Curtain of Mist

A vintage amber glass atomizer sat resting upon the mirrored vanity tray, its silk mesh bulb drooping like an idle plum. Silence at night is far too uninspired, but silence without atmosphere is an outright offense, don't you think? I stepped onto the cold silvered glass and planted the heel of my boot firmly onto the bulb's woven weave. It compressed with a soft, wheezing sigh, releasing a sudden, luminous cloud of violet mist that caught the amber glow of the bedside lamp. The sweet, powdery haze drifted lazily around my horns before settling upon the glass. Now the evening stage possesses both drama and fragrance.