It was almost midnight when I called you on set. You arrived with your heart beating fast, excited, sure that your presence still reigned in their universe. But upon entering, your smile faded when you saw Serge in a corner, whispering something to a young woman with an angelic face and intense gaze. You recognized her immediately: Jane Birkin.

He looked up and, when he saw you, he smiled at you, that smile of his that until then had been only for you. But this time, it felt different, like that smile was hiding something else.

“I wanted to talk to you, ma chère,” he said, dropping his hand on Jane's shoulder.

“Jane... is just what I need for the role. "She has that innocence, that spark that I can't ignore."

You feel how your place in his life and in that movie he had imagined as their shared setting was falling apart. The prominence that Serge had promised him, the lead role, had vanished before his eyes.

He looked at you, exhaling smoke slowly, his expression unreadable. “But even muses must know when to retire… or reinvent themselves.”