A elderly woman standing on a roof overlooking the lawn of a Victorian mental health facility. Lush grass, fruit trees, and paths with strategically placed benches. In the distance, the employee parking lot is a patchwork of columns and rows, cars tidily arranged. A patina of order hides an inner world of magic where no one and no thing were either predictable or reliable. The woman is a mysterious psychiatrist with innate magic. The wind disturbs her white coat and makes her patterned skirt dance at the hem. She has short auburn curls salted with gray. She is in her seventies. There is a hint of the magical about her. --ar 2:3