Cameraman Never Dies

Isadora Rivet, born Isadora Saight, was a child of humble beginnings, the eldest of four siblings in a family that knew nothing of wealth or excess.

With three older siblings— two sisters and a brother— she learned quickly how to stretch a smile over an empty belly, how to find sunlight on even the grayest of days. Life wasn't kind to them, but her heart made room for joy in the smallest, simplest moments.

Her father, Derin Saight, worked tirelessly as a farmer, his hands calloused and his back bent under the weight of providing. Isadora remembered how he'd return from the fields at dusk, his shirt soaked in sweat, yet his face lit up when he saw them running toward him. Her mother, a tailor with more skill than customers, pieced together fabric scraps into dresses for her daughters and patched up clothes that were too worn to save. The Saights didn't have much, but they had each other. That was enough— until it wasn't.

Isadora's childhood wasn't filled with laughter echoing across open meadows or carefree days spent chasing butterflies. There was always work to be done. She and her sisters often sat cross-legged on the floor beside their mother, sorting buttons or threading needles, while her brother trudged out to the fields to help their father. Yet, in between the work, there were shards of happiness.

She remembered the first time her brother boosted her up into the gnarled branches of the old willow tree behind their house. She had felt like she could touch the sky, her laughter bubbling up as he climbed up beside her. Another time, her mother had guided her tiny fingers over a scrap of cloth, teaching her to embroider a flower. The fabric was rough, and her stitches wobbly, but her mother smiled as if Isadora had sewn a masterpiece.

One day, she had fallen from that same tree, her knee scraped raw against the dirt. Her sister, the younger but more fearless one, had rushed to her side. "Hold still," her sister had said, her small hands trembling as she tied a handkerchief around the wound. Isadora hadn't cried— not from the pain, at least— but from the sight of that handkerchief. It was embroidered with a flower her sister had made, a Lunaflame, its petals a vivid blue with delicate pink edges and a fiery orange center.

"I stitched after seeing a real flower," her sister had whispered, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "It grows deep in the caves, and it only blooms under a full moon. Next time, I'll show you where to find it."

And she did. They snuck out together on the night of the full moon, their feet bare and their breaths hushed. The cave was cold and damp, but the sight of the Lunaflame was worth it. Isadora couldn't believe something so beautiful could exist in a world that so often felt bleak.

She promised herself to never forget that moment.

The second visit came a month later, under another full moon. This time, her sister held her hand tighter as they wandered deeper into the cave, the flowers glowing faintly in the moonlight. But when they emerged, the air smelled wrong— thick, acrid, like something had burned past recognition.

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Smoke. It rose in heavy plumes above the village, spiraling toward the night sky, where the blue moon seemed to watch silently. Isadora's heart pounded as they ran back, their breaths uneven and sharp in the cool air. The first thing she saw was a house consumed by flames, the fire leaping from roof to roof as if eager to devour everything.

The streets were unrecognizable, a patchwork of crimson and ash. Bodies— people she had known her whole life— lay sprawled in grotesque silence, their faces frozen in horror. Her father's fields, once so full of life, were charred black. Her mother's sewing table, where so many memories had been stitched together, was nothing but splinters.

Her siblings clung to her, sobbing, but she could barely hear them over the roar of the flames and the pounding of her own heart. Somewhere in the distance, the Lunaflame flowers still bloomed, untouched by the chaos. She wondered if they could feel her grief, if they understood what it meant to lose everything.

By morning, the village was gone. So was her family, only she and her sister remained.

The scene of the street decorated with mutilated corpses and flooded with crimson-colored blood was etched into her mind. The blood seemed to bloom under the moonlight.

The Lunaflame was supposed to be a promise of hope. Now it felt like a grave marker, glowing quietly in a world that doesn't deserve it.

———

Isadora slowly opened her eyes, her vision blurry for a moment before the familiar sight of the living room came into focus. The soft crackle of the fireplace reached her ears, and the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air.

It was the living room in her mansion, warm and quiet. She lay on the plush couch, her head resting gently on her husband Noel Rivet's lap. His hand moved through her hair with slow, tender strokes, the rhythm calming and familiar.@@novelbin@@

She closed her eyes again, leaning into his touch, as if his hand alone could shield her from the cruel, unpredictable world outside. The warmth she felt wasn't just physical— it was the kind that reached deep into her soul, pulling her back from the edges of despair.

It was love, raw and unyielding, the kind that made her chest ache because she knew it couldn't last forever. Nothing ever did. Life had taught her that lesson too many times. So she clung to these moments, drinking them in like they were the last drops of water in a desert.

Her throat tightened, and her heart weighed heavy with unspoken fears. She turned her head, her eyes searching his face, every line and curve, committing them to memory as if she feared he might vanish the moment she looked away.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, clutching at him like he was her anchor in a storm.

"You're going again, aren't you?" Her voice broke, the words trembling as they left her lips.

Noel's hand stilled in her hair. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression shifting from surprise to quiet understanding. He cupped the back of her head gently, pulling her closer as his other arm encircled her. "I would love to go alone," he murmured, his voice soft but steady. "That would be safer… for you."

Her chest tightened further. "Don't speak about my safety," she whispered fiercely, burying her face in his chest, her voice muffled but laced with worry. "Do you even know how much I worry about you? Every time you leave, I feel like I'm holding my breath, waiting for the day I won't see you come back." Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she clenched her fists against his shirt.

Noel let out a long sigh, his voice calm but tinged with something heavy— regret? Resolve? "I was going to ask you to come with me this time."

Isadora pulled back abruptly, her wide eyes locking onto his. "Wait, what?" she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief. "I can?"

"Yes, Dor," he said, using her nickname with the affection that always melted her defenses. He shifted, helping her sit up beside him. "The mission is dangerous, but... it's safer if you're by my side. There's a shapeshifter among the enemies. I can't risk not knowing if you're safe."

Her breath hitched, but she nodded, her fear overshadowed by determination. "I understand," she said quickly, her voice a mix of relief and worry.

Noel stood up, the warmth of his presence momentarily leaving her. He reached out to take her hand in his, his expression somber. "My love, I need you to truly understand. This isn't just dangerous— it's life and death. We could die."

Her gaze hardened, the worry in her eyes replaced by a quiet resolve. "I understand," she repeated, her voice steadier this time, though it carried less of the enthusiasm she had moments before.

He studied her for a long moment, then exhaled softly. "Then I ask— would you work for me? with me?" he said, his tone almost pleading. "Help me finish this mission quickly. Together, we might stand a chance."

The light from the chandelier above caught the glint of a simple, unassuming ring on his finger. He reached into his coat and pulled out a plain white mask painted with a smiley face. "Victor said this would help. Master believes it might give us an edge."

Isadora took the mask without hesitation, running her fingers over its surface. "Master Thadd?" she asked with a faint smirk, a small flicker of humor breaking through her worry.

"Which other master do you think Victor or I would serve?" Noel teased gently, his lips quirking up as he pulled her into another embrace. The weight of the mask in her hand felt heavy, not because of its size but because of what it symbolized.

Her arms tightened around him as she whispered, "I would never hide. Not now. Not ever. No matter how dangerous it gets, I'll always stand by you." Her voice softened, but it carried a steel edge of resolve. "So yes, Noel. I'll work with you... FOR you."

He sighed, relief flickering in his eyes, and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you, Dor." The words were simple, but the way he said them made her heart ache all over again. For now, they had each other. And for now, that was enough.