horror effect

Constance Marmey lay in bed, breathing so weakly that she seemed to stir only the most remote fringes of life, a tiny leaf, a black feather, or just a slender strand of white hair.

Her eyes looked out through the window at the maple tree that hadn't yet sprouted new leaves.

She felt that time passed quickly. The shadow of the maple tree was still on the west side just now, and now it has turned to the east.She had watched its shadow turn from side to side countless times.

She saw the figures flashing by like lightning again, the girl with brown curly hair, the old woman with white hair; oil painting knife.

On a day like today 82 years ago, she was born.How fast the time flies.

On this day, she suddenly saw her entire life.

She bent down to look at her body, the shriveled skin, loose wrinkles, and fragile blood vessels under the skin. These springs, gears, and coils have supported her for 82 years, humming unconsciously, stretching and contracting.And now the machine is finally going to rest, it has no strength to stand up again, no strength to digest food, no strength to hate or appreciate.

She no longer has the desire to run on tiptoe up a hill, or to paint a picture with her fingers.Everything will be over.

She sighed, her last breath, the echo of dead leaves sliding gently off a branch.

She didn't think about anything, she didn't desire anything, as if a heavy snow had fallen in her heart, and she became a vast expanse of whiteness.

And on the soft snow, she felt her heavy body lighten, and the springs and gears and coils were scattered from her body, while the rest was still rising slowly, hanging over the treetops.Continue to rise, just like the dew on the grass and trees in the morning turns into mist and passes through the space.

She rises slowly, unhindered, and gradually disintegrates, ready to condense into rain, penetrate the earth, and cultivate seeds.

"This is death," she thought. "This is heaven. Here I come."

She closed her eyes.

Constance Malmey was pronounced dead after an examination by Dr Renee Hostatova.Everyone in the room seemed a little uncomfortable

Now, they whispered a few words to each other, expressing that they would carry out the last will of the female painter, and then they left.At Renee's request, Anna left first, followed by Linnon and his son and Herbert Wernstein.

Julian and Stephen are left to help the lady doctor and Nicola.

After a while, Renee called the two of them to her side and said, "You don't have to help me. I have Nicholas. I want you to go and see Herbert." She looked anxious.

"What happened to him?" Stephen asked.

"When Herbert left just now, I found that he looked very... not good. I am worried that this incident will hit him too hard."

"Mr. Warnstein doesn't seem like a very emotional person," Julian said.

"You don't know him." Renee sighed. "I think he was crushed."

"Because of the death of Madam Malmey?"

"Because of her magnanimity. It was her forgiveness of him and her death that crushed him. He said nothing, defended nothing, and that's what frightens me—although Marme forgave Him, but he couldn't forgive himself."

"So you think Herbert will..." Stephen looked at the female doctor in surprise.

"He's going to die. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he's just too depressed, I hope so. But I'm afraid he's going to do the worst. I can't get out of here, you go see him for me .Hope I'm thinking all this wrong..."

Herbert Wernstein slammed open the door of room C307 and rushed in, completely ignoring Kragujewicz's staring eyes and gaping mouth sitting outside the door.

He locked the door, walked to the middle of the room, and stood there.

There was a thick layer of dust everywhere in the room, the cracked wooden floor creaked under his feet, and the dust net on the ceiling swayed slightly with the weak draft caused by the opening of the door.

The thick torn curtains had been removed the last time he came, and the sunlight from outside shone in, pulling beams of light among the flying dust.

The detritus of life were accumulating around him, wine stains and mustard bottles, polka-dotted ties and boots, all of them rough and dull, and it was time to leave them behind, time to break away from it all, and he should have enjoyed himself Squeezing bitter water and poisonous juice.

Standing in the middle of the room, he thought of the things he had seen here—the Carrara marble floors, the crystal chandeliers, the teak-panelled walls, the round Regency table, the red four-poster bed, the beautiful brocades, the glittering The gold and gemstone ornaments, the smell of frankincense in the air, and Bernous, all the more pallid against all this ornate furniture and trinkets.

They are all shining as if alive, but he seems to have never lived. His body is always covered with a layer of cold death breath, which is like a slender cobweb, leaving patterns in the spiritual space, leaving intricate and intertwined patterns. The traces of being together leave a silent charm.

Herbert closed his eyes, stretched his hands forward, and murmured: "Bernus, I am calling you, I know you are listening, please open your world for me, please open your world for me." The world." Please open your world for me, I will step into it, and never look back.

