ii. like clark kent, but worse.

Marisol stumbled into the dimly lit dressing room. Her vision blurred from the sudden movement in the vanity lights. The woman in front of her pushed her into a chair. Once her vision cleared, she was looking up at none other than Colette.

The celebrity waved her hand towards the door and the metal deadbolt lock clicked shut on its own. The room suddenly felt tighter.

Marisol stared, eyes wide. Her eyes flicked around the room for any sign of escape, but the only available place was the door into the room. She held onto the arm of the chair tightly, as if it could save her.

Colette approached her, and Marisol panicked. Was she going to get her mind wiped by a witch? Was she going to force her to never speak again? Marisol was only 19. She was too young to die.

When Colette stepped in front of her, she did something that Marisol didn't expect. Colette gently grabbed the smaller girl's hands, kneeled to the ground, and looked her right in the eyes, pleading.

"You can't tell anybody," she said, lightly squeezing, "Please."

Marisol let out a long breath, stilling her nerves. Of course Colette wasn't going to do anything to her, she was wrong for even assuming that. The young woman in front of her had no evil in her at all. She was scared. If Colette's secret got out, she could lose everything, just for being the way she was born. Marisol relaxed, her shoulders falling and nerves calming. She squeezed Colette's hands in return.

"I won't tell," she said. She poured all the sincerity she could muster into her eyes. "I won't tell anybody," she repeated.

Colette didn't move, still kneeling and holding her hands. Her face shifted from panic, to disbelief, to relief in a matter of moments. "Do you mean it?"

Marisol nodded. "I don't want you to get arrested... or worse."

"Sterilized," Colette filled in. She stood and slipped her hands out of Marisol's grip.

Marisol stood. She forced the hundreds of questions boiling in her mind to a simmer and focused on her original objective. She wasn't going to tell, and she wasn't going to interact with Colette in any other way than professional.

"You need to get to the shoot," she said, "Isaac is waiting for you." She walked past Colette and towards the door. She turned the lock and twisted the handle, gesturing out to the hallway.

Colette walked towards the exit. Before she left, she looked right at Marisol, her expression serious. "I'm gonna keep my eyes on you," she said, "Just because you said you wouldn't tell doesn't mean I trust you."

"I understand," Marisol replied, "But please, we really need to get this photoshoot done."

Colette moved flawlessly between poses, much to Isaac's pleasure. He kept kissing his fingers like a chef and saying 'perfect!' between shots. Nobody else seemed to notice, but occasionally, Colette's eyes flicked over to Marisol, watching.

Marisol, however, had not moved from her stool. She never moved during shoots unless specifically told my Isaac. Marisol didn't blame Colette for being so paranoid, as she now held the key to destroying the celebrity's life. However, Marisol knew her values and that she wouldn't tell. She had nothing against witches.

She concentrated on the shoot, she looked at Colette as a model, not the person she saw with glowing hands only 10 minutes ago. In the panic of the dressing room, Marisol didn't have time to admire the cosmetic team's handiwork. Colette was beautiful on her own, but now she looked ethereal. Her hair was carefully put into waves around her shoulders. A sun shaped headpiece wrapped around her head like a halo. The makeup she had on was golden and sparkly around her eyes, making a gorgeous contrast with her dark skin. All of this, combined with the intricate champagne colored dress she was wearing, made Colette look like an otherworldly being. The best Marisol could compare her to was a goddess.

"Marisol, can you go adjust that light?" Isaac snapped towards a lightstand to his left. "I need it lower."

She stood from her stool and walked to the lightstand. She carefully unlocked the height mechanism and slid the light downward. She could feel the model's gaze on her as she worked. Isaac snapped again and Marisol stopped, locking the light in its new position. She returned to her seat as Isaac began snapping pictures again.

The click of the camera and the flashing lights might give others a headache, but it's where Marisol enjoyed being most. There was a certain exhilaration to watching live artwork being made. Marisol hoped one day that she'd be the one holding the camera in front of the latest celebrities, photos that she herself arranged on the front page of a magazine.

She stretched in her seat and continued watching the photoshoot. She ignored the looks Colette gave her and concentrated on the way Isaac worked. She watched as he carefully kneeled on the ground to get angles, how he positioned himself, and how he positioned the camera. Isaac might have been eccentric and a little bossy, but he had a genius eye for portraiture. Marisol considered herself lucky to even watch him in his element.

Isaac stood up from his crouching position. He held up the camera and looked into the small screen, pressing through the photos. Marisol knew this as his 'make or break' pose. Either he found out he was done with the cover shoot and happily moved on to the inner pages, or he had a creative meltdown and reshot everything. A long couple of moments passed with the only sound being the clicking of his thumb against the camera button. Marisol held her breath. She wasn't sure if she was ready to handle a meltdown after all that had already happened.

