The tungsten light shone with brutality from directly over head, carving the lines of 80 odd years of tiredness further into her soft round face. Her eyes, blue at the iris but yellow still where they should be white, were blank.

Holding her careful upright posture and her still mask, she readjusts her scarf. Despite being indoors it is a necessary addition on account of the terracotta tiles hoarding the little lingering warmth. A pale blue check is wrapped slightly further around her neck and thrown gracefully over her shoulder. It matches her sweater and her eyes.

Her shoulders and elbows are drawn in close.