A point in front of him began to radiate a silvery white radiance, although he closed his eyes, he could still feel the radiance growing, enveloping his body and dragging him.

A moment before Herbert entered the dream world, he heard a sudden knock on the door.

Who is knocking?

Who, he thought, found out I was going to die?Doctor Hostatova?The sharp Julian Raymond ?A young man with a ridiculous name?

"Herbert! Open the door!" It was Valentine Linnon's voice.

How could it be him?Herbert wondered, what on earth did he know?

Or what did he see?

He quickly searched for the memory of Valentine in his mind, and then, some traces of life appeared one by one, and the pair of always nervous black eyes seemed to appear in front of his eyes.Why is he nervous?

The silver-white radiance became more and more intense, and Herbert could feel the heat and pressure coming towards him.

Why is he nervous?

But Herbert had no chance of finding out.He entered another world, and a thick gate slammed down behind him.

Herbert didn't like Bernous wearing bright white clothes. Except for his red eyes and lips, his white skin and cloth were almost fused together. It was difficult to tell whether the change of light and shadow was caused by Bernus' movement or the breeze. The wobble of the pleats, they were just a big white mass, vaguely outlined and illegible.

And now Bernous is wearing a layered white tulle robe, sitting in a white chair, in a white space.

Everything around was white, and Herbert felt as if he were in a thick fog, or thrown into a white box of toys.

Those reassuring hints of the passage of time and three-dimensional space are gone, there is no shadow change caused by the movement of the sun on the zodiac, no wind caused by air walking in time, no clock hands jumping or The hum of flies flying around the ceiling.

There was nothing but Bernus sitting in front of him, almost blending into the background, the red of his lips and pupils standing strangely and comically against the white like blood dripping on white satin.

"I heard your call," Bernous said. "You seem impatient to enter my world, and you seem to have no intention of going out."

"Won't you accept me?" stood Herbert, wringing his fingers.Bernus' tone was too flat, which made him feel scared.

"I'm just curious, do you really know what the world I am in is? Do you think there is no pain here? Or do you think this is heaven?"

Herbert opened his mouth, sighed, and said, "I just don't want to live anymore. Why should I live? When life is just Tuesday after Monday, Wednesday after Tuesday, anchovy in oil after bread with cherry sauce, Lamb with saffron after anchovy in oil?"

"It is true that you no longer have happy memories, longings and hopes. You want to watch your life go by. But what makes me curious is why do you feel desolate the moment you leave the real world?"

His red eyes stared at Herbert with amusement.

desolate?

"Yes, bleak. Maybe you don't realize it yourself. But since you can feel bleak, it proves that everything in this world is not over for you."

Herbert raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "You don't want me to die."

"I'm interested in those who stubbornly want to live, not people like you who only want to use death to get rid of troubles. To be honest, I don't want to fulfill you, even if—" Bernus smiled slightly, "--I know you love me."

Herbert flung himself down at Bernus' feet, his fingers grabbing the hem of the white gauze robe.

He stares at Bernous - so sane, so detached - that it makes him want to yell, laugh, cry.Because Bernous didn't care -- he didn't care at all, he didn't even move.

He twisted his fingers vigorously, almost tearing the white gauze, but in the end he let go, stood up, and retreated to the position just now.

"You still love Albert G," he said coldly.

"Do not."

"Then Constance Marmet?" Herbert was a little surprised.

"Not at all."

"So... who is it?"

"Perhaps I can say this: I love Albert G, I love Constance Malmey, I love you too, I love Stephen Breumontrose and Julian Raymond, I love many Many people, I love a certain part of you - the spirit of this person, the talent of that person, the wisdom of that person. What I see is not a person as an independent creature, but a connected one in time and space The whole that flows and changes in the world, this whole is what I love, and there are imprints left by countless faces and hearts on its surface."

Herbert hung his head.He knew that Bernus could never belong to him, and vice versa.

That person—or soul—sees the whole picture, and he doesn't care about an individual, or even about himself.

And therefore he cannot be deceived.But people in reality cannot do this. The real world cannot be as clear as sand sprinkled on black cloth, nor can it be as sincere as straight iron bars.

"I belong to that world," said Herbert.

Bernus nodded.

He stood up, walked lightly in front of Herbert, held Herbert's face in his white hands, and pressed a light kiss on his lips.

Herbert closed his eyes, and an interstellar square in his mind was changing and flickering.He opened his eyes, and Bernus had stepped back two steps away. He and the whole white world gradually melted like grease, like a pure white candle that started to soften and deform after burning for too long, flowing slowly until the flame was extinguished.