Embrace of Fire

Herbert's eyes possess a heavenly shade of blue, reminiscent of ancient frescoes, an azure mosaic or a delicate, translucent stained glass church windows. Much like the sun's rays shine through the softly coloured glass on a clear day, his eyes seem to emit an ethereal and angelic radiance. Despite Herbert's deathly pale and insomniac appearance, his heavenly blue gaze is the sole feature that brings some real life to his dry and gaunt face. These eyes are comparable to the work of a talented Renaissance artist; seems like those were them which captivated Faye to fall recklessly in love with Herbert without recognizing the cold void within his dead soul at first. In the initial months of marriage, Mrs. Flay convinced herself it was all just her imagination, but now... "I can no longer tolerate being treated this way by you..." She tends to see her glass half empty rather than full. In the soft lighting of old Victorian lamps, the deep red colour of wine resembles real blood even more. Faye Carstairs, who recently retired from her career in acting, occasionally enjoys that ephemeral feeling of being back in one of her successful horror films. Unfortunately, the main antagonist isn't the one she desires to encounter in their dimly lit basement studio. Herbert torments her, perhaps not physically, but through his words. There's a hypnotizing quality to him as he glides around the room in his flowing burgundy satin robe, suddenly freezing by the end of her sofa. He sniffs the air cautiously, lightly running his fingers through her red hair, exuding a chilling aura and instilling a sticky sense of fear, resembling a subtle yet sinister creature from the world beyond. Despite her objections, he continues to touch her, fully aware of his overwhelming power. "Do you realize that you're my own little misunderstanding?" he asks suggestively, as he appreciates the initial glimpses of tears on his wife's face. "Who else but me will be there to shield you from your own self?" He has an intense hatred for Faye that has no limits, but every time their eyes meet, Herbert criticizes himself for his lack of strength in resisting to fulfill the desires of this damned woman, with whom his marriage was initially destined to fail. "Herbert, stop it! I'm not an object for your amusement!" She gestures for him to depart, inadvertently causing some wine to spill onto her new luxurious dress. It's expected that this dress will ultimately be torn by another random lover later in the night. Herbert, with his reverent attitude towards things, not people, would never allow himself to act like this. This thought only twists a tight knot in the pit of his stomach, once again. "Poor Faye... She believes that the harmful influence of her films ceases once she enter this house..." Herbert skillfully manages every spoken word, action, and gaze. He now appears dressed in a leather cloak on top of a satin kimono, as if it's him who prepares to bid farewell to their madhouse. "By the way, what's the name of this attractive predator?" He becomes fascinated by an impressive and eerie tarantula spider, a large fluffy killer that was gifted to Faye by some fan who genuinely appreciated horror aesthetics. Mr. Flay wouldn't be startled by a spider that roams freely outside its glass container. Meanwhile, the redhead temptress remains silent, still enjoying the lingering effects of alcohol. However, Herbert, casually lowering his whitish eyelashes, has become adept at understanding her unspoken thoughts after spending so many years together. "I think the name Paul would suit him well. Do you agree?" "Herbert, I beg you..." The cruelty of words acts like a mutual discharge of current. She begs... but it's just another taunt. And he trembles, as though inadvertently burned by a fire or pricked by a naked electrical wire. Before, he enjoyed searching for traces of honesty in her impenetrable falsehoods, when the intense attraction they felt for each other would consistently overpower any obstacles, enabling them to be as intimate as can be. Touching each other's skin, merging their breath together, smoothly synchronizing their motions. "Oh darling, you've were never able to beg convincingly. Unfortunately, I didn't believe you most of the time, except for a few rare instances," he pauses abruptly, searching desperately for any sign of a reaction in her sleepy eyes, but to no avail. "There were some moments when I believed you, especially when you were lying in front of me with your red hair strewn over the damp pillow. An irresistible desire of mine... You genuinely begged for my attention. Because you wanted me." Oh Lord, it's surprising how quickly this became ordinary... "It's a shame it wasn't me who come up with the Dracula concept. That guy could have made me a millionaire within an eye blink... and I would have loved to play him myself," he whispered eagerly to Faye, leaving soft kisses slightly lower her ear and gently nibbling at her flushed skin where her pulse was racing. Her hands roamed his back like two tiny weightless birds, pausing at his bony shoulder blades. Holding onto him during their painfully blissful intimacy felt like trying to cling onto the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a quiet abyss. One wrong move and everything would come crashing down, plunging them both into the warm, suffocating darkness below. On their wedding night, she, at her wit's end, carelessly blurted out "Oh Paul" to him as she exhaled, barely hearing the sound of his teeth clicking like a wolf in response. But she certainly felt the sharp and forceful nip that followed. "Don't toy with a vampire, even the most tender one, my dear," Herbert responded somberly while still holding her quivering sweaty body tightly. "So why did you choose to marry me?" She exclaims, her voice filled with frustration. She strongly desires to hurl her glass at him, but some unknown force restrains her. "What was the purpose? Just to inflict torment upon both of us?" His bloodless thin lips quiver in a shy smile that seems mildly insane. In a brief instant, his eyes of blue sparkle with a true obsession. Oh really, why?.. "I... just have a strong affection for my own creation, for my dearest Dr. Death. Everything associated with him holds sentimental