Hell's Actor-Chapter 248: Perfectly Normal

The wonder, joy, and anxiety on the faces of young actors and actresses painted the hall in myriad emotions.

’Would I ever be able to replicate it?’

That question dug deeper into their minds as their hands continuously clapped.

The adoration and admiration blooming in that moment could not be put into words.

They had watched a masterpiece.

The sheer awe from acknowledging its existence had left them stilled—like a floating leaf on calm waters, perfectly tranquil.

Olivier Claude, the actor of Jacquet, was no different.

Never in a million years had he expected The Lady to be Averie. Perhaps he should have taken some time to attend those shoots, despite his busy schedule.

He blamed himself but, at the same time, felt hostile towards his co-stars for not informing him.

He felt disgruntled, unable to muster the nerve to complain about losing the role to Averie.

Playing three roles in one film, that whimsical nobody had managed to deliver one of the most memorable performances in the history of filmography.

With one portrayal, he had altered the landscape of this religion of theirs.

And as if that weren’t enough, even his role as The Photographer was spotless. It was everything it needed to be—drab, lifeless, and obsessive.

It was not the kind of role that required passionate speeches or heart-rending emotional delivery. It needed an invisible man slowly becoming visible.

In all honesty, it wasn’t the kind of role that earned repute or awards. It was, on paper, a thankless job.

Yet, Averie Quinn Auclair had made it look so effortless.

Olivier’s acting teacher had told him long ago that there were primarily two kinds of great actors.

One was a methodical perfectionist, and the other was an intuitive genius.

The modern greats tended to be somewhere in between. They studied the methods, but let their artistic inner self guide those practiced perfections.

’Great actors know how to balance these two qualities.’

That’s what his teacher had said.

But the young actor before him had shown him something different, something he couldn’t understand.

The Photographer was methodical, measured, and mechanical.

The Lady was intuitive, unorthodox, and... ethereal.

Both roles were so distinct that most would find it difficult to name the commonalities between them.

From the movement of their limbs to the impression they gave off, everything differed vastly.

How a single man had managed to keep the two roles so separate while filming them simultaneously, Olivier couldn’t understand.

Watching such performances, he found it difficult not to applaud alongside his fellow co-stars.

Some of them patted him on the shoulder, congratulating him for his role as Jacquet. And he, too, knew that it was a very good performance. It certainly added to the charm of the film.

But compared to all the contributions Averie Quinn Auclair made, his own achievement seemed... less impressive.

His gaze turned downward.

In the row before him, the man of the hour sat. He was just as listless as when he last saw him on the set.

His eyes were closed as if in contemplation. His chin rested on his propped-up arm as if such applause was only natural, as if this wave of reverence was all too expected.

For some reason, such a careless visage felt more powerful than any words he could utter.

If he had to put it in words, Olivier thought it would be something like ’He whiled away in the warmth of the ever-familiar glory.’

But maybe that was a bit too poetic. Still, he couldn’t help himself. The occasion, he thought, called for it.

’No one outside of the film industry will understand why this is so significant...’

He found it strangely tragic but also pacifying.

Because it meant that other than those select few enthusiasts and professionals, no other soul in the world was privy to experience the moment when preconceived notions were shattered, when impossible became possible.

It was a privilege granted only to those capable of understanding it.

Olivier looked at the seats on the first floor. There, in the first row, the director was speaking with some of the judges.

’Did you expect this?’

No, that wasn’t the right question.

’Did you sufficiently prepare for this?’

This little art project seemed destined for much more than he had previously expected.

***

The applause lasted for a long time. It echoed not only in the main venue but also across every other theater in Berlin.

Beholding such a spectacle, Hyerin was overwhelmed. Had Min-Ha not lent her a shoulder, the girl would have fallen apart right there.

"Exquisite," Satan muttered, basking in the afterglow of the film. "Our old friend has improved his craft." 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Lucifer nodded.

The girl next to them wondered what the two lunatics were talking about. She had a hard time focusing on the film at first. Because of the situation she found herself in, of course. But as the film progressed, she too couldn’t help but be sucked into its deteriorating beat.

"What do you think of that lady?" Satan got up from his seat. "Not a human, that’s for certain."

Lucifer took a moment to think before following him out of the theater. "What does it matter?"

’She isn’t supposed to be anybody. I doubt even the director knows.’

The Lady, as he saw it, was not some monster who took pleasure in ruining lives. She wasn’t evil or malicious.

"She is... the creation of the observer."

He looked up at the clear sky. Finding an oddly shaped cloud breaking apart, he smirked.

If a number of people were to look up at it, each one would see something different. One could see an ice cream cone while the other sees a wizard in a wide-brimmed hat.

The object was the same, but the images their brains would conjure differed.

"She represents passion."

To most, The Lady was just another woman, perhaps kinder even than most.

"Too much of it, and it becomes obsession."

To those blessed with an eye for art, she was invariably precious.

"It is not healthy, this thing called obsession."

It resulted in destructive tendencies. Anselme de Roschillian was a good example.

Satan stared at Lucifer with a solemn gaze.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" He looked disgusted. "Obsession hasn’t been unhealthy for us, has it? We are perfectly normal."

Lucifer found his confident reply laughable. "Normal, are we?"