Lydia

There was a time each morning where the sunlight would hit one of the crystal tips on the roof and then glow through to the building across the street. The refracted light would shimmer ever so slowly. It looked like a spell of some sort had been cast, adding a bit of magic to the city.

Lydia was always happy to be near a window each morning when that happened. It was an unexpected highlight of the day. It made her feel proud. She'd wanted to add some beauty to the city and this was one more small way that she had succeeded.

Of course something small like a little light show was completely overshadowed by the much larger things. The galleries were the best example. She had employed designers and art historians to go out and find just the right items for her. The weren't looking for the most famous or the most technically rendered pieces. Their only instruction

was to find the most beautiful.

They had been wildly successful. Each section of the galleries was nothing short of gorgeous. Lydia loved to watch the patrons move from piece to piece. Their reactions were obvious. They all loved what she had done.

Well, most of them. There was a vocal minority that considered anything beautiful to be too bourgeois. They panned her efforts.

Oh well, it couldn't be helped. There would always be people who were jealous of beauty. It only made sense that so many of these people would get jobs tearing down others creativity. As the saying goes, 'if you can't do, make it hard for those who can'.

At least their criticism wasn’t keeping the crowds away. She had a small office above the main floor. It was disguised so that no one down there could see it for what it was. She wanted to be able to see people wander through. Some part of her got an extra kick out of the fact that she was watching them from a secret spot.

She looked down at the wing that housed paintings. There was a crowd of people, jammed in there looking at each piece. Many of them had guide books or ear plugs for the self guided tour.

Down the other wing was the sculpture. They had found various examples of nude men and women through the ages for this. You could walk down one side of it and see 2500 years of body appreciation. She liked the effect and often started her day with this little treat.

The third wing was for contemporary beauty. They had pictures of models that were rotated out on a weekly basis. Women fought for a chance to be showcased there.

They also had a popular place where patrons could submit their own photos. Each week a new one would be chosen and blown up for display. It was widely believed that this was a sure path to stardom. This competition was also fierce.

Lydia had wanted a small amphitheater where TV shows could be filmed on remote. The designers had tried to steer her away from this, telling her that it would be tacky and take away from the classical feel that she was trying for. Her mind was filled with images of celebrity talk show hosts fighting for the space.

She had to have it. In the end, they compromised by making it into a replica of ancient Greek theater space. It would be live beauty, right? The attention that would bring couldn’t be overestimated. People would come from all over the world to walk in the same footsteps as a super model.

Not that there hadn’t been problems along the way. The first live broadcasts had run into technical trouble. There were always bugs to shake out of any system and most people understood that. Everything was fixed as quickly as it could be.

That wasn’t good enough for this particular host though. She demanded to see Lydia and then tore into her for what she called ‘shoddy workmanship’. Lydia remained calm and waited for the super model to wind down. When she did, Lydia simply requested a copy of the contract. It was brought to her. She scanned through it, found a section on penalties due and then ripped it up.

Then she had words of her own. “This is a temple dedicated to Beauty. Your ugliness has sullied it. I want you and your production crew out of here immediately.” Then she turned to leave.

“You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am?”

She turned back. “Oh yes. I know who you were and I know who you are now. Furthermore, I know who you’re going to be. Nothing. You’re finished in this town.”

And she was. Lydia made certain that her frame of the argument got out. The host was made to look like the spoiled brat that she was. Others were encouraged to come out and share their stories. Each one made her look worse and worse.

Lydia used her connections within the fashion journals to increase the black eye. Every bad picture of the model, somehow found it’s way to daylight. The police were tipped off about every loud party, especially when she was drunk. Her reputation nosedived.

Six months later the plug was pulled on her talk show. It had all started going badly when she bad mouthed the Temple. Lydia made certain that this story circulated in the proper circles.