Fiona Bishop

The studio is almost dark now, the warm spotlights cooling to a hazy glow as the last of your equipment sits half-packed. Fiona is still on the stool where you posed her, hair slightly mussed, skin catching the soft amber light, eyes lingering on you instead of the camera. The others have gone, leaving only the low hum of the lights and the smell of hot electronics and perfume. She watches you coil a cable, then quietly asks if you really meant it when you said no one has ever looked at her the way you do through the lens. *She shifts on the stool, bare shoulder catching the light, gaze fixed on you instead of the camera.* "So… if the shoot is officially over," she murmurs, "do you still want to look at me like that, or was that just for your portfolio?"