A Photograph of Isadora Gray

Link to article: A Photograph of Isadora Gray.

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|text="A gender-bended lesbian rewrite of Dorian Gray"]]

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“I’d love to take some pictures of you.”

Sage could not believe the words that just popped out of her mouth and into the universe, completely unprompted. She felt a full-body flush that she was sure turned her cheeks and neck tomato-red.
Isadora paused mid-sentence in her conversation with Holly, who stared incredulously at Sage.
“Sorry! That was totally out of the blue. I just meant, you have some like really great bone structure and I could totally see you as a model and I just want some more practice with people so if maybe you had some time it would be a huge favour to me-” Sage lost her rambling in slack-jawed awe as a wide smile bloomed slowly across Isadora’s face. Suddenly the sun shone more brightly, birds sang sweeter, and Sage’s world narrowed to the twinkle in Isadora’s baby-blues.
“Sage! You are just the sweetest thing! I’d love to be your model, no one’s ever asked me that before. I don’t really think I’m worthy of the honour, but if it helps you get some practice then that’s so cool with me!” Isadora grabbed Sage’s hands in her own and squeezed. “I have piano this afternoon and my Grandpa would skin me if I skipped out, but we should get together this weekend. I’m thinking Saturday, 1pm? Oh, we could go to the Meadow! Holly showed it to me last week and it’s so beautiful, I think it’d be perfect. It’s a date, okay?”
The bell rang to signal the end of lunch hour and Isadora’s and Holly’s heads immediately craned towards their next class.
“Gotta go, c’mon Issy.” Holly reached out and slung her arm around Isadora’s shoulders, pulling her away so Sage was left gripping air. Isadora giggled and waved over her shoulder at Sage as they walked away, Holly still side-eyeing Sage with obvious judgement.
“It’s a date,” Sage answered faintly, hands still half risen and her gaze hopelessly following Isadora’s retreating figure.

Sage really did want to photograph Isadora, had since she’d first met her really, but she hadn’t meant to blurt it out all in the open and sudden like that. She was mortified, horrifically ashamed of her lack of self-control. And in front of Holly of all people. Sage really believed Holly was a bad influence on Isadora, and she wasn’t sure why they were such good friends since Isadora in comparison was so sweet and lovely. It wasn’t that Holly did anything so terrible herself, it was more that she seeded her thoughts and opinions so thoroughly and charismatically that everybody in her radius was caught. Her thoughts and opinions, of course, being usually radical and self-interested in all aspects. Sage knew this intimately, as only a year ago she and Holly had been as close as Holly and Isadora were now. She knew extremely well how Holly liked to float through life, experiencing freedom and the pleasure it brought with it. All interesting situations were worth experiencing, and the only true enemy was boredom and ugliness. Part of the problem, and how Sage ultimately ended up seeing through Holly’s illusions of grandeur, is that Holly oftentimes received no consequences for her outlooks because she rarely did anything untoward herself. Somehow, her friends were the ones framed as the guilty party, and Holly was infamous for her inability to engage in any form of responsibility. Sage still remembered Holly’s shrug from outside the convenience store as Sage’s wrist was gripped tightly by the stern-faced owner, her fake ID in his other hand. The cigarettes Holly had begged Sage to buy for her were not purchased that day, and Sage was grounded for months when her parents were called. Holly felt too restricted by Sage’s new limitations (“You’re such a buzzkill, Sage”) and moved onto Isadora shortly after.

