With the uniform fully exposed.

The promise of the photoshoot hung over Celia during the night like a tangible threat. The next morning, Studio Lumière seemed to have transformed. The air smelled of static electricity and hairspray. In Set 1, the largest one, an infinite white cyclorama had been set up, creating a purified void where only she would exist.

Lilith met her in the dressing room.

"The uniform is the baseline," Lilith ordered in a didactic voice, like an anatomy professor. "No variations today."

Celia obeyed. The fabric of her street clothes slid down her body, revealing the black lace microbikini she was already wearing from home, an unspoken order for the day. The fabric, now familiar, dug into her skin with the same piercing sensation of humiliation as the day before.

There was no underwire bra, only the constant annoyance of the bra's thin strings and the thong, forcing her to be aware of every muscle and every curve. She looked at herself in the mirror. The intense black made her look even paler, a fragile silhouette exposed without mercy. The uniform didn't cover her; it exposed her terror.

Stepping onto the set, the light hit her. It wasn't ambient work lighting, but hard, directional spotlights, positioned to sculpt every curve and create deep shadows. Leo was behind the camera, his face a mask of concentration. Magi watched from the shadows, her arms crossed, her body relaxed but her gaze alert.

"Let's start with the basics," said Elara's voice, coming from somewhere outside the circle of light. "Stand up. Back straight. Hands on your hips."

Celia obeyed. The pose was simple, but under the spotlights, with the minuscule black lace as her only protection, she felt monstrously exposed.

"Good. Now, turn your head. Look over your shoulder at the camera. Not with fear. With… defiance," Elara instructed.

Celia tried to mimic the coldness she had seen in Magi. But in her eyes, Leo captured the panic, the struggle, the confusion. Click.

"No. It's ****," Elara corrected. "Relax your mouth. Part your lips slightly. As if the air were heavy."

The adjustments were small, infinitesimal, but each one aimed directly at her discomfort. The session became a **** of micromanagement. "Arch your back more." "Cross your ankles, not your knees." "Let one shoulder drop naturally." Each order placed her in a more ****, more suggestive position.

Then came the poses on the floor. "Sit on your heels, with your legs spread." As she did so, the G-string pulled taut obscenely. "Hollow your back, rest your hands behind you." The position elevated her hips and chest, offering her body to Leo's lens in an act of geometric submission. Click. Click. Click.

Celia lost all track of time. The cold sweat mixed with the heat of the spotlights. The black lace clung to her skin. She no longer thought about escaping, only about surviving the next second, the next command.

"Enough," Elara finally said.

Celia collapsed onto the cold floor of the cyclorama, panting, exhausted beyond mere physical fatigue.

"Not bad for a first time," Elara commented, walking closer. "The initial resistance adds an interesting nuance." Her gaze fell upon Celia, broken on the floor. "Pick her up, Magi. Let her rest."