Instinctual//George Daniel.

I: Fashion Famous, like the Roblox game

1st of February, 2013

She stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting the folds of her purple gown. A mixture of excitement and impatience flickered within her as she mentally prepared herself for the long night ahead.

"Alison, darling, we're ready for you," a voice called out from behind the closed dressing room door. It was Christopher, her trusted photographer and dear friend.

Sighing softly, she turned away from her reflection and took a deep breath, mentally fortifying herself for what lay beyond that door. "Alright, Christopher, let's get this over with," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of weariness.

The door swung open, revealing a spacious studio bathed in soft, diffused light. An array of cameras, tripods, and other photography equipment cluttered the room, a testament to the perfectionist nature of Christopher's craft. Alison had been his muse for years, their collaboration etching her image into the world's collective memory.

Christopher, a tall and greying man in his late fifties, approached Alison with a gentle smile. "You look breathtaking, my dear," he remarked, his voice brimming with genuine admiration. "Tonight's shoot will be the icing on the cake, I assure you."

Alison managed a half-hearted smile in return, her mind already drifting to the party, 20 minutes away that was awaiting her arrival. She craved the pulsating energy of the night, the laughter of her friends, and the escape from the pressure that accompanied her job. Yet, she understood the necessity of capturing this moment, of preserving the line's collection and its beauty within the glossy pages of fashion magazines and the vast realms of social media.

She positioned herself under the bright lights, striking a pose that had become second nature to her. The camera's shutter clicked and whirred, capturing her essence  frozen in time. Christopher's soft encouragement guided her through the shoot, bringing out her true beauty with each snap of the lens.

As the minutes turned into hours, Alison's anticipation for the upcoming party grew. She longed to shed the layers of makeup and the weight of expectations that clung to her like skin. The thought of mingling with friends, savoring laughter, drinking and dancing all pushed her forward.

Finally, with the last photograph taken, Christopher lowered his camera and let out a sigh. "We've done it, my dear," he proclaimed, his eyes glimmering with pride. "You've captured the world's attention once again."

Alison forced a smile, gratitude mixing with her growing eagerness. "Thank you, Christopher. Now, let's get me out of this, please."

Exhausted and void of energy, she could no longer muster politeness, she was sick of the thick layers of makeup and heavy clothes and the burning hot lights. She'd go through this phase every few months where she hated being a model, but then have a following phase of killer gratitude, so she never gave up.

She returned to her dressing room, shutting the door behind her. She carefully and gently slipped out of the gown. She was often allowed to keep the clothes from her modelling jobs, but more often that not, they remained untouched and found their way to charity.

A flicker of excitement kindled deep within her as she entered the dressing room. Nestled discreetly in a forgotten corner, she found her secret stash of personal clothes—the ones meant for parties and carefree revelry. Among them, a sleek black mini skirt, a pair of trusty Doc Martens, and a delicate black lace cami beckoned to her.

Infused with newfound energy, she tousled her hair into a beautifully disheveled style, capturing the essence of untamed freedom. A touch of subtle makeup—a swipe of mascara and a hint of shimmering eyeshadow—enhanced her natural beauty, letting her authentic self shine.

The dressing room door slammed, and she sighed a sigh of relief.

"Tonight is my night."