Ruffles.

It was late in the day when the woman awoke, lazily blinking away sleep from the crevices of her eyes. She noted that her gown was torn, and upon sitting up, that the entire contents of her room were in disarray. She shed the dress, and pattering into the bathroom, ran a hot shower. There she stood, letting the hot water sink into her bones. It was only until a few minutes later that the shuddering of her shoulders signified anything out of the ordinary. Then came the sobs, the pressing gulps of air, and the complete collapse of the woman onto the floor. There she sat, arms curled around her body as if in protection. Her hands fumbled, searching for a band around her finger. They fluttered as if grasping onto that ring would give her reassurance, certainty. It was only until the water had begun to run cold did the woman get up.
She put on some dry clothes and slowly, methodically, began the long process of cleaning up her apartment.

Well, what she considered to be her apartment.

Doritos.

She was sitting on the windowsill; her bare legs hanging off the ledge mocking the pouring rain and the seventeen floors that separated her from sanity. Thunder broke the air as her eyes went upwards; goosebumps pulsed through her skin. Makeup ran down her face, uniting her tears with the rain. It was then that she shrieked hysterically, and sliding herself further off of the ledge she finally looked down. Below, the umbrellas and cars looked like rectangles and circles moving in harmonic waves. The woman threw a golden ring down onto the streets below, then taking one last look at the cataclysmic forks of light, eased herself back into her apartment. For a minute the woman stood there, gasping for air as she laughed, tears flowing down her face. It was then that she smiled, and after closing the windowsill, she crawled into bed and passed into a blissful stupor.