Isadora was fairly new to town; her family having moved into the manor estate at the end of Sage’s street the most recent Autumn past. Sage’s parents were the old-fashioned sort and dragged her along with them to greet the new neighbours. She’d looked up at the huge archway as they rang the doorbell and mused that her mother and father (never mum and dad- “It just sounds so pedestrian, darling”) seemed chuffed to have such affluent folks right down the road with whom they could chuckle in self-righteous judgement at the riff-raff that they were born better than. Sage had just begun to examine a flower-bush bracketing the colonial porch stairs for insects that might be interesting nature-shots when the front door creaked open and a dapper but dour looking man looked out at the family. He blinked slowly, clearly unimpressed.
“Good Morning. How may I help you?”
“Good Morning, Mr Gray, I presume? My name is Tate Hallward, and this is my wife Lory and daughter Sage. We’ve come to introduce you to the neighbourhood!” Sage’s father reaches out his hand to shake. The presumed-Mr-Gray glances down at it.
“Mr Gray is away on business at the moment, however Miss Isadora is home. I will call for her now.” And with that, the no-longer-presumed-Mr-Gray steps back from the door and walks further into the bowels of the Manor. Sage’s parents, Sage following closely, step into the front room curiously.
The inside foyer, a dark and dusty crypt, was very different from the gleaming white paint and floral accents of the outside. Furniture was covered in white cloth and the paintings and framed photos leaned against the walls, ready to be hung. It continued in a similar way throughout the manor, drab and dreary being the theme rather than the expected opulence of those with more money than they knew what to do with. Sage had stepped into the entryway to the next room along puzzling over this when her arm was gripped and a cheerful voice chirped in her ear.
“Good Morning! Thank gosh, I’ve been waiting for guests to show up for ages. It’s so boring around here!” Sage spun and laid her eyes for the first time upon Isadora Gray, the most magnificent creature she’d ever seen.
Isadora was a girl of approximately Sage’s age who looked as if God had specifically placed her to make the models and beauties of the world cry in green-eyed envy. Every proportion was perfect, every movement elegant, every sound like the singing of angels. When later that day after Sage’s parents realized no prominent adults were present and left, and Sage and Isadora stepped outside to admire the gardens, Sage felt she’d been struck a physical blow at the splendour of Isadora in the full bloom of sunlight. Her soft blonde hair glowed luminescent strands of purest gold, her eyes sparkled an ocean of blue, a dusting of light freckles across her button nose and rosy cheeks so perfectly placed it had to be cosmically mathematical. Then Isadora threw her head back and laughed at some now-forgotten joke and Sage saw the slight gap in her front teeth, a perfect imperfection, and knew this was going to be her best friend for as long as Sage could keep her.
This was not, unfortunately, as long as Sage had hoped. While her grounding had ended, her parents had not forgiven or forgotten her disgrace and kept a much sharper eye on her than before. This meant that whilst she had to beg and plead for any scrap of freedom, Holly had spotted the new shiny toy and snatched her up before Sage had the chance.

Sage could barely focus when she returned home that night, her thoughts entirely on what shots she would take, the settings she would use, and much more useless things such as what conversations they would have and if she had anything cool enough to wear.
“Oh this old thing? I’ve had it forever. So nice of you to say! These shoes? I bought them on sale, but I think they’re so cute,” Sage murmured as her daydreams crystalized and broke apart over and over again. She dug out her camera bag from the cupboard and checked everything she would need was present as she walked down the stairs. “I really like how you do your hair, what products do you use? I’ll have to try that.”
“You doing alright, sweetheart?” Sage startled as her mother, who had been watching tv on the lounge across from the stairs, piped up in amusement.
“Mother! Yes! Excellent, all is good here.” Sage thumped down the last few steps awkwardly, fiddling with the bag strap. “I’m hanging out with a friend on Saturday. Not Holly, obviously. Isadora Gray, you remember her? I was going to do some photography.”
Lenore lost her smile at Isadora’s name, her face turning wary. “Darling, that might not be the smartest idea. I’ve been hearing some things about that Gray girl, and it sounds like she’s been getting herself into some not-so-nice situations. By the sounds of it she’s been stirring up trouble all around the place and not taking any responsibility for any of it. I don’t really want you hanging around with her, especially after your recent incident.”
Sage laughed. “I think you’re confused. It’s Holly that everyone talks about like that, and for good reason honestly. I promise, I’ve learnt my lesson there, pinky swear.” She held her pinky finger in the air, but Lenore shook her head slowly.
“No darling, I’m sure it’s Isadora. It’s not just one person, either. I don’t think I’ve heard a single positive thing about her since she moved here.”
“You are being so dramatic, or you’re confused, or something, I think. Isadora is such a sweetheart, it couldn’t be her. Oh also,” Sage’s eye caught on her father’s old Polaroid instant camera hanging on the coat hooks near the front door, “Can I please borrow father’s old camera? I’ll take really good care of it, I promise!” but Lenore was shaking her head, even as Sage’s tone turned pleading.
“Look, if you want to hang out with the Isadora girl I won’t say no this time, but remember your common sense and the consequences of your actions, please. And no, your father is very proud he found that camera again so I don’t want you taking it out and bringing it back broken. Maybe another time.” With a last pointed look her mother turned her head back to the tv and increased the volume. Sage knew there was no arguing with a firm no, and huffed as she hung her own camera on the coat hook next to her dad’s.

