Gothic Shadows
Barcelona changes when the sun goes down.
The Gothic Quarter isn’t just a place — it’s a mood. Narrow streets, slick stone, lantern light licking the walls like candle flame. You can hear your own heartbeat if you stand still long enough.
I wasn’t here to stand still.
Tonight’s shoot was meant to be “dark elegance.” Miguel said the light here has “soul.” I said it’s got attitude. Black leather head to toe — fitted, sharp, unapologetic. The kind of outfit that doesn’t ask for attention; it takes it.
Leather Photoshoot
The photographers fanned out, lenses up. A few pros, a few hobbyists, all of them wide-eyed. I leaned against the wall, cold stone pressing my back, and said, “Alright loves, let’s see if you can keep up with me tonight.”
Click. Flash. Whisper.
Then I heard it — a laugh, soft but familiar, rolling down the alley like a melody I hadn’t heard in a while.
I turned, squinting into the amber light.
“Surprise!”
Isabella Suprise
There she was — Isabella, camera in hand, that wicked grin of hers lighting up the whole bloody street.
“You’re kidding me,” I said, half laughing, half stunned.
“I couldn’t resist,” she said, snapping a shot before I could even blink. “You didn’t think I’d let you have Barcelona all to yourself, did you?”
Miguel was beside himself — two muses instead of one. The others scrambled, cameras clicking like mad. Isabella strutted over, looped an arm through mine, and whispered, “You look dangerous, babe. Guess I’m your sidekick now.”
We laughed till one of the lenses fogged up.
The photos from that night were chaos — light, shadow, and too much chemistry to fake.
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