One. Prologue.

She moves silently with an agile grace around the kitchen, her movements sinuous and smooth - swiftly pausing in one area then moving on to the next with an unbroken rhythm.

The whiteness of the room startles in its intensity. Cool ceramic tiles line the floor, seamlessly meeting the walls with no change in brilliance. Cabinets and fittings are also white - the antiseptic surfaces remain uncluttered save for the groceries she is using. Stainless steel pots and pans shine from the walls and clean bright lighting kills amy intruding shadows. An apologetic steam from boiling water is whisked away through the hood fan. Her figure is outlined by tanned skin and tight black leotard.

Pausing at the counter with a bowl, she reaches for, grabs and triple-taps an egg into it with one flowing movement before repeating the action with another. At the third tap the egg remains un-cracked - her music dies. She stares uncomprehendingly at the shell. Puzzlement, frustration and fury all reshape her beauty before she hurls the egg into the trash. A moment of abstraction occupies her before she continues.