Sage’s favourite hobby was photography, and she was very proud of how much improvement she could see in her photos since she began a few years ago. Recently she had upgraded from her cheaper beginner camera to her very own mid-range Canon and an interchangeable lens using a combination of Birthday, Christmas, and babysitting money. The quality difference was huge, though she didn’t get to practice with people very often due to a distinct lack of people (see here: friends). More than anything, she was proud of her ability to take a completely objective photo. She knew it sounded odd, but she found so many photographers put too much of themselves into their art and it took away from the subject. She instead wanted people to focus on what was being photographed, and endeavoured to remove herself as completely as possible from her work. She wanted to show the viewer the true essence of the subject, free of lies or expectations. As she lie awake that night, Sage wondered what Isadora would look like when she took her picture. Surely the same? It’s not like Isadora had anything to hide. She was the most honest person Sage knew.
Saturday, unfortunately, got off to a bad start. Sage was ready, had grabbed her shoulder bag, her camera bag, and after a squint outside at the gray clouds hovering ominously, an umbrella. As she placed her hand on the front door and readied herself mentally for her “date”, her phone buzzed. It was a new message request from the handle ‘@isadorable’.

@isadorable: hey it’s Isadora (duh)
@isadorable: super late notice but I have a tummy bug :sob: think it was some rancid chicken :nauseated_face: :face_vomiting:
@isadorable: raincheck? Weather app says tmrrw is better weather anyways :relaxed:

Sage sighed and shrugged off her shoulder bag, typing her reply with the other hand.

@sageadvice: yeah, totally cool!
@sageadvice: can’t help feeling sick. Hope you feel better quick!
@isadorable: omg you sweetheart, see you tmrrw! :smiling_face_with_3_hearts:

Looking around the entryway for inspiration, Sage decided she had already gotten ready for a day of photography and saw no point wasting it. She re-shouldered her bag and went to the local park, which was rather desolate on account of the impending rain, and tried not to feel morose as she was eventually, inevitably drenched.
When she returned home that night her mother called for her from the kitchen.
“How’d it go, Sage? You stay out of trouble?” Her mother’s head curiously leaned into sight from around the wall. She peered at Sage, scanning her up and down for visual proof of her sins.
“Oh, umm, it was good. Yeah! We had a lot of fun and….there was no trouble at all. Didn’t even see another soul. So no more rumours for the neighbourhood, unfortunately for the gossip parade. Good for me, though. And Isadora, I suppose.” Sage wasn’t even fully sure why she was lying. She just knew that if she told her mother that Isadora had stood her up, she might put her foot down and say she couldn’t go anymore. And more than anything, she wanted to prove her mother wrong. Isadora was a good friend, and this one delay because she was sick shouldn’t be held against her. “So anyways, I’m gonna head upstairs. Change out of my clothes, get warm before dinner.” Sage fled from her mother’s careful gaze.

On Sunday Sage repeated her getting-ready ritual again, though with slightly less excitement and a heaping more trepidation. She checked and rechecked her phone, even once typing up a message to Isadora before deciding it seemed too desperate and rapidly deleting the draft. As the time came to leave with no new messages, Sage’s eye caught once more on the old polaroid camera hanging from the coat hook. Before she knew what she was doing she had reached for it and tucked it away in her shoulder bag before darting out the front door, her heart pounding deceit in her chest.

