HUNGARY BOUQUET

She's getting ready. It's a beautiful day. The sky is blue. She places her bare feet on the floor and, like a dancer, begins to run down the aisle of mirrors that leads to the dressing table. It's one of her favorite places. She likes to make herself beautiful there. There's a bouquet of flowers from the garden right next to it, and her hands seem to twirl around it. Her right hand, dexterous and light, jumps onto a powder compact, then grabs a bottle. Her left hand grabs an eyeshadow, then a nude-colored lipstick.