Isaac placed his camera down on a small table and clapped his hands together. "Alright! They're perfect," he announced. He pointed towards Marisol. "You and the interns go set up for the inside page shoots. We'll start up again in 30 minutes." He turned towards Colette. "You can go back to the dressing room. The stylists will be there to change you for the new shoot and for you to get a quick rest in."

Colette smiled politely and approached Isaac. She spoke in a low tone, though it was enough for Marisol to hear. "Hey, I like your assistant," she said, "Is it okay if she comes with me instead of setting up?"

Isaac turned towards Marisol, looking her up and down. "She's my best assistant," he said, "But if the most talented young actress in the world would like to borrow her, it would be my pleasure." He grinned.

"Merci," she said, winking. "You're a treat to work with."

Isaac pushed his chest up like a proud peacock, obviously flattered by Colette's compliments. He waved Marisol over. "You're going to be staying by her side until the end of the photoshoot."

"But sir, I'm a photography assistant, can't you get one of the interns-"

Isaac cut her off. "You were requested. This is part of the job too."

Marisol shut her mouth. This wasn't her job, but she wasn't going to go against her boss. She gave Colette a tight-lipped smile and followed her to the dressing room. Until now, despite nearly being late and finding out their model was a witch, Marisol had been having a pretty good day. It was only now going downhill as she became a celebrity babysitter. She thought that job was for managers, not for 19 year old photography assistants.

The worst part is that she didn't even do anything while Colette prepared for her next shoot. Marisol sat in one of the spare chairs in the dressing room as hairdressers and makeup artists buzzed around her. Colette didn't even ask for Marisol to get her a bottle of water. She just left Marisol to sit with nothing to do but brew in her frustration.

Once Colette was transformed for her next shoot, she shooed the cosmetics team out of the room. She was wearing some sort of summer themed outfit - though Marisol didn't think much of it, she was too angry to look at the details.

Marisol pushed herself out of the chair. "Okay, let's go out for the shoot."

"We still have a couple minutes," Colette replied.

"Well, you're already dressed," Marisol gestured up and down Colette's body, "So we might as well go out."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yes."

"Is it because I'm a witch?"

Marisol threw her hands into the hair, exasperated. "No," she turned to face Colette, "It's because you took me away from my job to do absolutely nothing."

Colette's face softened. "I'm sorry," she said, "But I need to keep you close. I can't have you going around and telling people about me."

"I already promised that I wouldn't," Marisol said, "I'm not witch-phobic or whatever. I don't agree with what the government does. Please, just let me do my job."

Colette nodded. "Fine, but you should know that I don't completely trust you yet."

"I don't expect you to," Marisol responded, "But I don't really see any other options." She opened the door and waved into the hallway.

Colette sighed and stepped out of the dressing room.

The rest of the day passed somewhat normally. Despite the occasional suspicious glances she got from their model, Marisol was allowed to do her job. She set up the photoshoot sets, adjusted lighting, and attended to Isaac's whims when he needed her. By the end of the day, her feet hurt from the amount of walking around that she did. That's how she knew that she had a good day. Around 5:00 PM, everybody was dismissed. The photoshoot had been a success. Colette had cycled through several outfits and sets so the magazine had plenty of content. She also did interviews, and though Marisol wasn't there for them, she heard they went well.

Marisol helped to take down all the lighting equipment and bring them back into the storage closet, leaving the photography studio dark once more. She picked up her backpack and her skateboard from the closet. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her backpack and tucked the skateboard under her arm.

She entered the elevator, ready to go home. The metal doors began to close, but right before they did, an arm stuck through the crack, forcing the doors to automatically open again. She knew she should have slammed the 'door close' button.

The person who walked into the elevator wasn't hard to recognize. Marisol looked up at the taller woman, unimpressed. "Aren't you supposed to be with your manager or something?"

Colette shrugged, "She's going to discuss a little more with the magazine staff."

"Aren't you worried about paparazzi?" Marisol asked as the elevator doors slid to a close.

"Nope." Colette put on a pair of sunglasses and wrapped her hair up into a ponytail. "I'm in disguise."

"Does that usually work?"

"Well, I'm wearing different clothes than I came in with." She gestured up and down her body. "They also expect me to leave with my manager, so they won't suspect me."

Marisol raised an eyebrow. "But you're still a tall and gorgeous actress who's internationally known."

"It works for Clark Kent." Colette lowered her sunglasses and winked. "So it'll work for me."

Marisol ignored the fact that Colette compared herself to Superman as the elevator dropped them off at the first floor. She walked out of the building and onto the sidewalks of New York. She dropped her skateboard on the ground and prepared to ride off towards her apartment. She had one foot on the board when Colette touched her shoulder.

"Wait! If you skateboard, I won't be able to keep up," the actress said.

"You're following me?"

"Well, yeah."

Marisol wanted to slam her head into the concrete.