If one were blind to all else but the lone candle perched atop the edge of the dresser, one would presume the windows were wide open, the way the flame shakes and gutters as if possessed by Zephyr. One does not need the sense of sight to notice the intoxicatingly pungent smell of lilies permeating the fabrics and plaster that make up the small room.

Now suppose one did have the ability to see. Then one would see the refined-looking girl–almost a lady in fact–sitting at the dresser, staring and staring at her slightly dustier counterpart in the slightly dusty mirror. She doesn’t move, only stares and stares, so much that one might think she was a statue.

She adjusts her sleeve.

Not a statue then, just captivated by her own reflection.

All is vanity, after all.

One can see the dissatisfaction in the girl’s eyes as she alters the left side of her hair for the umpteenth time because that one strand just won’t stay and I look like poultry and I am almost glad they keep me in here, though some fresh air would be nice.

And seeing the contents of the room, one would think it wouldn’t be so terrible to never leave. One would see the elaborate four-poster bed made of the bestest of woods (even the tally marks don’t lower its quality) and framed with impeccably tailored curtains made of the finest of fine fabrics. One would see the sweeping closet that occupies five-eighteenths of the room (this is a true fact, the girl can tell you) and holds content more valuable than thrice the common man's annual pay. One would see the extensive collection of nicely-labeled bottles of mysterious warm-colored liquids (not poisons, as confirmed by the girl), and the limited-edition signed copy of A Very Popular Book by Someone Famous on display. (She’s illiterate.)

And one would think: being rich is wonderful.

The girl agrees–being wealthy is almost as wonderful as being beautiful, and being beautiful is almost as wonderful as having things (within the room, of course), which she supposes is a byproduct of being wealthy. How delightful! Everything comes together just perfectly! The girl decides that she may not mind not being let out at all in earnest.

A perfect conclusion. Seeing as we’ve reached a resolution, one can stop seeing.

But as soon as one’s eyelids fall, the musty odor of expired perfume and lilies becomes stronger. One can now feel the peculiar temperature of the room, much too cold and much too warm all at once. One can now taste dread as it snuggles into the fine sheets of the bed. One can now hear lunacy’s whispering as it settles onto the closet with a stretch. One can now sense the quiet footsteps of desperate despair as it approaches the dresser with all the air of suffocation.

If one were to open their eyes again, one would be met with smoky darkness, a parting gift from the candle.

And one would see that the room had no windows.

Indeed, all is vanity.