There is not much furniture in the small interior. There are no lights in the room. Because of the power outage.
But there was a small flame. Snap. Lights up. Dark again. Snap. Lights up. Dark again.
It's a lighter.
The owner of the fire machine is a girl in her late teens, sitting at the small table by the window. Short hair, no flow, hair slanted to one side, revealing a delicate little face. Not pretty, just comely.