WARNING: I do not own CCS. I am a writer. I write. That is all.
I would like to thank some people who were invaluable in writing this:
Tiffany and Tina: Thank you for re-editing. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the feedback. You are my good friends, cool girls and all that jazz.
Zac: Well, never thought you'd be in here, would you? HA! We're obsessed, but its alright, I guess.
Peacewish: Wow. What can I say? You are gold, your editing is heaven, and I am in debt. I truly appreciate everything you have done. I was wowed by your editing skills. Favorite authors page…
Suppis Tenshi: Let us see…your kind words and positive enthusiasm meant a lot. I enjoy talking to you, about random things. Keep on writing. Once again, favorite authors page…
Without further ado…the Prologue…
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She was a pretty girl. Elegant, really. And everyone loved her hair. She was famous, of course. Anyone who was anyone knew her. She was mostly known for her spread in Vogue as hottest new model of the year. She was the envy of everyone's eye. And she was only 17 years old…
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He was a simply a photographer. Strictly business, strictly art. He was the best at his job; everyone was dying for a spread with him. He made the worst models look beautiful and the popular models look even better. He had a mysterious, unknown past, keeping to himself after hours, and only to his work onsite. He was young, he was gorgeous, and he was a driving force in the fashion industry. However, his tone onsite made him the hardest man to work with, and he was known to even stop shooting for days at a time. He was a tough catch, but when he was put under pressure, he delivered.
A combination of the brightest futures before and behind the camera was bound to happen sometime…
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Sakura Kinomoto, a beauty of epic proportions, was currently dressed in a toga, half submerged in a pool of water when the call came. Annoyed at the interruption, her publicist attempted a few remarks. Then, shrugging, handed the phone to Sakura – toga, pool, and all.
"Hai?" Sakura's tentative greeting echoed through the telephone wires.
A pause, then,"Sakura, yes,"a gruff, disgruntled tone answered.
"Well, I suppose since your publicist didn't understand you wouldn't even begin to comprehend anything at all…right?"
"Hoe?"
"Why do I work with these people? The only reason why they survive in this world is that their beautiful bodies make up for lack of intellect." At this comment, Sakura, an early college attendee at Stanford, bristled at these harsh words. She was not used to being talked to so diminutively, and she wasn't going to start today.
"Excuse me, sir, I just want to point out that I just received this phone call, which interrupted my photo shoot, and I don't appreciate being yelled at in such a manner. And I may remind you that even though I may be a model my lexicon surely extends to meet the meaning of intellect." It would have been more convincing, however, if she hadn't said it all in one breath, making her pant after the words came out, as if reciting from a script for the first time.
"Well, well, well, Sakura, we do have a little firecracker in our midst here. No wonder you were voted hottest new model of the year. It's done. I want you onsite next month." A little chuckle sealed the comment.
"Since you seem to know me, quite well, sir, who may you be?" Sakura did not try hard to hide her irritation of this man she had never met.
"Syaoran Li. Next month then. Goodbye."
The click of the phone and the dial tone rung in Sakura's ears. She had just tumbled with the most notorious photographer in the business, and somehow ended up with a job. Next month it is was. Something told her it would be a most interesting experience.