Designer's Heart

Prologue

•Vatican City, Italy

When her heels sounded on the polished floor of St. Peter's Basilica, Marielle clutches the dress into a tight grip, almost suffocating herself. She stands before the altar, together with the crafted angels above the windows.

Everywhere she scatters a gaze, the dent in her heart throbs in immense pain, for this date holds a specific memory. Neither the golden gleam of such posh architecture, nor the gentleness of the sculptures, presents the enlightenment she has been trying to gain in years of travelling, unaccompanied.

In front of the Sistine Chapel is a lady of class clothed in an exquisite garment. Her botanical Gucci dress sways at each glide. She appears like an aristocrat, a woman of etiquette, who got lost in the present time, searching freedom through lands.

Across the ceiling lies the painting of Michaelangelo's "Creation of Adam". Reminded she is by the close touching of their fingers, only then she realizes what the boys might be planning.

As the masterpiece hovered over Marielle, dread cripples her feet from ambling further, and instead turns her heels to walk away.

•Versailles, France

The smell of paint spread through the air in the Grand Canal where the great artists of France had created their art. Redolent it is, the young woman proceeds into a silent area, not far from the waters but beneath the round trees, carrying the roughly finished canvass.

Mariklaire sees the world with fascination. Carefully stroking the brush, her hand seems like it is meant to create portraits of people who once strolled the Earth. Emerald trees line up on the entire place, while the clouds remain in the draping color of cerulean. Things are serene.

There is a gloomy quality on her painting that rendered the image to be melancholic. Three little girls setting up the lanterns on a boat for Christmas season. Perhaps, this day never wore off its meaning which intensified Klaire's aggression towards yesterday's event.

Her black YSL jumpsuit signifies the emotion of a mourner, her lips bore a winedark shade. She is an art of symmetry, the jawline screams such goddess figure. While examining the other children from a distance, she envisions the angel in her heart. Tears descend on her cheeks.

The phone rings in a disturbing manner causing her to wipe those swollen eyes. She scoops it out of the bag and answers the call.

"Hello? Mariklaire speaking."

"It's me..Dale."

• Melbourne, Australia

From the grandeur Melbourne Town Hall to the modern aesthetic of Eureka's tower vacant 85th floor, winter's fashion week introduces the diverse style and designs of well known designer brands.

Monicah has eyes that talk feisty whenever the runway calls for a show. Murmurs around the ramp did not die down for such refinement is a treasured experience. Chanel reveals their winter collection to the crowd with models switching the mood for a fallen face.

For this day, emptiness is not an instruction for her, rather a personal matter, a remembrance of horror which dates back to an old town. Her catwalk flows in composure as if water bending in a pool of other models. The chiffon trench coat embraces the slap of air.

Cameras click in consecutive snaps while its flashes goes against the white atmosphere of the hall. Hours later, champagne glasses are being offered for the show's success.

She heads straight the changing room, exhausted from the towering heels they have to manage. As she is about to grab her clothes, the mesmerizing scent of the bouquet captures her attention. She reads the card.