beautiful. She was stunning that night.
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