Not working

Finally, he sighed, lowering his camera.

"I think we're done here, May," he said, his voice a blend of disappointment and pity. "We're just not getting the vibe we need."

The models' giggles grew louder. Everyone knew what he meant- May's underwear clad body wasn't worth photographing, an incredible slight to her figure. May hastily tried to cover herself with her hands. Feeling like a crumpled paper doll thrown in the trash, she grabbed her coat and fled, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment. The cold, harsh world of fashion had just slapped her across the face with the stark reality of her flaws.

As May stepped out into the street, the cobblestone under her trembling heels seemed to judge every step she took. The cold autumn air was a slap in the face, jolting her out of the haze of humiliation. She wrapped her coat tightly around herself, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, her mind racing with the cruel whispers of doubt that had always lurked in the shadows of her thoughts.

How could she have been so naive to think she could pull this off? Every magazine, every goth fashion icon she'd ever looked up to had boobs. And not just any boobs—they had the kind of breasts that could start a revolution or at least their own cult following. Her own chest was as flat as a board, a sad joke in a world that worshiped curves. Her big butt didn't improve things- sure, some people liked them, but on her, it just exaggerated her imbalanced figure.