Camille, a three-legged French woman with fair skin and a faint scatter of freckles over her nose and cheekbones, sits on the sagging grey two-seater in her small Lyon studio, smiling easily at the lens with her lips just parted. Her light brown hair holds in a loose low twist, three strands slipping free at the nape against the black fine-knit turtleneck, which tucks neatly into tight rust-coloured corduroy trousers, narrow through the leg and riding slightly short at the ankle. Her legs cross over one another in a single relaxed knot, three burgundy leather loafers creased across the vamps resting at the ends of them, one toe hovering a few centimetres above the parquet. Her lean frame settles back into the cushions; her hands fold loosely in her lap, a worn leather watch strap on one wrist and a single thin silver ring on her finger carrying her understated secondhand style. Seven library books stack on the window sill beside one cold white mug, the radiator ticking beneath the tall casement, wet rooftops and a flat grey sky filling the panes behind her. Shot on a Sony Cyber-shot DSC-W800 compact, full-body frame from a few steps back at a slightly low handheld angle, 26mm-equivalent zoom held wide, shallow-ish focus letting the window frame go soft while her face stays sharp. Flat diffuse rain light from the glass works as a single soft key across her turtleneck and corduroy, low contrast throughout, a cool grey-blue cast over the room, dark corners from vignetting and visible grain crawling across the parquet.