The Actress
She used to wear t-shirts and jeans, Imogen Moreno did. She used to let her hair fall down in plain strands, unhindered by barrettes or headbands . . . or cat ears, for that matter. Things used to embarrass her, make her feel uneasy and insecure, and she used to treat people with hesitation and caution.
She never knew what she wanted or how to get it, though. Never found that calling that you were supposed to find.
Maybe that's why she found herself so attracted to Eli Goldsworthy. She was feeling frustrated, scared that she would never understand herself. And he was something different, something she had never seen before. He wasn't like her, not at all. But then again, she didn't know what her was.
That's why she acted. It didn't give her any kind of thrill, didn't make her happy really. But it let her be different people. If she acted, there was no need to figure out who she was, because she was portraying a character. And Imogen was good at it, too. Not because she was passionate about it, not because she rehearsed her lines for hours on end every night.
Imogen Moreno was a good actress because Imogen Moreno didn't really exist. Imogen Moreno was a good actress because she had nothing to falter her characters, no words to disagree with their lines, no opinions to conflict theirs. No true personality to differ from her characters'.
She was a mold that shifted into whatever character she was playing at the time. Imogen became that character when she was on the stage. And, sooner or later, Imogen realized that pretending was the only way to be real.
She wasn't really sure when exactly it happened. Perhaps, the idea just came to her mind one day. But somewhere along the line, Imogen Moreno decided she was going to play a character all the time, on stage and off.
She was tired of only feeling alive when she could hide on stage, tired of being lifeless, dull the moment she stepped out of character. And that's when she remembered Eli Goldsworthy, the gothic, hearse-driving atheist who seemed to resemble a character even Imogen Moreno had never played before. He intrigued her, inspired her, stimulated her.
He was the perfect costar, the perfect hero to stand alongside her. He was the perfectly written character, and all she had to do was mold into the perfect match. Because, as you know, Imogen Moreno was really good at molding.
And so, that's who she became. She smeared dark eyeliner and mascara over her eyes and pulled her hair back into flustered pigtails. She wore clothes that she imagined Eli Goldsworthy's perfect match would wear, tall laced boots and dotted nylons.
And suddenly, people knew her. Suddenly, Imogen Moreno became real, a name that people recognized. Imogen Moreno became someone.
She played the character of the dark and quirky girl who cared nothing of those around her. She played the character of the only one to stand by Eli Goldsworthy, even in his darkest hours. She played the role of Bianca DeSousa's only friend.
At one point, she even played the role of the girl playing the role of Clare Edwards. A role within a role. A dream within a dream. A girl within a girl . . . within an empty soul.
That was how she became someone, though. That was how she defined herself: simply whatever role the time required. And she hid behind those roles, terrified that one day she would have to face the fact that, no matter how she convinced those around her, Imogen Moreno would never understand who she was.
Imogen Moreno was nothing more than a mold that existed only through the people that she pretended to be.
Imogen Moreno existed in black lace and smeared mascara. Imogen Moreno existed through the green eyes of Eli Goldsworthy. Imogen Moreno existed as every character ever imagined.
But Imogen Moreno would never be discovered.