She flings the covers off her face, eyes closed. The light from the window illuminates a languid countenance. She stirs, casts a resentful glance at the open curtains. Rising, she creeps silently out of the bed and over to the curtains, pulling them firmly closed and overlapping them for good measure. Then she almost seems to glide across the room and into the bathroom, her body not yet accustomed to the morning. Lowering her eyelids in perfect sync with her upward flick of the light switch, she stumbles sightlessly to the shower and turns the handle all the way to hot. She undresses and tentatively places her hand under the shower stream to test its heat. Translucent skeins pass over her hand and forearm, lending a diaphanous quality. Several curl about her arm like bangles, and wherever they grip, her arm begins to lose colour so that it is possible to see through them to the blue of the tiles behind. Yet she shows no sign of perturbation.
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