Behind Closed Curtains
Copyright© 2025 by Biscuit
Week 1
Scarlett Blake used to wake up to sunshine and camera clicks. Every morning felt like a red carpet, every mirror reminded her that she was the most desired woman in the industry. Directors lined up to cast her. Fans cried just to touch her hand. Magazines called her untouchable. But that was ten years ago.
Now, at 38, she sat on her penthouse balcony in Los Angeles, legs crossed, hair tied in a lazy bun, a silk robe draped over her like a forgotten curtain. Her coffee had gone cold, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were on the horizon, blinking too often to hide the fact that she was close to tears.
Her phone buzzed beside her. Another rejection.
Her agent had texted, “Sorry, Scarlett. They’re going with someone younger again. You were great in the reading, though.”
Scarlett didn’t reply.
She didn’t need to. She already knew how this story ended. Every role now slipped through her fingers like sand, and each time, she felt a little smaller like the world was slowly closing the curtain on her life.
Inside the penthouse, her home was filled with golden memories movie posters, award statues, photographs of red carpet moments. But even those things couldn’t speak to her anymore. They were just trophies of a past life. Scarlett had no husband. No children. Just an aging face she didn’t recognize anymore and memories that didn’t hug back.
It wasn’t fair, she thought. Men in Hollywood could grow old and still get lead roles. But women? The moment a fine line showed near your eyes, they replaced you with someone half your age, half your experience.
She sighed and stood up, pulling the robe tighter around her. The floor beneath her bare feet felt colder than usual. As she walked inside, something caught her attention a flash of red near the front door.
A single envelope had been slipped under it.
She blinked. There was no knock, no sound, no footsteps in the hall.
Scarlett walked over and picked it up slowly. The envelope was thick and soft to the touch, made from rich red paper. No return address. No name. Only her first name written across the front in gold ink: Scarlett.
Her fingers hesitated before opening it.
Inside was a folded card and a tiny velvet pouch. She opened the card first. The handwriting was elegant and neat almost too perfect, like it was printed by hand but not by a human one.
“You were once desired by millions. You can be again. Take one red tablet every 7 days. Your youth will return. But so will desire. Do not fight the feeling. Let it take over. You must not skip a week. There are only seven. Choose wisely.”
Scarlett’s heart skipped.
Inside the pouch were seven tiny red pills, perfectly round and smooth. She stared at them, unsure whether to laugh or be afraid. It felt like some kind of sick joke, or maybe a movie script someone dropped at her door.
She thought of throwing it all away envelope, card, pills but something made her stop.
She touched the lines at the corner of her mouth. Touched her shoulder where the skin no longer held the same smoothness. Walked to the mirror and saw the person the world was starting to forget.
Was it possible?
She didn’t believe in magic. But desperation has its own logic. The kind that whispers, What if it’s real? What if you have nothing left to lose?
Scarlett carried the pouch to her nightstand and placed it inside the drawer, locking it. Her eyes stayed on the mirror. There was still beauty there. Still heat under her skin. Maybe more than people realized. But it had been locked away, buried beneath doubt and fading spotlights.
That night, she didn’t sleep.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering who sent the letter and what it meant when it said “do not fight the feeling.”
She didn’t know then how true those words were.
Because once the first tablet touched her tongue, nothing in her life would ever be the same again.
The next morning, sunlight poured through the floor-length curtains, but Scarlett hadn’t moved from her bed. Her thoughts lingered on the red envelope and the strange instructions. The seven tablets now rested silently inside her nightstand drawer, almost humming with mystery.
She reached for the card again, reading the words a second time. This time, she noticed something she hadn’t before.
At the very bottom of the note almost hidden in the curve of the gold lettering was a final line:
“Side effects: Users may experience sensory hallucinations, elevated desire, and physical heat. The body will react instinctively. Do not resist the urge. It must be released to reset the body’s balance.”
Scarlett stared at the line, uncertain if she should laugh or feel disturbed.
