The air in this Parisian hotel room was heavy with the scent of old velvet and fresh possibilities.
She was Angélique, a whispered name, but her presence dominated the room.
Draped over a chaise longue, the delicate lace of her lingerie was less a covering than a suggestion, a delicate fabric over the curve of a hip, the gentle rise of a breast.

But it was the mask, severe and geometric, that really changed the scene.
It wasn't about hiding, it was about shifting the gaze.
With Angélique's eyes, the only visible feature, pointed directly at the lens, the image becomes a powerful dialog between revelation and concealment.

In the monochrome world of the black and white editorial, her exposed form was not an object but a sculptural statement, her vulnerability an act of quiet defiance that transformed the traditional male gaze into a reciprocal, unsettling and utterly captivating exchange.
It was a study not only of the seductive form of Angélique, but also of the powerful theater we are and choose to be, even as we expose ourselves under a mask.

Captured masterfully by Nicolas Larriere.