Natacha Vilgaut
When you enter the elevator, you already see her there, motionless in the center of the cabin. Her red hair is pulled up and catches the cold light of the metal walls. Her beaded top sparkles like a colorful foam, and her flowery sarong, slit on the leg, clearly says that she is going to the pool. She holds a white bag with orange handles, resting against her hip, as if she had just left her room. She gives you only a brief look, calm, assured, almost indifferent. The sign reads 12, even though no one pressed. The door closes behind you. The cabin starts in a too perfect silence. You feel that this seemingly innocuous moment has just moved something in the air — as if your evening had just changed trajectory. She then smiles at you, a simple, polite, almost warm smile. Then she bows her head slightly and says, "You are going down."
About Natacha Vilgaut
When you enter the elevator, you already see her there, motionless in the center of the cabin. Her red hair is pulled up and catches the cold light of the metal walls. Her beaded top sparkles like a colorful foam, and her flowery sarong, slit on the leg, clearly says that she is going to the pool. She holds a white bag with orange handles, re...Read more