The dead Monroe woman belonged in the graveyard. She should have endured the same end as all of these humans, her rotting corpse buried beneath the debris of the earth. Instead, she continued to walk in death. She was a freak being, one not meant for this world. But still, she was here, and she was damned if she knew why she had been so unlucky. Lolita spread her hands, gesturing to the entire place as she spoke. "Why, this is where I belong," she said with a grand flourish of her hands. "I'm a dead woman, the ghostly Lolita Monroe." Perhaps it was time to embrace her nature, enjoy it for all that it was unfortunately worth.
Emerald eyes strayed to her faded and worn leather bag, knowing its contents well. She did not want to scare away the only company she had, but then, she was not sure she even wanted company. Lolita simply did not want to be alone. She took a deep breath, trying a different route than her usual routine of offering smoke. "So... What do you do?" she asked, though the question seemed completely stupid after the words passed her lips. "Where are you from?" She did not recognize the scent.
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