The camera is a cold, metallic weight in my hands, its sharp edge pressing into the bridge of my nose as I peer through the viewfinder. Still, after all this time fiddling with the lens and adjusting this and that, the camera keeps quavering in my shaky hands. Because I'm too aware of Elizabeth's arms reaching around me, her left hand holding the camera in place, her right hand over mine, guiding my fingers.
I smell metal, leather and lavender. Her breath tickles the side of my neck.
"...like this, 'Aska. See how that's zoomed in now? This way you will have a perfectly focused, clear photo, even in all this sunlight."
She guides the pad of my index finger to the cold round button at the top of the camera and presses down. The shutter clicks.
"The trick is to forget color exists. You're only working with black and white. That means shadow and light, and sharpness, and contrast, are what matters most."