The forest clearing edging the cliff had never been quite so picturesque as it was right now. At every moment the floral scent of wildflowers and pine wood mixed with the fresh ocean breeze flowing up from far below the sheer cliff-edge. The Meadow was a secluded forest clearing that opened up directly at one end to open air and a perilous drop. For decades the local teens had come here to share the open secret and dare each other to dive off the edge, though it was just tall enough to scare off all but the most reckless. Every so often -approximately once a decade or so- the devastating news broke through town that the cliffs had claimed another of the town’s aspiring youth and the Meadow was blocked off by local law enforcement. But as with all tragedies that the young faced it was all too quickly forgiven, though not forgotten if the constant ghost stories were anything to go by. But today no ghosts abound, not even an ominous cloud in the sky could cast a shadow on Sage’s excitement at the bright spring flowers and the rising promise in the air.
All of this paled in comparison to the figure dancing freely amongst the knee-high grasses in her baby-pink sundress, hair unbound and twisting gracefully in the light breeze. The sun loved Isadora, every ray illuminating her deific outline as she spun and performed flawless and effortless pirouettes mid-air.

Sage called to her from nearby where she had placed down her camera bags. “I see you’re feeling better!” Isadora paused and settled back in the grasses, confusion flashing.
“Feeling bet- Oh yes! Much better! You know how it is,” She laughed and fluttered a hand. “I’m just so happy to be here! You know Holly goes on all the time about really experiencing our youth and honestly I think she’s onto something. Like, how long are we going to be young and beautiful exactly? I should come here more often, it’s so lovely here. Nothing could possibly be ugly in such a beautiful place.” Sage nodded along, a little lost but recognizing Holly’s influence when she heard it. She tried not to roll her eyes and felt bad about Isadora’s innocence. Instead, she focused on her camera bag and considered which shot to try to start with. Her eyes caught instead on her father’s instant camera and found her hand reaching for it automatically. She supposed a couple of fun shots to start off with couldn’t be a bad thing, especially since sometimes posing for a camera made people lock up and look awkward.
“Oh wow that looks old as hell!” Isadora’s voice in her ear almost startled Sage into dropping the camera. “Is that a camera?” Sage laughed a little.
“Yeah, it’s an old Polaroid camera. It’s my father’s, I’m borrowing it for today.” Isadora’s hand instantly flew out to grab it, and Sage just barely managed to dodge in time. “Oh, I’m sorry but I can’t let anyone else touch it. My father would kill me, you know?” Isadora pouted and flounced away a little, and Sage’s heart swooped low in dismay, before Isadora performed a quick spin and flop movement into the grasses.
“So how would you like me, oh great artist? Would you like to paint me like one of your French girls?” Isadora mimicked a couple obvious and stiff model lounging poses before bursting into a fit of laughter and falling back against the ground. She rolled a little onto her back so her head was towards Sage and pushed up onto one elbow. She looked back at Sage over her shoulder with a tilted head and smiled teasingly.
Sage startled a little when she heard a small “click!” noise and looked down to discover her finger had pressed the button to take the picture, completely without any thought or reason behind the action. If anything, her head was totally and utterly empty of whit, a true desert of any kind of neuronal decision making. Before she could say anything to Isadora, or even check the photo, the girl in question leapt from her position to tumble gracefully into Sage’s startled arms.
“Look! What a lovely bird!” She pointed, her finger an elegant flick at the colourful starling watching them from a tree branch on the edge of the clearing. Isadora smiled in delight at Sage, before skipping to a nearby spot and throwing herself down. “I’m hungry now, I’m going to eat my lunch. Come sit.” And without ceremony she upturned her bag and searched in the detritus for her food.
Sage shook her head in bemusement, before looking down at the photograph film developing in her hand. At first she admired the sunlight streaming just perfectly, and the perfect framing despite the accidental nature of the shot. The lighting began to settle and Isadora’s form came into focus, shapes forming. Sage’s smile froze, and her heart thudded painful against her ribs.

This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.

