Utterly Entirely Ruined

Camille strode into the dimly lit gallery, the soft hum of conversation blending with the low ambient music drifting from hidden speakers. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and fresh paint.  

She paused at the entrance, her invitation quickly checked by a receptionist who nodded politely. As she entered further, her eyes quickly swept over the crowd.  

The room was filled with Paris' elite-artists, collectors, and critics-all moving between clusters of abstract paintings and sculptures bathed in soft, flattering light.  

Camille felt a thrill of anticipation as she moved deeper into the space, her gaze lingering on a large canvas ahead of her; its vibrant colors and bold strokes already commanded attention.  

She was used to these events-the quiet hum of anticipation, the sharp clicks of heels, and the whispered praise and critique. 

The fact that she was used to them doesn't mean she liked attending. She would rather be in her studio, surrounded by paints and canvas. But this was an art opening; she couldn't stay away if she tried.  

She lived for art,  breathed for it. She would have gone mad years ago without it; and so, here she was. She plucked a glass of champagne from a moving tray and moved deeper into the gallery.  

The scent of paint in the air surrounded her like a hug.  Maybe if she just focused on those things, focused on the arts enough, she could drown out those voices and pretend she was the only one in this large space.  

"Miss Lefevre?"  And there went her plan to disconnect.  

She turned towards the voice, making sure her polite smile was in place.  

A  man was staring at her with bright eyes. He was tall and lean, a mess of blonde hair framing his strikingly handsome face, with thick glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.  

"Oh wow,  it really is you," he gushed, a wide smile on his face, his voice a mixture of awe and excitement. "Camille Lefevre, in the flesh." 

His smile was infectious, full of warmth and genuine admiration. Despite the formality of the event, he exuded an almost youthful energy, as if the world hadn't yet quite figured out how to make him serious.  

Camille was envious of him. She offered a polite smile, used to these encounters. "I suppose I am. And you are?"