She sits in the dark, hands folded, a cigarette resting between her fingers.
The light catches only what it needs to: the curve of her lips, the quiet tension in her knuckles, the thin line of smoke rising through the broken glass.
You can see exactly where the glow reaches, how it travels over her face and hands before it disappears back into black.
The cracks don’t distract – they guide the eye, tracing her outline and holding the moment in place.
The image is calm but intent. She isn’t posing. She’s simply there.