As expected, Isadora was the very image of youth and beauty. Her cheeks flushed the perfect rosy tint gifted to her by recent exertion, her eyes sparkling with mirth. The sun’s loving caress lit her porcelain skin and set the golden tresses waterfalling over her shoulders to a gentle glow. Even her slightly gapped front teeth gave her an air of innocence and imperfection which truly perfected the look. What was truly unforgiving was that Sage could see her own devotion to Isadora in the frame, her secret longing. Sage, who was so proud of taking photographs without artist influence, was looking at an image of her own love and lust. This wasn’t a photograph of Isadora Gray, this was Sage.
She gasped in pain, the edges of her vision darkening as she fought to inhale a single breath. How could she have known? She was friends with Isadora, had never wanted more… or had she? Looking back at every interaction now tinted with a new knowledge opened up new perspectives, avenues she had never explored before. Did Isadora know? She couldn’t, Sage hadn’t even known until a moment ago.

“…age? SAGE!” Isadora’s voice cut through the internal monologue, but it was her delicate fingers reaching for the instant photo that jolted Sage into action. She stuffed the photograph into the back pocket of her shorts and emitted a high pitched laugh that sounded false even to herself.
“Not yet! It’s, it’s not done yet. Old photos take time to process, so I’ll just hold onto it until it’s done, yeah?” Isadora squinted at her, but clearly didn’t know enough about photography to argue and so let it go and returned to sit by her bag. Sage took a moment to breathe, and assure herself that she was imagining things. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the photo again, but she could move on and pretend it hadn’t happened.

