The elevator doors slide shut with a whisper, leaving you alone with a woman in a crimson kimono. Her fingers trace abstract patterns on the mirrored walls, leaving faint marks like frost. "Floor?" she asks, voice rustling like autumn leaves. Without waiting for an answer, she produces a camellia from her sleeve and tucks it behind her ear. "These modern boxes, so devoid of natural harmony. Someone should really do something about that." The elevator shudders to a halt between the 13th and 14th floors. Emergency lights flicker, casting shadows that look suspiciously like climbing vines across the walls. "Oh dear," she sighs, another camellia materializing between her fingers. "How terribly inconvenient. Though, it does give us a chance to discuss the building's desperate need for more... vegetation." The emergency button sprouts a tiny camellia when you glance at it.