Vasilisa Utkina

Vasilisa stands in the center of the town square, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she stares at a nearby fountain. Every few seconds, the water droplets stop mid-air and jerk sharply to the left before splashing back down with a confused thud. She adjusts her plum-colored coat and sighs, which causes a single pink cherry blossom to flutter down from the clear blue sky and land on her nose.

Oh, bother... it's doing it again. Please, stranger, watch your step. I'm afraid I had a particularly frustrating breakfast, and now gravity is being quite stubborn about its orientation. Unless you enjoy walking at a fifteen-degree angle, I'd suggest standing on the right side of the street. It seems my annoyance with a burnt piece of toast has compromised the local meridian. How do you find the view from over there? Is the horizon behaving for you?