They have to go back to the studio.

Elara’s order had been clear: "Studio. 9 AM. Don't be late." The word "laundry" echoed in Celia's head like a **** sentence. There was no underwear. There was nothing between their skin and the world except the white cotton of the sheets from Lilith's house.

Deciding on them wasn't a choice, it was a logistical capitulation. The Egyptian cotton ones, at least, were thick and opaque. Magi, with mechanical and pragmatic movements, managed to roll and knot hers around her torso, creating a sort of tubular dress that reached her ankles. A firm knot over one shoulder would have to hold it. Celia, smaller and trembling, wrapped herself up like a giant turban, leaving one eye peeking out from the folds and dragging the excess fabric like a ghostly tail. They were completely barefoot.

Upon opening the front door, the city hit them with all its harshness. The sidewalk was rough and dirty beneath their feet. The first wind that blew between the buildings slipped through the opening of Magi's hem; it was a freezing and direct contact with her bare skin, but she barely clenched her jaw. She no longer cared if the world saw her, but she loathed the thermal discomfort and the grime of the asphalt.

The subway station was a descent into hell, especially for Celia. The cold, sticky floor made them arch their feet. Every look from the passersby was a dart for the younger woman, who tried to make herself invisible. They were so pale and wrapped in white, so barefoot, that people didn't know whether to look away or stare open-mouthed. Magi, on the other hand, walked looking straight ahead, ignoring the crowd with glacial indifference.

At the top of the escalators, an updraft, generated by a train entering the station, was the first executioner. It slipped under Magi's tunic and inflated it like a balloon. The heavy fabric rose in the front and back in a white wave that revealed not just her thighs, but the entirety of her frontal and posterior nakedness, exposed to the damp air of the tunnel for a whole second. A group of teenagers on the opposite escalator burst into laughter and shouts, their phones raised like weapons. Magi felt the air on her intimate parts, but instead of panicking, she let out a sigh of deep exhaustion. She pulled the fabric down with a sharp, firm tug. She didn't shrink back or cover her face; she stared the teenagers down until a couple of them lowered their phones, intimidated by the absolute lack of shame in the woman's eyes. She walked down the rest of the stairs with a straight back, stepping heavily.

Inside the subway car, the crowding was a nightmare. Celia, trying to hide from the stares, squeezed herself against a door. When the train started, she lost her balance. Her bare foot slipped on something sticky on the floor and, with a stifled cry, she fell sideways. The poorly adjusted sheet wrapping came completely undone. Celia was left on the dirty floor of the subway car, completely naked, curling into a fetal position while the sheet lay like a stained shroud beside her. People looked away; some with secondhand embarrassment, others stealing furtive glances at her pale, trembling body. An older man handed her the sheet without looking her in the eye, but his gaze lingered, full of sordid morbidity, on her breasts. Magi reacted instantly. She stepped between the man and Celia, shooting him a glare so sharp that the guy took a step back. With quick movements, Magi helped Celia up and wrapped her again, shielding her from the scrutiny of the car with her own body.

At the exit, the rush of the crowd caused the final disaster. Magi, pulling Celia's hand to get her out of the tumult, felt a brutal tug on her hip. Her sheet had caught on the rusty corner of a turnstile. The sound was a sharp CRACK. A huge triangle of fabric tore from her hip to past her knee. The opening revealed the complete curve of her left buttock and, with every step, a flash of her sex.

Magi stopped for a second, looked at the shred of fabric, and clicked her tongue. Holding the fabric with her hand to try to cover herself would have been an admission of modesty, a useless and defeatist gesture. Instead, she let go of the edge of the sheet and kept moving forward. She walked the last hundred meters to the studio with the left side of her body exposed, feeling the sun and the morning air on her bare skin. Passersby stopped to stare, some with their mouths open. A delivery driver in a van slowed down to keep pace with them for a stretch, whistling, but Magi didn't even turn her head to look at him. Her attitude was so imposing and detached that it transformed the **** exhibition into an act of insolence.

Upon crossing the glass doors of Studio Lumière, the silence was so absolute that for a moment only Celia's **** panting could be heard.

The entire staff was there. And everyone was staring. Not at their faces, but at the hanging shred of sheet that left Magi's hip and leg bare, and at Celia's trembling, dirty figure.

Elara was standing in the center of the lobby, like an empress waiting for her captives. Her eyes, cold and greedy, didn't flinch. They swept over Magi's half-naked body with the attention of a jeweler examining an impossibly cut precious stone.

"Welcome to reality," she said, without an ounce of irony, only with a terrifying truth. "I see you've understood the final lesson. There are no barriers."

She approached Magi and, with the tip of a perfectly manicured finger, touched the torn edge of the sheet, brushing the skin of her bare hip. Far from holding her breath or pulling away, Magi held her gaze, unflinching, silently daring her to find a drop of fear in her.

"This rawness... this absolute violation of the everyday... is sublime," Elara continued, smiling slightly at Magi's hardness. She turned to Leo, who already had his camera in hand, his obsession overcoming any vestige of humanity. "Don't waste a second. Not a single shot. I want the fear of the street in the little one's eyes. The dirt on their feet. And the naked insolence of the older one... in every centimeter of her skin. This is not a session. It is a live autopsy. Begin."