He kisses her like he has done it a thousand times. Casually, like he knows the way she will taste, her powdered cheek, her lipstick mouth. It is lilac, the lipstick, and he kisses her so lightly the colour doesn’t budge and she thinks that maybe he knew to do that. Maybe he’d thought about doing that. She purses her lips against the feeling. She presses her palms together, she twists one of her rings around her finger, she smoothes down her dress. And then she turns back to an empty mansion and a city in pieces.