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Fate was strange. It never moved in a straight line—it twisted, tangled, and sometimes unraveled completely.
Ail knew this, and yet, they weren't prepared when it finally knotted them into Aoife-Clíodhna's orbit.
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By now, Ail had appeared in three films. Not as a lead, not as anything important, but enough to gain traction. Enough to be seen. It hadn't come easily.
Before those three films, they had endured brutal training—exercises meant to strip away any remnants of who they were before the industry. Hours of practicing voice control, switching dialects at will, perfecting expressions that weren't their own, improvising entire scenes under the heat of unforgiving lights. Unlike theatre, there were no pauses, no space to breathe. The scripts were absolute, and Ail had no say. They repeated their lines until their mouth was dry, their mind emptied of thought, and their body moved like a well-rehearsed marionette.
They didn't mind.
Sacrifice was inevitable.
The films were all of the same genre—thriller-romance- a trend that audiences devoured like a hungry mob.
The first, Claudia and Edward, was a short film about two journalists chasing the truth in hopes of a better life together. Ail played Wilfred, a minor character, a forgettable name in a sea of voices.
The second was a Romeo and Juliet retelling, except the star-crossed lovers were two men cast out by society. Ail played Escobar Rodrigo, a second love interest who tried—and failed—to win the affections of Rio Misashi. A role designed to make them desirable, but ultimately discardable.
The third, however—Prince Louie and the Fragile Maid—was different. Ail liked this one, though they wouldn't admit why.
The series followed a young prince whose brilliance was both his gift and his curse, driving him toward self-destruction. Just when he neared the edge, a new maid appeared, and suddenly, there was something—someone—to hold him back. Ail played the prince's advisor, the quiet puppeteer who planted seeds of doubt in his mind, only for the maid to undo their work thread by thread.
How ironic.
Ail had mentioned this to Quenlinne once, mocking the naivety of such a tale.
Quenlinne had only smiled, running a delicate hand through their hair. "And yet, you play your part so well," they murmured.
Ail leaned into the touch, if only to amuse them.
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"A celebration is in order," Quenlinne had announced one evening, lounging across a velvet chaise as Ail sat cross-legged on the floor, watching them brush their golden hair.
"A party?" Ail asked, tilting their head.
"A gala, darling. A success such as Prince Louie cannot go unnoticed." Quenlinne smirked, setting the brush down. "You'll attend, of course. As my escort."
Ail's lips twitched in amusement. "M'lady, it would be my honor."
They lifted Quenlinne's hand, pressing a soft kiss to their palm.
Quenlinne, to Ail's delight, flushed a lovely shade of pink before retreating toward their room, tossing a flustered, "Goodnight, my dear," over their shoulder.
The moment they were gone, Ail's smile dropped into something more primal.
Their fingers curled into the fabric of their cardigan.
"I must. I will. Reach the top."
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The party was beautiful in the way all expensive things were.
Soft candlelight flickered against the marble floors, gold-trimmed walls echoing with the sound of string instruments. Perfume and laughter mingled in the air, glasses clinked, silk and velvet brushed together as people danced.
Ail stood at Quenlinne's side, arm securely around their waist.
They played their role well—an attentive partner, a dashing new star. Quenlinne basked in the attention, their laugh light and hollow, their words carefully curated for the occasion.
Ail, however, was growing restless.
The praise, the scripted conversations, the empty flattery—it was all… predictable.
They murmured something to Quenlinne about fetching a drink, slipping away before their absence was noted.
At the wine table, they picked up an appetizer, biting into it absently as they observed the room. Their gaze flicked toward Quenlinne, ensuring they weren't needed—
"Enjoying the festivities, or are you only here for your beautiful lover over there?"
Ail froze.
Something pressed against their side—a presence that crept up their chest like a ghost's touch.
Slowly, carefully, they turned their head.
Strawberry blonde hair. Green eyes.
Pink lips curved in amusement.
Pale skin kissed with rosiness as if she had stepped straight out of a painting.
Aoife-Clíodhna.
She was untouchable. Radiant. Sheer, undeniable power wrapped in a deceptively soft smile.
And she was speaking to them.
Ail stared, unblinking, their mind blank for a dangerous moment.
Aoife tilted her head, her smirk deepening. "Pleased to meet you too."
Ail snapped out of it immediately, straightening their posture. "Good evening, m'lady. My name is Ailbhe, but you may call me Ail if you wish."
Aoife exhaled a laugh, tapping their chest lightly with a gloved hand before dragging it slowly across their shoulder.
"Formalities?" She clicked her tongue. "No need for those. We're fellow actors, aren't we?" Her voice dipped lower. "Let's be friendly with one another."
Ail inhaled sharply.
She watched them closely, eyes glinting. "I've seen your work. For fresh meat, you're quite the rare find."
A beat.
"But not quite rare enough to be special."
A challenge.
Ail's lips parted in a sharp grin, their amusement mirroring her own.
"I do not intend to be considered special," they murmured.
"I already am."
Silence.
Then, to their utter surprise—Aoife laughed.
A deep, rich sound that made the hairs on Ail's neck rise.
She leaned in, grasping their arm, whispering close enough that only they could hear.
"You are a special case, dear Ailbhe."
And just like that, she was gone.
Swept into the sea of admirers, her presence like a ghostly imprint against Ail's skin.
Their chest rose and fell in a measured breath.
Their mind raced.
"I must become better than her."
"I must. I will."
Ail turned away from the wine bottles, seeking out Quenlinne—who was still watching from across the room, fan fluttering wildly, eyes dark with something unreadable.
Ail smirked.
"This is worth it."