Upon awakening each morning she wondered who she would be. For this day, a gust of wind past a yawning window. Or something small and beautiful and dying, going nowhere at all.
She bathed and dressed in solitude, taking great care with an appearance that would go unacknowledged. Small tasks completed gave a sense of satisfaction while awaiting the arrival of the soul she would be today. How that arrival might color her view of the world, the one she sat in the shadows and quietly observed. In the blazing Technicolor of a fantasy dream-coat? Or bleak grays, inky blacks and washed out whites? In the sepia tones of memory? Or the pastel gossamer and silk of youth and hope?
Upon awakening each morning she felt the temporary flutter of her heartbeat and wondered how many she had left. She awaited the arrival of the soul to tell her how to feel about this one. Whether it was dark and sad or bright and lustful, she embraced each as the feeling of being alive, an observer of the life outside.