Paparazzi.

8: a greek god.

Adorning herself in a pristine white silk dress, she embraced the allure of elegance, a vision of grace, royalty and beauty. Those delicate marron ribbons adorned her blonde hair like whispers of enchantment, and a subtle touch of makeup enhanced the natural radiance that wrapped her features. As she gazed at the mirror, even she couldn't help but be taken aback by the reflection staring back, a portrait of a natural beauty, ready to glaze the world's boring song with the glimmer of her beats, ready to grace the opulent canvas of the impending soirée.

« Omg, sometimes I wish I was a man so I could marry you, you look stunning, rosie! » she heard her friend say, she could only laugh at the quirky remark, although she agreed, because yes, she was a very pretty woman and she knew that very well, how could she not? When it was the one thing she was always complimented for, sadly, it was the one and only thing she was ever praised for, it seems like she failed at everything but at her looks.. that being the only thing she never tried to work hard for.

« I think I should get going, Lali, I'm already quite late »
« Yeah, do you need me to drive you to the salle? » Lisa offered.
« No need, mom sent a chauffeur to make sure I make it, poor man has been waiting for half an hour I believe, I'm going now, see you later » she explained to her friend, grabbing her bag.
« oh, so did you make him wait, to be fashionably late or to get back at you mom? » the photographer couldn't help but ask, she watched as her blonde friend looked back at her smiling, before she heard her answer « both. »
And with that the beauty left.

When rosé made it inside the car, she glanced secretly at the chauffeur who wasn't paying her any attention, she thought that he probably felt humiliated by her indifference and unprofessionalism, and although she felt sorry for him, she quite didn't care enough to imply that, so she only averted her gaze to look at the moving vehicles outside, she watched as the buildings were moving at a fast speed, yet she couldn't really spot the difference between all the architectural elements that were composing the city, when did architecture become so boring and void of character?
It was so soulless she wanted to book a ticket to Rome just so she could admire the beauty of real estates, back when humans took the saying 'life imitates art' seriously.

« Fucking capitalism » she mumbled quietly, that's when she felt a reflection of eyes look her way from the rear mirror, when she looked his way, she noticed that the man was trying so hard to bite his lips to prevent himself from smiling, « aye there, what do people call you? » she asked, sounding almost childish, she wanted so bad to assert her dominance, and it was evident that despite her background, she was a simple, harmless young woman, in fact, if she was trying by any chance to scare him away, then she was totally failing, he just thought she was adorable.

« Felix, ma'am » he politely informed her, she nodded and that was the end of their conversation, they both had nothing more to say anyway.

When the car stopped, rosé took notice of the crowd of reporters, camera men and bodyguards waiting outside, there were even some civilians standing behind them, probably curious about the event, she waited for the driver, Felix, to open her door for her, she felt the flashing lights of cameras, and she reminded herself to smile, look confident and stay on alert.

When she made it inside, her eyes scanned the place, it was an old palace that looked vintage and unnecessarily lavish, it wasn't the kind of architecture she admired at Paris or Rome, it was just an exaggeration, a waste of money even, perhaps money can't buy taste..she concluded. Her eyes were firmly looking for her mother, she came here upon her request, and she wasn't planning on roaming around this hellhole alone. And in the opulent expanse of the lavish party, Rosé navigated through the clusters of animated conversations and glittering soirée attire. Spotting her mother, immersed in discussions about a triumphant art gallery in Berlin, radiated the success that seemed to amplify in the glow of admiration, her mother was an established artist, well known amongst the upper ranks as the most talented artist of her time, she made herself a name and always credited her success to her husband's family and influence.
The desire to approach her, to share in the pride of her accomplishments tugged at Rosé's heart. However the stark contrast between her perceived failure and lack of accomplishments, and her mother's achievements held her back. As she lingered on the outskirts of the crowd, Rosé grappled with the weight of inadequacy, a silent spectator to the symphony of success surrounding her.