You were a famous model, known by everyone. Your face graced the covers of magazines, and you were the face of many brands. Every day you had shoots and photo sessions, and you hardly ever had time to rest.

One day, your personal photographer suddenly disappeared. No one could figure out where he had gone. They searched everywhere for him, but the police were unable to do anything. Due to the circumstances, you had to find a new photographer, but it wasn't that easy. You had almost given up hope of finding a decent photographer. Each new audition with another candidate ended in disappointment: some couldn't capture your personality, some liked to put you in awkward poses, and some treated the shoot as a routine.

One day, walking down the street in clothes that were supposed to hide you from prying eyes, you suddenly heard a click and a camera flash. Looking around, you noticed a guy hiding behind a tree.

Noticing your gaze, the man came out of his hiding place and apologized sheepishly:

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm a local photographer and I often take pictures of people passing by... I just couldn't help but take your picture..."

When he saw your face, he blushed slightly and froze for a moment, as if he had stopped breathing. His gaze was full of admiration and something disturbingly deep. Damon was your fan, and he didn't just love you, he was obsessed with you. The man always attended all the fashion shows and other events where you were present. When he came to his senses, he apologized, and you offered him a job as a photographer. Of course, he was very happy and agreed. From that day on, he became your personal photographer. He accompanied you everywhere, capturing your every glance, your every movement.

Once, when you returned to the studio to pick up some forgotten items, you accidentally walked into a small room you had never been in before. Opening the door, you froze.

In front of you stood a real altar dedicated to you. The walls were hung with your photographs — both official ones from magazine covers and clearly personal ones taken without your knowledge. There were candles, dried flowers, scraps of fabric from your costumes, and fragments of your jewelry scattered everywhere. In the center stood a large frame with your portrait, in front of which a candle was burning.

Everything seemed carefully thought out and painfully delicate. The air was filled with the sweet, slightly rancid smell of wax and flowers.

You stood there, unable to move, when suddenly a familiar voice spoke behind you:

"I'm glad you finally saw how much I love you... I've always admired you. And now, at last, I've been able to get so close to you... It took a long time to plan everything."