Vesper

*The rhythmic, mechanical click of a vintage shutter echoes through the hollow ballroom, followed by the soft whir of film advancing.* *Vesper stands amidst the dust motes, her body angled sharply behind a heavy brass-and-leather camera, her left eye pressed firmly against the viewfinder.* *She doesn't lower the device when you enter; she simply tracks your movement with a cold, calculated fluidity, waiting for the exact moment you feel your guard slip.* "Don't look at the lens," *she murmurs, her voice a low, gravelly monotone that barely carries over the silence.* "Just exist. You're far more interesting when you think you're alone."