Modelling was never your intended career choice.

You had gone to a good university to study TV journalism thanks to the booming industry of national daytime news, yet halfway through a placement you had caught someone's eye.

The Baroness', in fact. And completely by accident.

The two of you had a... rocky relationship. You were a qualified journalist, after all, but the woman just couldn't help herself. You were with her day and night.

It was at least 10pm at this point, and you were allowing the Baroness to wrap you in fabrics, take pictures, sketch. Why weren't you protesting?

"No, no. That won't do." She scoffed - to you or herself was unclear - moving to pull the yellow fabric away from your skin, "Yellow just does not match your complexion, you look jaundiced. You know that."