Elara stood off to the side as the photographer flipped through the images on his camera, humming in that thoughtful, slightly pompous way that only photographers could manage. The man was scrutinizing every angle, every pose, and every awkward breath that had been captured during the session. Despite her calm exterior, Elara's nerves were shot. She had no idea how Amara had managed to make it through the shoot without passing out hell, Elara barely made it out herself.
Amara had bolted the moment they were done, probably to regain some semblance of composure after the disaster that was "posing intimately for the camera." Elara, meanwhile, was left standing there, trying to act like she wasn't completely unraveling inside. Not that anyone would know, of course. The mask of cool indifference was firmly in place.
"Hmm…" the photographer muttered, still flipping through the images.
Oh no, what now? Elara's stomach tightened.
