Sickly Ballroom

Mildred's beauty was beyond compare. The brave surviving Tommies, fresh from the Great War (less a limb here and there, shellshocked in most cases) sought her radiance as they hobbled across the ballroom floor - beckoned by the feathery decadence of her peacock fan. O, Mildred! Mildred fair! And yet, they could never truly enjoy Mildred's sweet kisses, despite having lips as soft as petals. For she could not hold her breath, our Mildred. Not for long periods of time, that is. No, her addiction to Egyptian Deities had left her winded, coughing, and slightly...whiffy. Blast the Great Tobacco Sirens, calling her to a life of malodourous breathing! Plain end or cork tip, it did not matter. The great muse Emphysema would soon call her to an early grave - albeit a handsome one.