Elias didn't turn around. Instead, he grabbed the . With trembling fingers, he set the Exposure to +5.00 and painted over the shadow figure on the screen.
Slowly, he looked back at the screen. The latest photo showed the back of his own head, sitting at the computer, while a tall, shadow-draped figure stood just inches behind his chair.
Should we explore a where Elias discovers what that violet light actually did to him, or Adobe Lightroom Classic v10.1.1
Behind him, the room erupted in a blinding, searing white light. When Elias finally gathered the courage to turn around, the room was empty. The door was still locked.
Panic rising, he checked the metadata. Exposure: 1/500. Aperture: f/2.8. But the "Camera Model" field was a string of binary code. Elias didn't turn around
Suddenly, the "Sync" icon in the corner began to spin rapidly. Lightroom wasn't uploading; it was downloading. New photos began to populate the filmstrip, one every few seconds. Elias standing up from his desk. Photo 3: Elias looking at the attic door. Photo 4: The attic door swinging open. Elias froze. He heard the real floorboard creak behind him.
The image was a landscape of the very street outside his window, but the lighting was impossible—a deep, violet sunset that hadn't happened yet. In the center of the frame stood a figure. Elias zoomed in to 100%. It was him, standing on the curb, holding a camera he didn't own yet, looking directly into the lens with an expression of pure terror. Slowly, he looked back at the screen
He turned back to the monitor. The folder was gone. Lightroom v10.1.1 sat idle, showing only the catalog of the morning's wedding. But when he looked at his own reflection in the darkened glass of the monitor, his eyes were no longer brown. They were the same impossible violet as the sunset in the photo.