Heaven's Empire

Model

I took a seat and he eyed my reflection in the mirror, seeming to be contemplating something. Flicking through one of his sketchbooks, he apparently reach a decision.

I caught sight of more and more people entering the room in the mirror and the place was soon filled with people, adjusting lights, repositioning cameras and doing all manner of things I couldn't understand as Mario washed his hands at the sink.

He then reached for a canister from the huge crate brought in a few minutes before, squirting what appeared to be white, bubbly foam into one hand.

"This is a miracle-worker," he said, sliding his fingers through my hair to massage the foam gently closer to my skull. "It is like a primer, of sorts. Prepares the hair for any kind of styling, makes it hold in place better once you've fixed it and dissolves entirely on its own."

He was passionate about every product he used and proceeded to tell me more than I could take it about the mouses, creams and sprays that he selected for use on my hair. He brushed it, combed out the strands framing my face and sprayed it with heat protection mist ("because I won't allow even one hair on your head to be damaged, Stasia, darling,"). Then he straightened it, ran a thick, gorgeous-smelling cream into its lengths, massaged a new variety of foam into the roots with his fingertips and stroked some kind of gel into the layers.

I wondered what more there could possibly be to do - it wasn't that I didn't enjoy the process, it was actually quite relaxing - but I didn't understand how there could be a product that hadn't been used.

How little I knew.

A new brush appeared and Mario parted sections off, lifting and twirling and clipping them into place. After spraying each area, he reached for a heated rod which I supposed was a curling wands though didn't look like the others I'd seen. He turned each section of hair this way and that, unclipping and re-clipping each before fastened them all into what looked like a hair drying cap, sweeping every last strand from my face.

"That will do," Mario said contentedly, loading the sprays, bottles and straighteners that were littered over the desk back into the crate they had arrived in. "Now," he said, turning my chair around a little so I was not facing the mirror do straight, "For the true masterpiece."

He reached for the other box which had been brought in earlier, lifting a small black tube from one compartment. It bore the label Primer and Skin Perfector in gold letters, just beneath the shimmering logo HE. Mario dabbed a small amount of the white cream onto the back of his hand, pausing to ask:

"Would you prefer to do most of your makeup yourself?"

There was no way I could agree to that; I barely knew where to start with the few products whose purpose I recognised.

"Actually, I think I'd be better leaving it to you."

"Very good. I only ask because some of the models like to apply their own base makeup. They have particular preferences, you see..."

"Honestly, I don't mind what look you're going for, as long as it makes me look slightly closer to beautiful."

"Pff," he huffed. "I could never make you beautiful, Stasia. You already are. All I can hope to do is enhance your natural features without ruining you. The plan I have in mind is dramatic enough to work for a camera but subtle enough to keep you looking like yourself."

With that he began to dab the cream onto my face and sprayed a clear liquid on after it. After that he withdrew an entire section from the box that appeared to be a tray of some sort. As he lifted it onto the desk I saw it was a tray of neatly ordered cylindrical glass bottles, each bearing the black, intertwined letters HE. They were filled with liquids of various shades from deep mahogany and rich ochre to soft beige and light caramel.