"Look up at the ceiling. More—higher!" She screamed and I didn't know she had been able to raise her voice that high. Her hair was pushed back into a messy pony tail as she took shot after shot, but only after I moved and she found her perfect shot. "Next outfit. And fix the hair."

I was pulled away as they brought another jacket from the hanger, but I kept my eyes on her—studying and watching her.

She was fascinating.

She pulled away from the camera. She didn't look at me once, not since she had grabbed the camera into her hand. I wondered if she couldn't feel my staring or not, it was not as if I was hiding it. She looked at me through the pictures instead, her eyes taking her work—not me but her work.

"Lucas, upload these pictures." She gave him the disk and replaced an empty storage card into the camera. "If we have time, we will look through the pictures."

She was messy. She was all over place. And she looked horrid, her hair slick with oil, but she looked indescribably wonderful. Her professionalism was mesmerizing. The way she moved flawlessly, never taking anymore shots than necessary. Then I realized that she was a perfectionist. Not in her figure or appearance but her work. She prized her works and her art.

It was beautiful.

The hair and make up fixed, i was finally left alone and I was able to walk behind her, who was looking through the shots of me.

"It came out good." I commented on the one she had stopped on to look at, to check. She flinched at my voice and turned to look at me. She turned away without saying anything back to the picture. "All of them are good."

She didn't say anything for awhile, until she landed on a particular picture of mine. I had not even known that she had taken that shot. It was me smiling, grinning like an idiot my eyes turned into crescent moons. My hands were in my hair combing through the messy locks.

"No." I groaned. I did not like that picture. "Delete that." She eyed me strangely, her green eyes blinking quickly.

"No." She curtly replied back. "This one is a keeper. It's the best one out of all of them."

"The rest are..."

"Are..?" I continued, now I was piqued. The woman was talking to me and it was interesting. I was so pulled into her.

"They're fake." She shrugged out finally. I was slightly hurt, but I appreciated her honesty. It was refreshing. She clicked the mouse, her body leaning, several times. "The rest—these—are fake. Fake. Fake," she pointed to another one with my eyes to the ceiling, "oh—and fake."

I looked at her amused.

"But this one?" I pointed to the picture that she was smiling at.

"That one?"

"It's real. You look alive, and in the moment. Immortalized." She smiled, obviously proud of her work and not because of my appearance. "You're a model, these are pictures that you want to be forever."

"If you think so." I muttered, my eyes never taking off her. She looked captivating as she worked. She was like a gem. It was almost a pity that it was only seen by few.

"Hmph, I know so." She huffed and I wanted to say something back but my attention was taken away by the C. D.'s assistant.