Director Dae-Jung Lee only ever did films. Ever since he was a child, he loved watching movies. And when he had the opportunity, he loved making them. In his twenty-six-year career, he received multiple awards—even a few prestigious international ones.
Not once in his life did the good director ever think of directing a drama series. Not that the idea was beyond him, but the nature of dramas did not allow for the sort of gripping plot and grey artistry he sought. Or so was his belief until he received the script for Binsfeld's Seven Princes of Hell.
'This is it!' he thought.
The exhaustion from his previous project suddenly faded away. This new work was exactly what he needed. It had his style, and it had his colors. It seemed to scream at him that no other director should have it. This script should only be handled by someone who understood its value, it seemed to plead.
The director was pleased. A new challenge was in his sight. He was about to make his first TV series. He wore an expression of extreme delight.
It was the complete opposite of how he looked now. He was haggard and tired. Life had been sucked out of his complexion. For the past month, he had trouble sleeping, and his worries only kept worsening.
'When it rains, it pours,' he thought.
Now, he was suffering from constipation.
'Just one character—just one character is going to kill me,' he thought. 'Asmodeus, where are you.'
It had been three hours since the audition began, and not a single applicant so far had displayed him anything remotely close to what he wanted. The picture he had imagined when he first read the script could not be replicated by any actor.
'Their performances do Asmodeus no justice. Forget acting, they don't even have the right face.'
Honestly, he had no hope. The kind of expressions Asmodeus demanded not even veterans could deliver. It wasn't only about acting. It was about understanding the character on a deeper level—understanding not only his contribution to the plot but comprehending the charms in his vices.
No one so far could act out that very charm. It felt too abstract and unreachable. It required such perfect balance that it felt akin to walking a tightrope. Yet no actor he imagined could successfully pull it off. They didn't have the right face, the understanding, or the ability to deliver the unknown.
It felt impossible.
But the writer didn't want to edit the script, so here he was—auditioning rookies. Admittedly, he loved the character he envisioned. He had fewer lines than the main roles, but he had a charm so enigmatic and powerful.
'So powerful that it cannot be replicated.'
"What do you think, Ms. Moon?" one of the men sitting at the table asked. "Shouldn't we edit Asmodeus's role now?"
He was from Elvin Production, overseeing the production of the drama. And the person he referred to was the writer of the script.
Sophie Moon was a well-respected screenwriter in the industry. She started as a playwright but soon found herself in the glamorous film industry. She had achieved relative success, even earning a few awards.
This wasn't her first TV series, but it was certainly the most ambitious. It was a work she had dedicated all her effort to. She thought of it as her magnum opus, and those who read it agreed. It was a script that she was most proud of. She knew it would help her reach unfathomable heights.
She had managed to get the director she wanted, and the actors that were selected were only those who understood the value of the script and could deliver on it. Everything so far had gone well.
That is why she could not allow anyone else to interfere now.
"I will not lower my standards," Writer Moon said.
"It's not about lowering the standards—"
"No!" she interjected, her eyes burning with passion. "I will not change anything. If Asmodeus isn't impactful enough, the thrill of the plot will be lost. That character is more important than Lucifer and Satan combined!"
The poor man shrunk in his seat. He was the producer, but he felt like her underling.
Sensing the deteriorating atmosphere, the director of photography (DP)—sat behind one of the cameras on tripods—heroically stepped forward. He wasn't one of the auditioners, but he needed to see how the applicants would appear on the screen.
"May I ask you something, Writer?" he said, wiping his glasses with a clean cloth. "Why did you name this work Binsfeld's Seven Princes of Hell?"
"Why, what is wrong with it?" she asked.
"It is long, and Binsfeld isn't exactly a well-known figure. Something like Seven Sins would have been easier to remember, wouldn't you agree?"
For a minute, Writer Moon was silent.
"Well, casting is almost complete, so I don't mind explaining." She clicked her heels in thought. "Do you know what the Seven Princes of Hell are?"
"Embodiment of seven deadly sins."
"Sure, but what is it that they do?"
"Sorry?"
Writer Moon sighed. "Lucifer, Mammon, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Satan, and Belphegor—these seven make up the Seven Princes of Hell."
She put up seven fingers.
"Embodying their sin is not all they amount to. Their sin isn't simply their vice; it is their weapon. It is what they wield to lure men and women to their demise. Their sin doesn't make up the whole of their character. It is their ability to stir the hearts of humanity that truly makes them terrifying."
She spared the man a sharp glance.
"I want my characters to embody these vices and evoke them in the hearts of their audience, becoming princes that tempt humanity with their sin, leading them towards their filthy desires."
The man looked confused. "Is that even possible?"
Writer Moon shrugged.
"It is possible to evoke gluttony," she said. "If we prepare mouth-watering foods and the actor does a decent enough job, it won't be one bit hard to make our audience crave something delicious."
"We will use the tricks the advertisement industry uses to achieve the desirable effect," Director Lee added.
"We don't know if we can do anything remotely similar with others," the writer muttered. "Pride, wrath, envy, greed, and sloth aren't impossible. But they will have to deliver convincing performances."
"The problem is lust," the director added. "We can slightly help them with makeup and lighting, but not a single actor so far has managed to embody the deep carnal desire."
Writer Moon angrily slammed her fists into the stack of papers on the table. "They think a handsome face is enough to make our hearts flutter. Do they think we are teenage girls? You need far more than a face to be able to affect a wider audience!"
"You need a performance that is both delicate and impactful. Anything less and the character falls apart. It's an intricate matter."
"The actors that we have already signed understand the complex nature of their respective roles. They understand why it is seven princes and not seven sins. They understand the challenge and the artistry of their roles, and so they contacted us with enthusiasm. Those who rejected weren't good enough to recognize the script's value."
For a moment, heavy silence lingered in the air.
"That's a long enough break." Director Lee groaned, sitting up straight in his seat. "Shall we continue the audition?"
"Call in the next one," he instructed the assistant director (AD), who hastily left the room.
Director Lee looked at the CV of the next applicant.
'Averie Quinn Auclair.'
It was an odd name, perfect for the stage. Twenty-three was a little young for such a role. Most applicants were around twenty-eight years old, and very few were in their mid-twenties.
The director liked the attached photo but sighed as soon as he noticed the applicant had no previous experience. Still, he remained professional and paid attention as the door opened.
But contrary to his expectations, the man who stepped in immediately stole his breath. His confident gait and relaxed posture defied his young age. His glance, which alternated between Writer Moon and himself, contained something deep and dark. Those daring amber eyes burned with unfathomable intensity. They had a gravity of their own, attracting everything in the room towards them.
Not a quiver could be heard from the auditioners. All they could do was gaze into the abyss of those mesmerizing eyes.
"Good afternoon," the debonair man said.
His wispy voice sounded both attractive and sinister. It sent chills down Director Lee's spine. It was as if he was watching a film and not an audition. It felt like an enigmatic villain of the twentieth century had walked into the room.
"I am Averie Quinn Auclair," the man slowly said.
No one in the room was under the illusion that it was an introduction. No, they understood very well that it was an announcement.
"It is a pleasure to meet you."