Annabelle Wilson

I stepped into the well-lit office that overlooked Poole's harbour and the sprawling blue and emerald ocean. The gentle tides of the crystalline waters lapped against the golden sands at the busy harbour.

A beautiful woman in a black-and-white outfit and straight, black hair was gazing at this scene with her arms folded beneath her substantial cleavage.

I smiled and wordlessly sat down on the burgundy couch that was set against the beige wall. Juliane Yuichi, my manager, had turned, noticing my presence, and laid her quiet, electric-blue eyes on me.

"You're finally here, Selena," she uttered, vaguely reprimanding me, and striding to the chair behind her massive desk. Many documents were scattered on her desk and I caught the furrow of her dark brows as she gazed defeatedly at the insurmountable paperwork.

I frowned. "I'm sorry. I was held up with moving and..." I said helplessly. Juliane must have had a rough patch without any communication from me for one week. I hadn't responded to any text messages or calls either as I had been occupied with...well, escaping from my golden cage.

She scratched her head, with her face lowered against her desk. "Do the movers steal your phone or something?" She asked in exasperation before lifting her blue eyes to my regretful ones.

She groaned at my forlorn expression. "You know what? I won't investigate your private matters again this time because I have very good news for you," she announced with a small, almost imperceptible smile taking over her tired features. She picked up a stack of papers that had been clipped together and handed them to me.

I strode to her desk and curiously skimmed through the documents. My eyes sparkled the more I fathomed the meaning behind the lines of text. My face snapped up to her, almost teary-eyed.

"This...is..."

The words were lodged at the back of my throat as I struggled between speaking and throwing my arms around her immediately. Disbelief swam in my dilated eyes.

"Yes," she nodded smugly, "While you were MIA, I shared your credentials with some of my former colleagues. I never expected that one of them would be acquainted to the acclaimed director, Whitney Fuse, who is in charge of this film."

My brows rose at my incredible luck. So far, I had only partaken in minor roles over three months, and it was all under the alias of Selena Fawkner. This was the first time I would be auditioning for a very major role - as the second female-lead in a famous romantic film, that is.

I was over the moon and Juliane smugly shared my jubilance, albeit still with her stoic facade.

After looking through the script, I was instantly enamoured with the enthralling storyline. It was an eye-catching love story between the daughter of a wealthy count and her French art master; a love that sadly would never see the light of day.

The French art master was 13 years older than the moonstruck young lady - a gap too enormous to be accepted by society, leave alone her aristocratic company.

The part I would be auditioning for would be that of the art master's adoptive daughter, the gloomy and reserved poet, Annabelle Wilson. A girl who would strive to find her own path yet would later give everything up for love.

Annabelle's character was complex but not as difficult to portray as the elegant yet disgruntled female lead.

As I was gripped by the immaculate plot, my own consciousness disappeared. The frugal world of the conservative Annabelle was all that remained in my line of sight.

Juliane quietly watched me vanish into a dream, her face etched with a quiet smile.

After an hour or so, I reemerged from the waters of that world with a tear quietly trickling down my cheek. My muddled feelings surged like a roaring storm.

My glassy, golden eyes were fixated on one of Annabelle's lines - something she had articulated to the aggrieved art master as he'd forsaken reality to plunge into the dreamlike world created by his paintbrush.

She had observed him with eyes not of a concerned daughter but that of a lovelorn lady.

Annabelle: Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life, someone once wisely claimed, father.

But, for you, that is not mere dust that blocks your eyes, is it?

It is love, isn't it - blooming through the confines of your canvas, crying to be freed but never to find true freedom.

Washing away that dust would be tormenting. And you would be but a masochist in the end.

Annabelle had frequently been the quiet, envious observer to the grief of her lovestruck father, the art master.

Being one who could only recognize paternal love, she envied the wealthy noblewoman who could be the target of her father's sweltering affection. And yet, her father's happiness had always come first. Not her own elation.

I smiled, though stripped of speech by the fictional 19-year-old's foresight. I didn't fathom the love of a parent, as Annabelle did, but I could feel my heart pain for her. In a way, her character spoke to my soul, creating ripples in my heart.

I looked up at Juliane.

She nodded smilingly at my moonstruck expression. "Amazing, right?" She asked.

"I love it. The screenwriter is the mysterious Ace, isn't it?" I said with sparkling golden eyes, recognizing the exemplary writing of my idol without a shadow of doubt.

'Ace' was the nom de plume of a renowned writer who would appear and disappear like print held too close to the eye. I had followed his numerous, captivating works like a vampire drawn to blood, immersing myself in the intricate worlds birthed by Ace's pen.

"I know you're a big fan of Ace. Hopefully, you'll get to meet him one day during the filming...well, if you pass the auditions on Friday, that is," Juliane responded nonchalantly yet confidently, as though I had already passed the auditions.

I smirked, even though I knew the chances of meeting the faceless screenwriter were nil. Simply acting out his film was a massive blessing. "Roger that, captain," I replied, saluting like a soldier.

She groaned at my actions. "Stop doing that. It's frighteningly submissive," she said, revealing her strong feminist side.

I rolled my eyes as I placed the script into my small, red handbag. "It's not submissive at all," I complained.

She sighed, leaning into her seat with a small creak. "For someone with questionable sexual tendencies, you sure are quick to deny your preference," she enunciated, coercing a wry smile from me. I strode round her desk and sat on her lap, an evil smile curling up my sweet face.

"For someone with even odder tendencies, you sure deny your attraction quite staunchly," I remarked sinisterly, resembling a succubus who'd been successfully aroused from her sleep.

Juliane was horrified at my actions, as expected. Her sharp features paled as she pushed me off of her as though I had rabies or something.

"Bloody hell. That was terrifying. You win, Selena," she surrendered, beads of hot sweat racing down her neck, "I won't judge you ever again."

I had just quoted a line from one of the more major roles I had once played - and, yes, before you ask, the role was that of a succubus. It had traumatized Juliane for a long time.

I smiled. "Thanks for the script, Anne."