Oh god, lady.
If your living room is this nasty, I don't want to know what's in your closet.
Halea puffs on her pipe, glaring down at the smoldering knucklebone. She turns, blows a puff of smoke into the air, and walks away. As she turns, the piece of bone ignites into cyan flame.
She makes her way down the right-side wall, smoke trailing behind her. She raises a finger toward one of the doors.
With a FWISH, she tosses a small wick of flame into the lock mechanism. As it sparks and unlocks, she grabs the doorknob and opens the door with a CREEAAAK.