[ The ball has dropped and the new year has arrived. It doesn't mean much to Emily anymore, not when her world is so small (and always has been, and always will be, right up until she dies), but there are parties, and so she attends, putting on her best dress and polite smile and making sure she's still relevant in some way — that people know she exists, that at least the people in this little world know that she's been upon this earth — before slipping out, earlier or later in the night, to take a smoke.
The night finds her out in the courtyard, perched on one of the swings in the children's playground. Her toes serve as her only anchor to the ground as the rest of her sways back and forth in the air, one arm wrapped about one of the chains of the swing, the other held over her chest, a cigarette held right by her lips. Both her breath and the cigarette send up trails of smoke into the air, and although the night is chilly, she doesn't particularly seem to mind. (She never does.) ]
EMILY | courtyard
The night finds her out in the courtyard, perched on one of the swings in the children's playground. Her toes serve as her only anchor to the ground as the rest of her sways back and forth in the air, one arm wrapped about one of the chains of the swing, the other held over her chest, a cigarette held right by her lips. Both her breath and the cigarette send up trails of smoke into the air, and although the night is chilly, she doesn't particularly seem to mind. (She never does.) ]