𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙨-𝙢𝙤𝙞 𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙧𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙚𝙣 || 𝘽.𝙒

Chapter One: Angélique

{A/N: Trigger warnings - French people}

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THE EGYPTIAN SUN burnt hot against Angélique's skin, turning her usual olive tone to a darker tan. She continuously wipes the sweat off her brow, feeling like the umpteenth time in the past two minutes. The flashing of the camera just out of her peripheral vision reminds her of where she currently is and what she's supposed to be doing–posing, smiling, and not looking sweaty.

"Cut!" The photographer shouts, lowering the sunglasses on his face so his eyes can peer into Angélique's tired purple ones. He opens his mouth to speak when directing the rest of the camera crew, his gaze never once leaving her. This might've been the worst intimidation tactic Angélique's seen since her early teenage years of modeling. "Let's take five, make-up touch our model up and then we'll reconvene."

Everyone seemed to let out a sigh of relief, crew members immediately dashing to the shade of a nearby awning or checking up on the equipment to make sure none of it was overheating. Angélique catches the water bottle her manager throws at her with a grateful smile and heads off to sit behind her trailer. Her AC had broken that morning so the inside was even more stifling hot than it was outside.

She squats down, feeling the dirt and rocks crunch underneath her designer sandals. For such expensive and marketed luxury clothes, they sure didn't feel like durable or comfortable materials. Angélique closes her eyes, taking in the sound of nearby water and the whirring of her portable fan. She hears some distant grunting and ignores it, thinking it's some crew member complaining about their current gig. Hopefully, it was the electrician her manager claimed to have called a few hours ago to fix her AC.

Angélique's nose scrunches in discomfort as a putrid smell invades her nostrils, making her slightly lightheaded. She finally opens her eyes, green blotching the corners of her vision from keeping them closed for so long when she comes face to face with a rancid creature wrapped in aged cloth. Angélique could spot blistering green skin through holes between the tightly bandaged cloth, its mouth open revealing chipped yellow teeth and tongue emanating the grunting sound. Before she even has a chance to react to the horrific sight in front of her, a man appears behind the creature with a stick in his right hand.

"Flipendo!"

Angélique flinches, falling onto her ass as a bright light emanates from the tip of the stick aimed right at her. Instead of hitting her, the light turns the creature in front of her into a puff of smoke and she stares wide-eyed at the strange man who just did magic before her eyes.

"Shite," the man pockets the stick and makes his way quickly to Angélique. "Ma'am, are you all right?"

Angélique blinks a few times, her eyes finally zeroing in on the stranger in front of her. Her mind's fogginess seemed to subside the longer she stared at him, finally taking in his odd appearance. He was a tall man with long, fiery red hair pulled into a man bun as if haphazardly, strands already falling into his amber eyes. 

A plethora of freckles dotted across his pale skin like constellations, tempting Angélique to trace out the Big Dipper or Cassiopeia. Her eyes scanned across his face, landing on the single fang dangling from his ear. Despite his abrupt entrance, he was rather a quite handsome man.

He clears his throat awkwardly, snapping Angélique out of her thoughts and realizing her right hand had started reaching towards his face subconsciously. She snaps her hand back at her side and hastily stands up, brushing her messed-up hair away from her face.

"Yes, I believe I'm fine." Angélique tries to muster a bit of dignity as if she hadn't just fallen on her ass and stands tall, her resolve crumbling when the stranger follows suit. Merde, this man was tall as hell.