I imagine that she calls her suitcase a “portmanteau.” She has unknowingly begun to pack the skirt she’s wearing (do you see how it sneakily peeks over the lip?). Or perhaps it’s the skirt acting of its own volition, trying to tell her the time has come. To go. But the bow, the bow is tying her to the floor that she finds unpretty.
This is my studio for exploring my work. Consider these drafts.