Celia's baptism

The click of Elara's heels echoed in the studio's silence like a **** sentence. With an imperious gesture, she gathered the entire staff with a single look. The assistants, the make-up artist, even Leo, who was adjusting a lens, congregated with the stillness of those who know the protocol of power.

"It seems the Lumière family is expanding," Elara announced, her voice projecting with an icy clarity that cut through the air. Her hand, slender and pale, rested on Celia’s shoulder. Celia stood beside her, eyes shining, absorbing every word as if it were a gospel of glamour. "Everyone, welcome Celia. She will be our new… apprentice." She paused, savoring the word. "And like any initiation, it requires a proper baptism."

Magi, standing slightly apart from the group, felt an invisible hand crush her chest. She watched her sister’s face, illuminated by a naive and dangerous excitement, and wanted to scream. But her voice stayed trapped in her throat, twisted into a knot of terror and guilt.

"Lilith," Elara called, never taking her eyes off her new acquisition. "The initiation set, please."

Lilith emerged from the shadows with a sly, weasel-like smile. She held a garment folded with military precision. It was a cocktail dress, seemingly innocent, made of a pale, silky pink. But as she unfolded it in front of Celia, its true nature was revealed: the back was completely open, from the shoulders down to the very base of her spine, and the short, pleated skirt was cut in such a way that any movement, no matter how slight, promised to reveal more than it concealed.

"It's beautiful," Celia whispered, touching the silk with fingers trembling with excitement.

"It's functional," Elara corrected smoothly. "It is designed to capture the… freshness of the first moment. The transition." Her gaze slid toward Magi. "Magi, help her dress. You know the protocol."

The words were a whiplash. Magi moved like an automaton, guiding Celia toward the dressing room. As the door closed, the outside world dimmed.

"See, Magi? It’s incredible!" Celia exclaimed, undressing without a hint of shame, her youth and enthusiasm exuding a vulnerability that shattered the soul. "The dress is so expensive! And Elara is so… imposing!"

Magi didn't answer. With hands that felt like they belonged to someone else, she helped Celia put on the dress. The pink silk clung to her young body, creating a silhouette of false innocence. Celia's fully exposed back looked even paler and more fragile under the cold light of the dressing room.

"Celia, listen to me," Magi urged, gripping her shoulders with **** strength. "This isn't a game. What’s going to happen out there… hurts. It’s going to change you. Please, think about it."

Celia looked at her with a mix of pity and exasperation.

"Drop the drama, Magi. Not all of us are afraid to live. You did it, and look how strong you are now," she said, adjusting her cleavage in the mirror with a satisfied smile. "Besides, it’s just a few photos. What could happen?"

What could happen? The question, so naive and stupid, echoed through Magi like the epitaph of the sister she once knew. Begging, insisting, would be useless. Celia had already drunk the poison, and it tasted like ambrosia to her.

When they walked out of the dressing room, the studio had been transformed. An infinite white backdrop, and a single overhead spotlight that created a circle of relentless light. Leo waited behind the camera, his face impassive. Elara and Lilith watched from the shadows, like spectators of an ancient rite.

"To the center, my dear," Elara directed in a silky voice.

Celia walked into the light with a firm, almost defiant step. The pink silk shimmered, and her bare back looked like an offering.

"Arms up. Turn slowly," Leo ordered.

Celia obeyed, giggling, as if she were a model on a runway. But as the light swept over her body, highlighting every curve through the thin fabric, her smile froze slightly. When Leo told her to crouch down and look at the camera with an expression of "innocent surprise," the sparkle in her eyes began to fade, replaced by a flash of discomfort.

Magi, from the shadows, watched every micro-expression on her sister’s face. She saw the exact moment when excitement turned to doubt, and doubt into a first, faint shiver of realization. This wasn't glamour. It was scrutiny. A dissection.

Elara approached Magi and whispered in her ear, her breath cold:

"Look closely, Magi. You are watching the moment a new mirror is born. And you welcomed her." A pause. "Now, go and help her. Adjust the hem of her skirt. We shouldn't see… too much."

The order was clear. Magi had to walk into the light, toward her sister, and become an active accomplice in her humiliation. As she fixed the fold of Celia’s skirt, her fingers brushed the cold skin of her sister’s thigh. Celia looked at her, and for the first time, Magi saw a flash of real panic, a plea for help, in her eyes.

But it was too late. Leo's shutter captured that nascent instant of terror. Click.

The baptism was over. And Magi, by obeying Elara's order, had sealed not only Celia’s fate, but her own. There was no going back now. She had become her own sister’s warden.