Obscura

"No no no, you are wrinkling the designer's delicate ensemble! You call this modeling? You are stiff. Like a large oak tree forced into a dress!" The disgruntled photographer parted his supple lips, shouting at the model before him. Her form was all wrong as she stood against the beige backdrop with poor posture. The spaghetti strap of the black satin dress that she wore was slipping down the pale skin of her arm -- her toes hanging halfway out of her open toe platform heels. Her cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink as oceanic hues glanced around the room in embarrassment. "I - I'm sorry. I'll try harder!!" She cried out to the photographer, but he dismissed her with the wave of a hand. "Deficiente. I tell them to bring me professional models, and what do they give me? Fools! Do they know who I am? I am an artist! A man that takes his profession very seriously. A man with opulent taste!! " He snapped. "Everyone out. Get out of my house at once and take your rough skin with you. This photoshoot is over." The male continued to express his rage - this time through ripping the clothes right off of the model's back. Seeing her bare meant nothing to him, for she was not appealing in his eyes. In fact, just looking at her filled him with an uncontrollable anger. How dare she call herself a model when she couldn't carry herself with style and grace? She could barely stand on her own two feet let alone pose in front of a camera.

One by one, the models began to gather their belongings to exit his home as he refused to look at them. His attention was more fixated on the paintings that embellished the four walls around him than anything else. In his mind, his classic paintings would never dishearten or send him spiraling into disillusion like this these people had done. His eyes were manic, undertones of disappointment dwelling within. His photo room was clearing out as he had ordered, but one person decided to stick around. "I didn't get a chance to model for you, Monsieur." A sultry voice spoke out from across the room. Her voice was as enchanting as a siren's was to ill-fated sailors, yet somehow the male didn't budge an inch. "I think that my eyes have witnessed everyone that stepped foot into this vicinity today, and none of you look particularly worthy of being captured by my camera. Nothing about any of you stands out except that you are pitiful at first glance. Now please, don't waste my time and leave the premises immediately."He demanded, but the woman would not allow the hatred in his voice to shake her. Releasing a sharp scoff, the female walked over towards the backdrop, stripping herself of her faux fur coat. Beneath the outer garment , she wore a short velvet lace up evening gown that was created by one of the most legendary  fashion designers in Krimson City. Francesco Angelino. The slit of the dress revealed delicate skin and legs of a willowy build. The heels of the shoes that she wore we're sharp enough to piece through flesh had she stepped on anyone. "My agent booked this gig for me, and I am not going anywhere until I get the photoshoot that I was promised. You may be able to talk to the rest of your models that way, but that tone won't work with me, mon chou." She lifted her form, setting herself upon the comfort of a Savona Ivory dining room table that was being used as a prop.

Turning around on the heels of his feet, the cultivated male lowered his hands to the side of his body to straighten out the edges of his suit coat. One of his eyes was hidden behind his bang, the other now searching for the female who came into his home barking out demands. "You have some nerve to come into my accommodation and..." His voice was silenced by the mere sight woman displaying herself in front of  the backdrop. His eye scanned her facial features, her visage was like none other that he'd seen before. "Dio santo." He whispered to himself as he traversed to the opposite side of the room. His form now getting closer to the woman -- his gaze not leaving her own even for a second. Slender digits reached out towards her, taking her face into his hands. The tips of his fingers gently stroked her cheekbones and studied the curvature of her well defined facial structure. "Your face had to have been created by the divine mercy himself. This jawline is impeccable. Beauty radiates from you like a seraph's dream." He inhaled, taking in her scent as he leaned into her physique.  She shuddered at his closeness, a bit uncomfortable to say the least. What was wrong with this guy? She had only come for a photoshoot and now she was being sniffed down like a hound after it's prey.

"Ah, where are my manners. Do forgive me for being so... discourteous. I am Stefano Valentini, and you are?" Stefano questioned her, taking hold of her left hand into his. Lifting their hands, he kissed the back of her own whilst the pad of his thumb caressed such tender skin. "My name is Luna Belizaire. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Valentini. Do you approve of giving me exactly what I came for now?" Luna asked. She tilted her head to the side, watching his every move as her long locks of Raven hair cascaded down her shoulder. Her eyes began to scintillate as they were struck by the umbrella soft LED lights around the room. Her skin glistening like the dews of early morn. Releasing her hand, his fingers trailed down the front of her clothing inch by inch until firm digits we're greeted by the slit of her dress. Fingertips ran across her fleshy though, memorizing every intricate detail of her being. "Oh. My darling. You are a goddess. You are worth so much ore than a photoshoot.  You should be sculpted. No, no....you should become the artwork." Stefano hissed. Luna smiled, though she was nervous as she politely swept his hand away from her form. His eyes, or at least the only one that she could see, was staring her down with intensity. His right hand now reaching within his coat pocket, unsheathing a blade with a curved tip.


Stepping away from what his mind was considering to be his masterpiece, Stefano walked over towards the photo room door, closing it before he turned the lock so that his art would not escape. The corners of his lips curled up into a sinister grin, his hair swaying in the soft breeze and he made his way back to his new prized possession. "Luna, you are about to become my paragon of virtue -- my most sensational show piece. You will make every other artist in the world envious of your beauty and you will thank me for making you so." Stefano grew cocky. Insanity emitted from his articulation -- the tip of his blade sliding down the female's chest, cutting the fabric that clothed her down the middle. As the velvet fell away from her body, her breasts we're exposed, dainty mounds that he would be able to dissect at his will. "Such resilience. Your legs...they would make the perfect tripod. I have an extra here in storage somewhere. It is not as extraordinary as your own, but your brilliance will overshadow it. You shall become my Obscura."

(to be continued.)