Love, Coffee and Polaroids
A female French journalist and a freelance photographer, Arieanna makes L Lawliet as the subject of her photography as he seldom rings the bells from her forgotten past. And it turns out that L knows better. LxOC.
Hope you'll enjoy reading. And hopefully too I can improve my English by this. R&R, peeps. :) -The author
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Prompt 1: Ill mornings
"Arieanna."
Her eyelids flung open, abruptly. What was that?
There was this awfully familiar voice that had been calling for her all this while, seeking for immediate attention.
Help. A plead for assistance.
The golden-eyed female rose up reluctantly from the sheets, and stared outside the window in a daze. The sun's morning rays penetrated through the semi-transparent glass, scattering the light throughout the room and into the retinas of the particular young woman. She yawned, and stretched the muscles of her body. It was a sign of showing boredom, perhaps- the same old morning every day, the same old routine every single day that passes.
Arieanna G. Jacques, aged 23, whose birth date lies sometime in the month of November, is a French journalist and a freelance photographer. She has a pair of amethyst eyes close to the hue of golden, well since most people tend to depict it as golden- either way she wouldn't mind long ebony brown hair tumbled down her shoulders and ended right at the edge of her rear side. Her fair skin would shine radiantly at the friendly touch of the sunlight or even the reflected light from the moon.
As a journalist, and a French one to top it off, beauty is essential. Practically, she had no choice but to appear as such and that would only be successful with the help of MAC foundations, compact powders and concealers. At least she managed to learn something from the path of life she had chosen- most people are still judging one another by their looks and not their hearts.
She is fond with pretty people, rich and handsome men, but none of them took the whole interest in her in terms of friendship and kindness. People in her life live in porcelain masks and love them- and she's definitely going to be one of them if she keeps on living a life like this until the very end.
Even so, only God knows what would happen to her soon. Later. The day after tomorrow.
Polaroids seemed to scatter everywhere on the coffee table, followed by the sight of a Nikon D3000 placed beside her bed, right under the classical vintage table lamp. She grabbed the camera and snapped a picture of her black velvet covered legs against the crumpled cream comforter.
"One picture every single morning" serves as a permanent habit. And it can never be replaced with anything in this whole wide world.
She hopped off the bed and went straight to the bathroom for a shower, nearly slamming the door behind her back.
Like she always did.