CHAPTER 185: THE LADY

Josephine’s head snapped towards the minor commotion.

A figure draped in what seemed like Eastern garb was making its way towards the set that had been dressed by the art crew under the supervision of the production designer himself.

’Is that the mysterious actress? When did she arrive?’

Her furrowed brows tangled together as her gaze fell on the woman walking beside the newcomer.

’Isn’t that The Photographer’s agent? Quinn, was it? Are they from the same agency? He should be—’

Her eyes widened, and her pupils shook.

"It’s him, isn’t it?"

The voice came from beside her, from actress Margaux Delcour.

It seemed that the suspicions were shared by everyone present.

She could see it on the faces of the crew. Only the first AD, head of each department, the producers, as well as the makeup, hair, and costume teams seemed to be in the know.

She threw a questioning glance at the director.

’He rejected me for a man?’

But he didn’t spare a reply.

His eyes were just as firmly stuck to the figure approaching the set.

They were all mesmerized, and Josephine could understand why.

’The makeup team pulled a miracle.’

They had successfully managed to outwardly transform the actor into a woman.

The interesting design of the long collar, embellished with a red gem, hid his Adam’s apple.

His cheeks, sunken and lifeless just an hour ago, were fuller.

Josephine thought it was all thanks to the makeup, and while it did play its part, that wasn’t the complete truth.

’Is his jaw not hurting?’ Hyerin thought, worriedly scanning her friend’s expression for the slightest sign of pain. ’The padding must make him uncomfortable, right?’

Just the thought of putting a dry sponge in one’s mouth activated her gag reflexes.

’It’s a wonder how he managed to do it without a single complaint.’

Hyerin’s eyes teared slightly.

’All this just to show some baby fat?’

She felt her heart swell.

He was the most dedicated actor in her eyes, and if anyone were to contest it, she felt like she could punch them.

Under the rouge, she knew how truly pale his face was.

’Killing yourself for a role...’

His shoulder-length black hair was coloured right in front of her.

’Why not use a wig?’

Growing hair for a role wasn’t something new to actors.

’Now every time, you’ll have to color them back for the other role.’

It was truly a mystery to her what he had seen in this role that he would go so far for it.

He had long eyelashes attached, and his eyelids were colored red and black.

They had done all they could to keep the makeup to a minimum. No part of it was overdone. Everything was to make him look less like a man and more like a woman.

’Why wear nothing but white socks? How would a centimetre more of height hurt the film? Or do you hate friction?’

She wanted to ask him if his feet weren’t cold, but he hadn’t said a single word for an hour. And it felt more dangerous to tear him away from his role than to let him sink further into it.

Even now, it felt like he was growing distant—like he was there, yet mentally absent.

Fake nails, painted cherry red, were attached to his fingers.

Her gaze turned to one of the costume crew ladies following behind him. In her arm was a scarlet wooden umbrella.

’Can you even hold that umbrella?’

The hem of the dress being dragged behind caught her attention.

’It’s a bit long. Won’t he trip and fall?’

Worries—her head was a den of worries.

But her part in preparing him was over.

She had helped in putting on his extensive makeup. She had helped in maintaining his strict diet, making him lose weight.

She had helped him put on his tight corset.

’Why does he have to wear that? Won’t he suffocate to death?’

She knew there was no other way to draw a sharp figure.

But all that effort didn’t seem to go to waste.

The attention was proof enough that they had achieved the desired effect.

They had managed to fool even those in the know.

Her steps halted. She could do nothing more for him.

She could only go back to her seat beside Ari, who was gazing at her cousin with a slack jaw.

"Can’t take pictures, you said?" She murmured. "Perhaps, if I—"

Hyerin held her hand. "No."

The girl clicked her tongue. "I won’t show anyone—"

"No."

"Stingy."

But the girl didn’t mind as much.

She wouldn’t ever admit it, but she thought her cousin looked beautiful—lost in thought, mysterious, and beautiful.

She had many questions she wanted to ask Hyerin, but she decided to shelve them.

It wasn’t every day she had the fortune to witness a roomful of people lost for words.

And she couldn’t fault them.

Averie’s impression was completely different from before. If The Photographer was colorless, then The Lady was full of color.

It was such a departure from his true self as well as his previous roles that it was hard to imagine that it was the same person.

Even the actress across the room couldn’t help but single-mindedly watch him.

But Josephine’s envious attention was more on Averie’s clothes than his face.

’How nice would it have felt to wear that...’

Whatever it was, it looked like a modern spin on East Asian design.

’How graceful.’

The hammering of her restless fingers rang in her head like a gong.

It was a difficult situation for her.

She didn’t mind him as The Photographer, but it felt like a great insult and a disgrace to snatch the role from her and give it to a man.

’So, a man can play a woman better than me, an actual woman?’

During the lunch break, she had asked around about him and found him interesting enough. Of course, she hadn’t watched any of his acting; she didn’t care for it.

Yet now, she was one step away from hating him, and she held a grudge against the director she thought was responsible for it.

And that very man—having broken free of Averie’s magic—gave the signal to the second AD, who guided Averie to his position on the set.

And before long, the first AD scanned the room before giving the signal.

"Sound."

The sound mixer gave an OK sign.

The Second Camera held a digital clapperboard with Lady Ethereal written on it in front of the main camera.

"Scene 21, Act, Take 1."

The first AC whispered into the mic of his headset: "Rolling."

The second AC clapped the jaws of the slate shut and removed himself.

"Action."

***

To create a piece that could last the test of time, enormous effort was necessary.

Nobody knew it better than Havre, a Belgian artist known for his expressive music. Some of his songs gained mainstream global popularity despite being sung in French.

He was invited to watch the filming by none other than Benoit Durand, who was the musician’s godfather and uncle.

He didn’t think the trip would be gratifying, but he had travelled nonetheless.

Since the AD announced a small break, he had his earphones on, lolling while his uncle ate.

He nodded his head and tapped his heels. ’Sounds good, but...’

Something was missing.

He had been stuck on some of the tracks for his new album, and his producer was not happy with the delay.

- Brother, how long is it gonna take?

He wrote a message before erasing it. He did it again. And again.

But no words seemed appropriate.

He was unsatisfied.

That’s when it happened. Something caught his eye—the same thing that caught everyone’s eye.

And from that moment on, he was utterly lost in an illusion, in an act that seemed to shrink time.

The quavering of his fingers ended up sending illegible messages to his producer.

He wanted to drop his phone and relax his hands. But the thought of shattering this magic was far too painful.

The music playing in his ear seemed to resonate with the scene in front of him.

He had a suspicion, a very unlikely one.

With shaky fingers, he changed the song.

Suddenly, the same movements of the lady on the stage of the set seemed a perfect match for the song.

’Did she—No, that can’t be... Then?’

He changed the song again.

And again, he felt it fitting perfectly with the woman’s graceful movement.

Something was wrong.

’What is this? What the hell is this?’

Hairs on his skin stood up.

Three different songs of different genres resonated perfectly with the same set of moves.

’Is it just an illusion?’

He could have sworn that there was a slight change to the feeling she gave off.

’A different vibe? But she is moving the same, acting the same.’

It was like flipping between both faces of the coin.

The object was the same, but the illusion remained.

’There’s something different every time the song changes.’

One sentiment kept ringing in his head.

’This can’t just be acting.’

With trembling fingers, he kissed the cross hanging from his neck.

’Le Diable.’