“Sensory hallucinations?” she whispered.
The whole thing sounded like something out of one of her own films — sci-fi mixed with romance, mystery wrapped in pleasure. But beneath the fantasy ... something inside her stirred.
She looked at herself in the mirror again. Her eyes were tired. Her skin showed signs of stress and sleepless nights. She used to be fire. Now she felt like smoke.
Without thinking further, she opened the drawer and picked up the pouch.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled out one of the seven tablets. It was warm in her hand, as if it had been waiting for her touch.
One deep breath.
And she placed it on her tongue.
The taste was faintly sweet. It melted faster than she expected, disappearing before she could change her mind.
For a moment, nothing happened.
She sat on the edge of her bed, watching the walls. Then, a slow warmth began to rise beneath her skin like a gentle wave curling inside her belly and spreading outward.
It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t even uncomfortable. It was ... strange.
Her breath caught.
Her skin became sensitive, as if the air itself was stroking her shoulders, whispering across her neck. Her silk robe suddenly felt too soft, almost sinful. The cool breeze from the open window brushed against her thigh and she gasped, not from fear but from the way it made her body feel.
She stood up quickly, steadying herself.
Everything around her shifted not in shape, but in intensity. The colors of the room looked deeper. The textures richer. Her own reflection stared back with a hunger she hadn’t seen in years.
Her fingertips tingled.
She could feel her heart pulsing between her legs slow, steady, awake.
Scarlett stumbled back onto the bed, her chest rising with each breath. Heat pooled deep inside her, and with it, a powerful ache. Not pain desire.
Not imagined need.
She shut her eyes, and in that moment, she wasn’t alone.
In the haze of her mind, figures appeared. Tall. Masculine. Strong hands brushing her waist. A low voice whispering her name. She wasn’t sure if it was memory or hallucination, but her skin responded as if it were real. Her thighs squeezed together.
She whimpered, barely recognizing her own voice.
This wasn’t just a reaction. It was a transformation. A part of her body had awakened — something primal and powerful, hidden away after years of pretending to be okay.
The tablet didn’t just stop aging. It didn’t just make her youthful.
It made her crave deeply, openly, without filter.
And the longer she resisted it, the stronger the ache became.
Her hand reached between her legs, pressing gently, not for release — but to calm the storm. Her skin burned. Her breath grew shallow.
She needed something. Someone.
The hallucination thickened. In the corner of the room, she imagined a shadow moving — a man stepping forward, faceless yet familiar. His presence made her lips part. Her body leaned forward on its own. She could almost feel his touch.
Almost.
But when she opened her eyes, she was still alone.
Still aching.
Still burning.
Scarlett curled onto the bed, trembling. She now understood what the letter meant.
“Do not fight the feeling. It must be released to reset the body’s balance.”
She had six more tablets left. Six more weeks of this ... or more.
This wasn’t just about beauty. It wasn’t just about youth.
It was about surrendering control to something far deeper something carnal, something wild, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.
And this was only the beginning. Scarlett hated hospitals. The smell, the silence, the waiting all of it made her skin crawl. But after what happened the night before, she knew she couldn’t ignore the effects any longer. Her body had changed, and not in a small way.
She tried to dress normally: high-waisted jeans, a soft cardigan, hair in a loose bun. But even the texture of her bra strap across her shoulder made her sigh softly her senses were still wild, on edge.
Stay calm, she whispered to herself, stepping into the small private clinic tucked behind a row of cafés in Fitzroy.
The nurse barely glanced up, motioned her to the waiting area. Scarlett sat down, legs crossed tightly, trying to distract herself with the outdated magazines.
Moments later, the door opened, and she heard her name.
“Scarlett?”
Her head turned.
And her breath caught.
The doctor wasn’t what she expected.
He wasn’t old. He wasn’t dull. He was young maybe thirty-two tall, golden skin, rolled-up sleeves over muscular arms, clean jaw, navy eyes that looked straight through her.