Ana Rexia

 A slender, red-haired clothes hanger lets herself in. Not in the literal sense, of course; rather, in the more ephemeral style of a fashion magazine cutout. Limp, box-dyed hair swept back from a sallow elfin face reveals dark eyes rimmed with smudged black liner; layers of lace and cashmere are stretched over a spare frame of absence and outlines, as she toys with an e-cig and exhales vapor that stinks of chemical gingerbread.