The condensation stained the bathroom mirror in a way that reminded her of shattered tears and broken hearts. The swipe of her palm against the surface brushed such a fanciful thought away as Palomino never claimed she was any sort of romantic. The touch of fingertips to the shining light touched edge of the mirror caused her nothing more then annoyance. Hardly for the reason of touch but instead of what the mere touch brought her.

Memories.

Those that didn't seem her own as they were so strange and so unfamiliar. A life not her own. Was it ever truly hers to believe in after all? Still it was the mirrors that always trigged the flashblacks. The man on the other side of a two way mirror that was supposed to shield one from the other, the impression of another man gunned down in a blood bath he wasn't meant for.

Names and faces unknown and yet seeming so familiar.

Palomino's senses flared to life, a smooth whiskey burn of wonder and recollection as she grabbed her keys from the vanity and shrugged on the leather jacket that seemed like a second skin to her.

Casual comforts were leather jackets born to women that wore them as security blankets against the cold.

The cold of her own soul, her very heart. For a moment the placid shine of amber eyes was left in ruin by the white hot hatred she had yet to understand.

It was still just a passing moment of emotion, so very fleeting as she found herself once more out in the open breathing in the night air as she looked up at the stars. Still to Palomino it never mattered just how beautiful the stars could be from the rare views she could have of them in the city. Instead she found it mattered when she noticed the way the mist could cling and linger near the moon.

Just like smoke moving against a mirror. All those polished surfaces and sweet coils of truth and lies. Something of the beauty in that moment left her bittersweet and nostalgic even as the crisp click of her boots on the sidewalk sounded out a rhythm to leave the very notion behind.