"Is this Charlize?"
Christian squinted at the blonde girl, watching her move with a grace and precision that felt… off. Too refined. Too perfect.
There was no way this was just Charlize Theron.
He hadn't confirmed it yet, but everything pointed to this girl being the one—the future Evil Queen.
And while she'd eventually snag an Oscar, Christian remembered the chatter online.
Plenty of people had doubts about her early career. Talented, sure—but not exactly a natural.
She'd started as a model, and like many in that camp, carried the stiffness of someone used to posing rather than performing: limited expressions, measured movements.
Compared to heavyweights like Meryl Streep or even the rising firecracker Jennifer Lawrence, Charlize came off as hesitant.
Christian hadn't bothered watching The Burning Plain, but he'd read enough to know Jennifer stole the show in that one.
Still, Snow White and the Huntsman had been a decent showcase.
Acting opposite Kristen Stewart, whose own performances were a mixed bag, gave Charlize some breathing room.
But even then, she didn't strike him as someone born for the craft—just someone slowly, stubbornly growing into it.
And yet... this.
This girl wasn't just acting. She was channeling something.
Christian had seen the old Spider-Man films that never got James Cameron's flair.
That upside-down kiss in the rain?
Iconic. But what he saw now, from this blonde girl who wore Charlize's face like a second skin, was something else entirely.
Something raw. Intimate. It didn't matter that the kiss was fake, that she was pressing her lips into empty air—it worked.
It worked so well he almost believed the invisible Spider-Man was dangling right there, caught in the storm of it.
"Maybe I should grab a cab, check into a motel, and ride this high for three days," he muttered.
"Something's not adding up."
No way this was just Charlize. It had to be Alexis.
That explained the intensity. The performance wasn't Theron's alone—it was hers. Alexis was the one controlling the body.
Charlize was buried deep in her mind, providing fragments of emotion, memory, and instinct. But the driving force was the entity inside her.
And that was the problem.
Christian had seen enough now to be sure: Alexis wasn't a typical spirit.
She wasn't malevolent in the fire-and-brimstone sense, but she was unstable. Erratic.
Possession was child's play for her. And while Christian had studied the arcane, his experience with ghosts and demons was laughable at best.
He'd only recently stumbled into a world where magic worked. Real spells, real consequences.
So he'd set traps.
Subtle, carefully crafted traps meant to draw Alexis in without raising her defenses. The problem?
Sprung too early, she'd sense it. Ghosts like Alexis weren't all-powerful, but they were perceptive.
Chaotic and fragmented, yes—but not stupid. She might recognize the bait for what it was and veer off course entirely.
That's where Charlize came in.
He'd nudged Alexis into possessing her fully. Forced the real Charlize to the sidelines, her consciousness dulled into a ghostlike whisper.
She could no longer move or speak freely, but still had influence. Nudge. Suggest.
Her suicide attempt was a perfect example. Christian had traced the moment back—Charlize hadn't lost control completely.
She was drunk, spiraling, sure, but the decision to step off the edge? That wasn't all hers.
Alexis had been there, fanning the flames of despair from the shadows. Feeding the pain. Amplifying it until Charlize believed death was her idea.
Now, the same push was being used for performance. For art. And it was working far too well.
Christian folded his arms, leaning against the crumbling brick wall behind him.
Cigarette long gone, just a ghost of smoke curling from his jacket.
"Yeah," he said under his breath, eyes fixed on the possessed actress.
"We're in deep now."
Christian intended to flip the script.
In theory, the same principle that let Alexis manipulate Charlize could be reversed.
After separating Charlize's consciousness from the ghost, he planned to use the lingering thread between them—Charlize's subconscious—to influence Alexis instead.
Subtly. Invisibly. Hallucinations, carefully seeded and nudged into reality, guiding her straight into his trap.
But there was a catch.
Charlize had to stay awake. Not physically—mentally.
Even in that shadowed, subconscious state, she had to be aware enough to exert pressure on the thing riding her body.
It was a high-wire act.
Luckily, Christian wasn't coming in blind. Long before he ended up in this mess of an era, he'd obsessed over altered states of consciousness—spells, rituals, chemical shortcuts.
He'd run trials, taken notes, failed a dozen times, and once accidentally paralyzed a cat for twenty minutes.
But in the end, he found a workable hybrid: magic and pharmacology, a dirty handshake between the arcane and the synthetic.
For Charlize, he'd first used hymenone, a mild sedative that eased her into the split.
Now, to keep her conscious beneath the possession, he switched tactics—painkillers mixed with spellwork.
The blend dulled the body but lit up the mind, holding her between sleep and awareness like a swimmer just under the surface.
Still, drugs and spells only bought him the chance. The real work came from Charlize herself.
She needed to manipulate Alexis inside the shared vessel—feed the ghost thoughts, emotions, and imagined realities.
Push her toward the hallucination Christian had built. It was more than performance; it was mental warfare wrapped in theater.
And damn, did she deliver.
Charlize poured herself into the role, her mind a stage and her memories the script.
She didn't just act—she believed, and Alexis fell for it completely.
The ghost thought she was standing in an audition room, performing for a casting director in a once-in-a-lifetime shot at stardom. She wasn't just fooled—she was sold.
Christian watched it unfold with grudging respect.
For all her beauty and celebrity polish, Charlize had grit.
Not the kind that showed up in glossy magazine profiles—but the kind that held steady under pressure, that bent but didn't break.
She wasn't just a face. She was talented.
Maybe all those roles she took that demanded emotional depth weren't casting errors. Maybe she was made for them.
Even Marilyn Monroe had been underestimated, remembered more for her curves than her technique—but she'd had her methods too.
It seemed Charlize had found hers in the middle of a supernatural possession.
"Cut."
Christian's voice sliced through the haze, sharp and measured.
He kept his expression in character, the tired charm of a big-time director on a tight schedule.
Charlize—Alexis, really—froze, then blinked, registering his authority.
Christian gave a slow nod, one eyebrow cocked.
"Excellent, Alexis. You nailed it. Easily the best audition I've seen today. The others? Please. Half of them couldn't stop giggling, and the rest looked like they were auditioning for a knock-off slasher flick."
He offered a dry smile, full of false warmth.
"This isn't a third-rate horror. This is James Cameron."
He paced a step forward, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, boots clicking faintly on the scuffed floor.
"No need for more games," he said, voice low, conspiratorial.
"I've got a full schedule and a dozen more names to get through. But screw it. I've seen enough. Miss Alexis... I think you're perfect for Mary Jane."
He paused, letting the words sink in like bait in water.
"Let's talk contracts."
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References-
Evil Queen- Charlize Theron played the Evil Stepmother in Snow White and the Huntsman. (2012).