value to me. I desire... trophies. Authentic, unforgettable, and tangible. Even if not particularly outstanding, but still. Like you, for instance." Her face finally glows with rage as she listens to his words. She longs to scratch her nails into his handsome yet arrogant face, like a furious cat. Nonetheless, her body feels increasingly weighed down by the pleasant effects of intoxication, a familiar weakness. Faye's energy dwindles, only allowing her to muster a few more hurtful insults aimed at her tormentor spouse. "You can only humiliate me! You fucking love it! Well then, don't be ashamed observing me sell myself again and again, ensuring that you never truly possess and control me entirely". The young Italian actor, who exuded a rugged masculinity similar to Joe Dallesandro, was the final straw for Herbert, who had reached the end of his patience. It wasn't just the fact that the Italian was discovered naked in Faye's embrace that bothered him, but also the fact that he was found in Herbert's own bed, lying on his luxurious purple satin sheets, while sipping from his own glass of wine. To make matters worse, the audacious young man had no intention of leaving and boldly relied on Faye's protection. She, in turn, taunted Herbert by laughing in his face, just like now, and boldly declaring, "I want to belong to everyone." However, in the Flay household, only one person had the authority to dictate his ownership. "How unfaithful. My little stupid Faye, who was never skilled at pretending, especially in front of the camera. Recall that scene with the flame? I'm sure it wasn't completely your failure, darling." Herbert's final words appear unexpectedly affectionate, concealing any indication of the smoldering anger lurking within him.   The revulsion inside him continues to clash with faint traces of his old passionate obsession. "Paul, Paul... Unfortunately, he lacks talent. You know, all you needed was just another partner. Another one Dr. Death. I... could play him." "Oh you?" Faye mutters drunkenly, breaking free from his arms. "You?... No way!  Never! Don't even dream of it!" Never. If she had chosen a different word, then perhaps everything could have been replayed, still concentrated on their eternal dualism of love and hate, turning a protracted argument into a sarcastic, yet still not cruel, jest. Nevertheless, the shining ice in Herbert's piercing eyes speaks for itself: he won't allow anyone else to burn bridges behind him. The leather... is dark and firm, making a distinctive creaking sound as Herbert slowly puts on his beloved old gloves. Faye, struggling to see clearly, feels a strong, unpleasant oily smell while trying to distinguish the movements of the shadows on the neon green surface of the wall in front of her. It's not that easy to tell the shadow from its ominous owner, who appears unnaturally thin and crystal fragile, moving stealthily like a black cat in a pitch-black room. "I apologize, Faye, darling... Not sure what came over me. I can be too rude to you, but this is also your share of fault, let’s not deny it." "I want to go away. Where did you put my keys? I just want to leave this place, anywhere but here. For God's sake, Herbert... Where did you put the keys to my Corvette?" "Calm down, darling. Just allow me to embrace you once again, gently dry your drunken tears, and give you my warmth, for the last time..." A match that hasn't been put out falls quietly at his feet just a moment before he finally looks back. The room strangely illuminates, transforming into a living being, pulsating, putting pressure on Mrs. Flay's skull, enclosing her tightly from all directions. Faye slowly lifts her head, attempting unsuccessfully to focus her eyes on something in front of her. Why does noble emerald turn into dazzling gold? Why do the shadows dance so furiously and flow like black soot along the satin surface of the walls blurring in the distance? Why does she surrender to the accursed enchantment of an unloved voice, waking up from the couch as if under a spell, still partially asleep without opening her eyes? "Come over here, my poor little dolly. Go ahead, don't be scared" And she manages to take a disastrous step towards two flaming hands, eager to lock her in a deadly tender embrace. For the very last time. She barely manages to take a single clumsy step before widening her eyes in genuine horror and letting out a heart-wrenching scream. Herbert's fiery palms don't aim to wipe away the bitter tears caused by shared misfortune of their marriage; they seek to completely scorch her face, this precious little treasure that has been exploited by numerous film studios. This cursed, conceited, sly female face, already falsely scarred once by the damned Paul, as per Flay's masterful screenplay. However, Herbert has vowed to never stray from his genius script. This is a very old stunt trick that, if done correctly, won't cause pain to the performer, but this fire can injure anyone - with his master's hands. "Now beg me! Beg me! Show me the best you can!" Faye writhes on the ground, being forcefully pushed back by him, screaming and crying, scorched to bloody blisters, the burning, heavy smell of charred flesh fulfills the basement. Herbert had witnessed countless instances where victims transformed into liquefied human fat on the screen due to destructive fire.   However, he never anticipated experiencing his own self-created nightmare of this kind. He preferres using his treasured blade rather than resorting to monstrous flames. Unfortunately, this last deadly embrace couldn't work any other way. "No one will trust your words, therefore make up a better story for your own sake. A vengeful lover or a car accident." There will no longer be a pretty face or beautiful lush hair. There will be nothing left, not even room for contempt. All that remains is the green arsenic satin around, reminiscent of the colour scheme of mold, the eternal companion of the decomposition of everything and everyone. All that remains are the memories left of her gallant husband, the gentlest of monsters behind the camera, a plague-ridden porcelain angel of Death. He, who bold enought to place his forbidden kiss on a silver crucifix, bringing her near-death experiences that resemble most exquisite torment.