Sage slowly settled onto the ground beside Isadora, hauling her bag over and digging out a sandwich, her eye catching on the book falling out of Isadora’s strewn backpack.
“’A Picture by Basil Hallward?’ Are you a classics fan?” She held it up in her non-sandwiched hand for Isadora, who glanced at it and chuckled.
“It’s for English class, but I’ve read it before anyway. Aren’t you doing the same?”
“Mm, no. Ms. Thompson gave us ‘The Great Gatsby’ instead.” Sage chewed for a moment, gazing at the cover. “Do you like it? The story?”
Isadora shrugged, and then bit her lip. Most girls wished for pouty full lower lips like the women in glamorous magazines, but Sage found her jealousy in Isadora’s pouty upper lip. It was a soft cushion that she liked to pull and twist in thought, and in times like these when she bit her lower lip the fullness of her top lip was emphasized in a gentle swell. Sage caught herself staring and raised her eyes to meet Isadora’s, who glanced away shyly. Sage felt her cheeks flush and swallowed her sandwich bite in an embarrassingly loud gulp.
“It’s kind of tedious, but I’ve been reading it since I was a kid. It’s kind of an important book to my family.” At Sage’s curious look Isadora blew out a breath. “My Grandpa always says that the author, Dorian Gray, was a direct ancestor of ours. I know it doesn’t make sense!” Her voice rose slightly to cut off Sage’s protest. “I know the author was childless or whatever, but he really, really insists that we’re direct descendants of the real person that the book is written by. It’s why we have that painting, you know the one?”
Sage did know the one. On her first visit to the Gray Manor all the windows had been drawn and the air oppressive, except for at the top of a grand staircase where a single large portrait of a man was hung in a place of pride. A curtain from a window above allowed through a beam of sunlight that lit the face of a handsome sweet-faced man wearing clothes from what looked like the 19th Century.
Isadora had never lied to Sage before, but really. Isadora laughed helplessly at Sage’s look of doubt. “Look I know it’s super far-fetched, and I don’t even know if I believe it myself. But Grandpa always says that it is the painting from the story. He won’t let anyone near it except to have them dust it off occasionally. Even my mum believed it, though she was less vocal about it. But I could tell, she really believed.”
“You sure it’s not just because of that guy on social media? @realdoriangray or whatever his name is? Apparently that guy said on stream that he was the actual Dorian Gray, though why anyone would fall for it…”
“No, I have no idea what that’s about. Every history book says Dorian Gray had no kids, and my Grandpa never says any differently.” Isadora shakes her head, and then snatches the book from Sage’s hand and tosses it halfway across the clearing. “Enough about that, I’m bored. Talk about something else!”
Sage scrambled to find a new topic, but before she can Isadora holds her phone up high in triumph. “Boys! I’ve been texting this guy, and he’s so into me. See? He’s going to come visit me with his motorbike tonight, and I think I’m going to make him get me some new jewellery soon. It’s been so long since I got new jewellery from a boy. I’m not even allowed to wear the last lot I got, or else Grandpa gets really mad.”
Sage’s head spun from the new information, and her gut tightened at Isadora’s clear adoration. She barely managed to get out: “Why aren’t you allowed to wear the old jewellery?” Isadora bit her lip, and looked sideways at Sage in assessment.
“I’m not supposed to say….” Sage nodded and was about to reach for a new topic when Isadora leaned forward and clutched her hands. “But promise you won’t tell?” Sage didn’t even get a chance to nod assent before Isadora was continuing.
“So in my last town, this guy was obsessed with me. Like, honestly a stalker. He started off so sweet, bringing me flowers and writing this truly godawful poetry. But he kinda got boring pretty quick, and one day he came to school and he had a massive pimple and it was so gross so I told him I wasn’t really interested anymore. And he got really upset. He was saying all kinds of stuff about how I took his virginity and he was in love with me and blah. Which, I guess I get it, but he just was being pathetic about it. And I told him that, which made him cry and that was even worse. Like, ew, go cry in your room or something? He was in public, just snotty and gross.
Anyways, I had a friend tell me that I was a bit mean, so I texted him and told him I was sorry for how I reacted -against my better judgement might I add- and that he could get me jewellery to make up for embarrassing me. Which he did, it was really pretty gold stuff. I think it was even a real diamond, which he definitely would’ve had to steal money from his parents or something to get it because he did not have a job. And his family didn’t really come from money or anything either, which personally I think was another strike against him. Grandpa always says I should be ‘keeping with my own class’ or whatever. But it was really sweet he did that for me, right? Anyways he got really clingy and possessive after that and it was a little controlling. He was always asking to see my texts and was mad if I was talking to other guys, and kept trying to guilt trip me. It was really emotionally abusive. So I told him to leave me alone, that he was pathetic and I never should’ve gotten back together with him.”
Sage wasn’t really sure what to say to any of this. This was a completely new side to Isadora than she had ever seen before, and was supremely confused about it. “So you’re…you left because you had a stalker?”
“Well, umm, technically we left because he killed himself and everyone blamed me.” Sage’s mouth dropped open. “It was totally fucked up. I was the one with a stalker and being manipulated, but apparently everyone loves to victim-blame. They all said that I told him to, which I totally didn’t. I just said I wouldn’t care if he did, because I was so sick of the sob-story he kept giving me. It was exhausting, you have no idea.” Isadora absent-mindedly tapped out a message on her phone before looking up at Sage expectantly.
“I… I don’t know what to say. He killed himself?”
Isadora nodded emphatically. “Totally fucked up, yeah? So we had to leave.” Sage nodded slowly.
“Have you got a boyfriend? We should go on a double-date. Or we could invite Holly and go on a triple-date. She’s seeing some college guy.”
Sage shook her head. “I, um, don’t have a boyfriend.” Isadora looked disappointed, before perking up.
“We’ll just find you one. It’ll be great. Anyone at school you like?”
You. Sage shook the thought away, and Isadora took this as an answer. “Hmm, that’s alright. Holly could find you one. She’s got this whole train of people that hang on her every word like she’s a saint or something. It’s so funny.”
“I’m not really that close with Holly. I mean, I was, but not anymore. She got me in trouble.”
“Oh god she’s the worst for that. Not with me, obviously. But I’ve seen her do some crazy shit with people. You know she told me she got someone arrested once? I mean, she didn’t do it. She never does, but they’ll really do whatever they think she wants them to. She’s got this silver tongue, it’s amazing. Honestly aspirational.”
Aspirational? What?

