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Smoke Queen 4k
The ceiling light in the living room was so bright that it couldn't penetrate the thick layer of grayish-white covering her body. martina was lying on the sofa, her left and right hands each holding a slender cigarette, as if performing some silent ritual. she then brought them close to her lips and took a deep breath - two clusters of orange-red flames suddenly brightened and then rapidly dimmed. the hissing sound of the burning tobacco was faint but continuous. she closed her eyes, her head slightly tilted back, allowing the double dose of heat and spiciness to pour in and fill every corner of her lungs. then, it's release. the smoke did not simply emerge; instead, it flowed out from her slightly parted lips and nostrils in a slow, thick, almost tangible manner. two thick white smoke columns first intertwined in the air, then spread, curled, and transformed into a turbulent sea of clouds, enveloping her completely. the light attempted to penetrate this haze, but only cast blurry halos, outlining her languid yet focused figure. the ash accumulated, curved, and fell silently. two boxes a day - this is her domain. at this moment, the weight of the world, the noise of the day, all are filtered out, burned away, and dispersed by this doubled intake and exhalation of mist. the living room becomes her fortress, and the smoke is her silent yet powerful declaration. she is not smoking; she is controlling her breath, using the burning grass leaves to forge the sovereignty of a moment of absolute tranquilit
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