The towers of Piltover glistened like gold in the searing sunshine.

The metal-covered tip of the cigarette rotated delicately between a pair of mildly glossy lips. Front teeth, somehow strengthened through the years, grabbed the golden colored piece, to tug it back inside the mouth it seldom slipped out of. An elegant cloud of sheer gray smoke floated out of the burning tip, swirling into the air. Once in a while, nimble fingers pulled the stick of tobacco out of the mouth, before jamming it back in between the lips of its owner.

The smoke didn't have any competitors.

If you enjoyed this more detailed and customized version of the prompt and would like to see a FULL version of it as a short story, don't hesitate to comment and vote on this part! Every star counts!