Sage abruptly stood up and walked a few steps away. She felt like her stomach was bottoming out, and nausea rose in its place. This wasn’t the Isadora she thought she knew. But, when Sage glanced back at her, her heart still thudded painfully in her chest and butterflies still fluttered in her gut. Who was this person she loved? She pulled out the photograph from her back pocket and stared down at it, trying to remember the beautiful innocence she so adored.
The photograph was slightly wrinkled and curved from being in her pocket, but the most startling realization was that Isadora didn’t look how Sage remembered her. Was it her memory, or was the photograph now different? Isadora’s hair looked duller, her rosy cheeks now seemed just a red flush that rose from her neck. Even her gapped teeth, ever so perfectly imperfect before, now were just a little bit too separate to seem cute. What before was the very image of youth and beauty had lost its sparkle and glow. Sage shook her head and put the photograph back in her pocket, sure she was misremembering. When she looked back at the real Isadora, her eyes softened.
Isadora continued to be everything Sage remembered her as. It was as if a model had emerged from the pages of a magazine, or a porcelain doll had stepped off a store shelf. Sage reached out a hand to her and hauled her to her feet.
“Isadora, come with me.” And she pulled her, hand in hand, to the edge of the cliff. Isadora didn’t resist, seemingly curious as to the new direction they were heading. She looked over the edge and gasped.
“Oh wow! It’s so steep. But what a view!”
Sage laughed as both of their hair flew about in front of their faces, the wind this close to the edge much more severe. She felt emotion rising in her chest, and decided that she should say something to Isadora. Clearly Holly and whoever came before was a bad influence on her, but Sage could be the shining moral light in the dark. Sage knew Isadora. She could see the golden light at her core, and new that she was a good person. Now she just had to stay on track.
“Isadora, I have to tell you something-“ But she was cut off as Isadora’s arms folded around her, under her arms, in a hug.
“You’re such a good friend,” Isadora whispered into the hair against her ear before yelling “AHA!” She spun away, the instant Polaroid photograph in her hand. Sage’s hand went instantly to her back pocket, the empty space telling her what her eyes already knew.
“Isadora, wait, I need to explain,” but Isadora was already looking at the photograph, her grin fading. She studied it for a few moments, all mirth disappearing from her face.
“What is this?” Isadora finally looked up, her face a mask. She waved the photo in Sage’s direction. Sage was lost for words. “What IS this? This is disgusting, Sage. It’s UGLY. I thought you were a photographer, an artist? But this… this isn’t real. It’s not true. Tell me it’s not true. NOW.”
Sage grasped for words, looking at the meadow behind Isadora for inspiration. “It’s…it’s how I feel Isadora. I know, that maybe in the past you’ve had a different preference but I think even you can see how bad that’s gone. You could- WE could- try something new? I just. I wanted to show you, how much I lik- love you. I think you’re so beautiful, and if you just stop listening to Holly I could show you good we could…” Sage’s voice trailed off as a dark expression darted through Isadora’s eyes, though if pressed Sage could not have named it. She only knew it made the butterflies in her stomach begin chewing at her insides, leaving painful cramps in their wake.
“Sage, I need you to be quiet. Stop talking like this. It’s not okay.”
“But Isadora, please, I lov-“
“SHUT UP!” Isadora roared and her hands were on Sage’s chest and pushing. Sage fell backward, taken completely by surprise by the assault, and fell a few feet down the edge before catching herself with one hand on a rough rocky portion. Her arm wrenched, and she let out a shriek of pain that echoed the sharp sensation in her shoulder. She looked up, eyes streaming, to Isadora’s head poking over the edge. She could barely hear her over the rushing of the wind, but the shock on Isadora’s face was unmistakable. Isadora stretched her hand down towards Sage before pausing, and the dark expression crossed her face again. With her other hand, she looked at the photograph.
“Isadora, help me!” Sage yelled, hoping her voice could be heard. Isadora made no movement, but continued to look at the photo with a blank face. She looked down at Sage again, and let the frame go. The wind grabbed the photograph instantly, snatching it away towards the ocean. Isadora smiled down at Sage, her once-bright eyes now dark, her lips a crooked scar across her mouth.
“This isn’t my fault!” Isadora called down to her, before standing and brushing herself down. She turned, and Sage watched her hair disappear from above as her straining fingers finally gave out and she dropped.

The photograph of Isadora Gray floats away on the wind, twisting and falling towards its inevitable death at sea. The Isadora on it seems nothing like the real counterpart. The skin is mottled, riddled with old pock-scars, her freckles uneven, her lips a little too big for her face. As it surrenders to the water, the ink darkens and bleeds. Her golden hair now green and slimy, her teeth almost sharp. Between one wave and the next, the Photograph of Isadora Gray is no more.

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A Photograph of Isadora Gray

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