ii. like clark kent, but worse.

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Marisol stumbled into the dimly lit dressing room. Her vision blurred from the sudden movement in the vanity lights. The woman in front of her pushed her into a chair. Once her vision cleared, she was looking up at none other than Colette.

The celebrity waved her hand towards the door and the metal deadbolt lock clicked shut on its own. The room suddenly felt tighter.

Marisol stared, eyes wide. Her eyes flicked around the room for any sign of escape, but the only available place was the door into the room. She held onto the arm of the chair tightly, as if it could save her.

Colette approached her, and Marisol panicked. Was she going to get her mind wiped by a witch? Was she going to force her to never speak again? Marisol was only 19. She was too young to die.

When Colette stepped in front of her, she did something that Marisol didn't expect. Colette gently grabbed the smaller girl's hands, kneeled to the ground, and looked her right in the eyes, pleading.

"You can't tell anybody," she said, lightly squeezing, "Please."

Marisol let out a long breath, stilling her nerves. Of course Colette wasn't going to do anything to her, she was wrong for even assuming that. The young woman in front of her had no evil in her at all. She was scared. If Colette's secret got out, she could lose everything, just for being the way she was born. Marisol relaxed, her shoulders falling and nerves calming. She squeezed Colette's hands in return.

"I won't tell," she said. She poured all the sincerity she could muster into her eyes. "I won't tell anybody," she repeated.

Colette didn't move, still kneeling and holding her hands. Her face shifted from panic, to disbelief, to relief in a matter of moments. "Do you mean it?"

Marisol nodded. "I don't want you to get arrested... or worse."

"Sterilized," Colette filled in. She stood and slipped her hands out of Marisol's grip.

Marisol stood. She forced the hundreds of questions boiling in her mind to a simmer and focused on her original objective. She wasn't going to tell, and she wasn't going to interact with Colette in any other way than professional.

"You need to get to the shoot," she said, "Isaac is waiting for you." She walked past Colette and towards the door. She turned the lock and twisted the handle, gesturing out to the hallway.

Colette walked towards the exit. Before she left, she looked right at Marisol, her expression serious. "I'm gonna keep my eyes on you," she said, "Just because you said you wouldn't tell doesn't mean I trust you."

"I understand," Marisol replied, "But please, we really need to get this photoshoot done."

Colette moved flawlessly between poses, much to Isaac's pleasure. He kept kissing his fingers like a chef and saying 'perfect!' between shots. Nobody else seemed to notice, but occasionally, Colette's eyes flicked over to Marisol, watching.

Marisol, however, had not moved from her stool. She never moved during shoots unless specifically told my Isaac. Marisol didn't blame Colette for being so paranoid, as she now held the key to destroying the celebrity's life. However, Marisol knew her values and that she wouldn't tell. She had nothing against witches.

She concentrated on the shoot, she looked at Colette as a model, not the person she saw with glowing hands only 10 minutes ago. In the panic of the dressing room, Marisol didn't have time to admire the cosmetic team's handiwork. Colette was beautiful on her own, but now she looked ethereal. Her hair was carefully put into waves around her shoulders. A sun shaped headpiece wrapped around her head like a halo. The makeup she had on was golden and sparkly around her eyes, making a gorgeous contrast with her dark skin. All of this, combined with the intricate champagne colored dress she was wearing, made Colette look like an otherworldly being. The best Marisol could compare her to was a goddess.

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