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Camille looks up sharply at the sound of a camera going off. The first thing that startles her is the noise of it - so many times people attempt to take photographs of her these days it’s with electronic cameras or cell phones, many of which don’t make a sound at all. She wonders how many photos were attempted of her that she’s entirely unaware of due to these technological advances, and how many unsuspecting and confused people walked away with a blank image to show for it.
The second thing that startles Camille is that it isn’t a regular camera. Clarissa Fairchild stands in front of her with a polaroid camera in hand, eagerly taking the film out of it to wave back and forth in the air in front of her, exposing the square to the air in order to develop it faster.
“Don’t get too excited, darling,” Camille warns the redhead. The last thing she wants to do is see the disappointment on her lover’s face just before they’re set to go out for the night.
“I know modern cameras don’t work, but I hoped maybe…” Clarissa starts, her voice trailing off in disappointment as the photograph begins to develop with a distinct lack of Camille in the foreground.
“You know I don’t show up on film,” Camille reminds her. This isn’t new, and she doesn’t know why Clarissa is so hell-bent on getting a photograph of her.
“I know,” Clary sighs. “But you’re gorgeous. Can you blame me for wanting to work you into my art? Or keep a few mementos for myself when I’m not with you?” Clary asks, her voice dropping lower in pitch as she comes up behind Camille to snake her arms around the vampire’s waist.
“Mmmm,” Camille hums as she applies deep red lipstick in the mirror, the finishing touch to her look before she’s ready to head out. “Sorry, my darling.”
“I guess I’ll just have to spend a little extra time appreciating the real thing while I have it in my arms,” Clary adds smoothly, spinning Camille around and giving Camille a quick, but forceful, kiss. When Clary pulls away she has a smudge of Camille’s freshly applied lipstick on her own lips which she makes no attempt to remove.
Camille eyes it, the sign that Clary is with her - is her’s - with a smirk.
“I suppose you will,” Camille agrees easily, taking Clary by the arm and leading her out of the Dumort.
---
It’s nearly a month later when Clarissa comes barging into the Dumort, clearly upset.
“You lied to me,” Clary says, never one to beat around the bush with what’s on her mind.
Camille hesitates. She doesn’t remember anything coming up recently that she would’ve lied about, nothing nefarious by any means.
“About what?” Camille asks. It seems safest to simply ask rather than try and make assumptions.
“Vampires show up in photographs.”
Oh, that. Honestly, Camille is surprised it took Clarissa this long to figure it out, though Camille also hoped Clary would simply never care enough to put it all together.
“Yes, they do,” Camille confirms.
“You said they couldn’t!”
“I never said that. I said I couldn’t,” Camille clarifies. “I never lied to you.”
“But you can! Every other vampire can, so why don’t you?” Clary demands.
Camille fights the urge to tell her it’s a foolish thing to be so upset by, to remind the young woman that there are so many other things worth concerning herself with, because while true, that would surely only fuel the flames of Clarissa’s anger. And Camille rather likes Clarissa and would like to avoid burning this bridge if she can.
“After coming across more than a few unpleasant photographs of myself, I decided that I was unwilling to have unflattering pictures of myself haunting me for the remainder of my immortal life. So I hired a warlock to rework a spell to place on me so that I wouldn’t appear in photographs.”
Camille knows how it sounds - she knows it’s vain, but she doesn’t particularly care. It’s spared her countless years of potential torment and blackmail, and she doesn’t regret it one bit.
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?” Clary asks.
Camille shrugs. That she doesn’t have an answer for. “I told you I wouldn’t show up. I thought that was enough.”
Clarissa sighs. “There are worse things in life than a few bad photographs. Like not having a photograph of yourself with the people you love to remember them by when they’re gone.”
“Clarissa-”
“Do you have any idea how beautiful your eyes look in the sunlight when we go for a walk? Or the way your hair fans out around your head when we lay back in the grass to look at the stars? I’d like to think I’ll never forget, but it’d be nice to be able to look back on our time together, too. On both of us, and not just me.”
Camille narrows her eyes to study Clarissa as she speaks. “You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?”
It’s a rhetorical question, more of a statement of slowly dawning realization than anything else, but Clary nods in response just the same.
“I’ll see if Magnus can reverse it,” Camille decides. “Or at least modify it slightly. I suppose I wouldn’t mind if you were the only lens I’m seen through.”
“Really?”
“When you describe me like that how could I protest?” Camille counters. If her vanity was enough for her to make the decision so many decades ago it only seems fitting that her vanity now is enough to make her rethink the decision.
It seems to be good enough for Clarissa, who smiles up at Camille in response. “I’m going to take the best photos of you.”
“I’m sure you will, darling. I’d trust no one else with the honor.”
It’s true. Clarissa may be a bit naive at times but she’s genuine in a way Camille finds endearing, refreshing in a way none of her lovers have been for quite some time. Maybe the chance to see herself through Clarissa’s eyes isn’t such a terrible idea after all. Camille makes a mental note to call Magnus later about the spell and supposes she’ll find out soon enough.