(Firfel's POV)
The set outside buzzed with life—voices, footsteps, laughter. I could feel the energy even from inside the makeup tent. Yet, none of it reached .
Inside, the artists worked around , adjusting my skin tone with delicate brushes and whispered awe.
"Your skin is flawless, Ms. Firfel," one of them said, her eyes gleaming with admiration. "And that silver hair... it's like moonlight. No wonder the Great Exiled One is head over heels for you!"
Another chid in with a giddy squeak, "I wish I was as beautiful as you, Ms. Firfel... Maybe I'd have a shot at soone like Arthur Pendragon too!"
The corners of my mouth twitched, barely holding back a scowl. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, my eyes hardening with restrained resentnt.
'Arthur? Head over heels for ? What a joke.'
Bitterness welled in my chest.
'He hasn't replied to a single ssage. He didn't even look at the last ti I stopped by his office... or his ho.'
My gaze drifted to the tent's flap.
'And now? He doesn't even visit anymore. Not like he used to...'
I clenched the fabric of my dress, knuckles pale.
'What happened to him? It's been weeks. He's been distant. Cold. Is this... who he really is?'
One of the makeup artists suddenly asked, voice too casual, "Oh, Ms. Firfel! I heard rumors you and Arthur are fighting. Is that true?"
"Hehe, a lover's quarrel?" the other giggled. "That's so cute. I'm jealous!"
I clenched my jaw.
"Just do your job," I said quietly, my tone sharper than intended. "And stop talking."
They blinked, clearly startled. Silence followed.
Guilt crept in almost imdiately. I lowered my eyes and muttered, "Sorry."
The two exchanged a glance and simply nodded. They resud their work, brushing blush over my cheekbones in silence.
Then—shouts erupted outside the tent. A sudden stir. Commotion.
The tent's flap flew open, and one of my co-stars burst in, nearly breathless.
"Ms. Firfel! Your boyfriend's here!"
I blinked. "Boyfriend?"
The girl grinned. "Who else? Arthur Pendragon!"
I stared at her, stunned.
'Arthur...? He's here? Really?'
For a mont, I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I just sat there, breath caught in my throat.
'So he actually ca...'
---
(3rd Person POV)
Arthur pulled up to the film set under Righteous Film Studio, the low growl of his flaming bike drawing imdiate attention. He parked with a soft rumble, dismounted casually, and removed his gloves with a flick of his wrist. A faint smirk curved his lips.
Within seconds, crew mbers began to gather—so whispering, others openly gawking. Even the director rushed over, eyes gleaming with excitent.
"Is Firfel around?" Arthur asked, his voice low and slightly husky. There was a trace of fatigue in his tone—residue from his recent return from the Nether Realm—but to the crew, it only made him sound more magnetic.
A few of the female staff instinctively blushed at the sound.
The director, a short man with a ticulously grood mustache and a polished suit, practically bead. He wiped a hand down his coat and pointed enthusiastically toward a nearby tent.
"She's right over there—getting prepped for her next scene. If you want to see her, we can hold the shoot. No problem at all." He turned to a nearby assistant and waved. "Go get Ms. Firfel. Tell her her boyfriend's arrived."
The crew mber nodded eagerly and sprinted toward the tent.
As the director turned back, he shuffled a few pages in his hand and quickly stepped to Arthur's side, holding out a script like an offering.
"The film your girlfriend's working on... it's a real masterpiece," he said with a hopeful grin. "If you've got ti, maybe you could give it a look? We'd be honored to have your feedback. Heck, if you've got any directing tips or scene ideas, we'd gladly adjust to your vision."
Arthur chuckled, amused by the eagerness.
He took the script and flipped through a few pages, his expression gradually sharpening. The concept caught his interest.
An ancient elf—blessed with an unnaturally long life—wandering through the ages. She ets friends, enemies... and slowly watches them all wither away. The years pass, the world changes, but she remains untouched by ti. In the end, she chooses to end her life after losing her lover in a war she could not prevent.
A quiet tragedy.
Arthur flipped a few more pages, nodding slightly.
"A myth from three centuries ago," he murmured. "Back when elves really did live thousands of years..."
He looked up, thoughtful.
"It's got weight. Bit of a lancholic ending, but... poetic."
The director nodded eagerly, his hands wringing. "Exactly! Exactly what I thought!"
Arthur closed the script and handed it back with a faint smile. "I might have a few thoughts on how to elevate so scenes... but first—let see her."
The director nodded quickly, practically trembling with excitent. "Of course, of course." His eyes sparkled as he looked at the man in front of him—the legendary director behind Lord of the Rings and the iconic Demonfather.
Arthur Pendragon.
A minute passed. Then another.
Firfel still hadn't appeared.
The director glanced toward the tent and frowned. He signaled to one of the nearby assistants. "What's going on? Why hasn't she co out yet? Doesn't she know her boyfriend's waiting?"
"I... I'm not sure, sir," the assistant stamred, flustered. "She should've been ready."
Arthur waited a few minutes longer, chatting politely with the crew, but the anticipation slowly twisted into frustration.
'That damn clone really left a ss...' Arthur grit his teeth. 'My love won't even look at anymore.'
The director offered an apologetic look, but Arthur just raised a hand, waving it off. "No need. I'll speak to her myself."
Without another word, he strode toward the tent marked Firfel Evergreen, his steps firm but quiet.
He entered.
Firfel stood with her back to him, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders. The makeup artists froze when they saw Arthur step in. With a quick exchange of glances, they quietly excused themselves and slipped out, leaving the two alone.
Arthur spoke gently, "Firf..."
She didn't turn.
He took a step closer. "Are you still upset about these past few weeks? The way I've been acting... I didn't an to ignore you."
She finally spoke, her voice sharp with restrained pain. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be busy playing video gas at your office... or wherever you disappear to?"
Arthur sighed. "I—"
"You ignored ," she cut in. "You stopped replying to ssages. You didn't even glance at when I ca by. If you didn't care, why bother chasing in the first place?"
Arthur swallowed hard. "Because... the one you saw—wasn't really ."
Firfel turned slowly, her eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"
Instead of explaining, Arthur stepped forward and reached for her hand. She pulled away, but he held firm.
"I've been keeping sothing from you. Sothing... unusual," he said softly. "But I think it's ti you knew."
He made a gesture with one hand—and in a swirl of shadows, another Arthur materialized beside them.
Firfel's eyes widened in disbelief.
"That's... you?" she whispered.
Arthur nodded. "The '' that's been acting cold? That was a clone. I created him to manage things while I was away... but he's a bit of a jerk."
The clone casually waved. "Yo."
Firfel stepped back, startled.
Arthur let out a soft chuckle. The clone yawned dramatically. "Hey, uh... can I go now?"
Arthur snapped his fingers, and with a puff of smoke, the clone vanished.
"I'm sorry," Arthur said, turning to Firfel. "I should've told you sooner. Each clone has a different aspect of my personality. That one? Let's just say he's got... zero empathy."
Firfel stared at him, still processing, then looked away with a pout. "I still hate you."
Arthur laughed softly, amused. "Why?"
"Because you keep too many secrets," she muttered. "And what kind of boyfriend lets a clone replace him for weeks without warning?"
Arthur scratched his cheek, sheepish. "Fair enough."
'Looks like the only way to win her over... is through cinema. Maybe it's ti we shoot our own Titanic—and rekindle the romance on screen,' he thought wryly.
---
Read advanced 30 Chapters on my p-a-treon/NewCor714.
User Comments
0 comments from readers