True Scream Queen #1: Diane Foster


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Recently I announced my ultimate twelve True Scream Queens of horror and it may have come as a surprise that I plumped for a relative newcomer when stating my ultimate preference. When you consider the strength of the company she was keeping, it was certainly a bold move to place her at the top of the pile but I stand by my decision defiantly. The reason for this is simple: I believe that horror has itself a true first lady in Foster and she matches any Amazonian beauty with bags of raw talent. In addition, she engages with her fast-blossoming fanbase intimately and works tirelessly to give her fans precisely what it is they require. We live in a new age and it is time for a new tact I feel. She gets that and is at the forefront of the revolution. So you see, it really was something of a no-brainer to me.


I know that the mighty Matt Farnsworth won’t mind me proclaiming this, and Diane Foster herself is an open book of raw sexuality, but there is no other female horror icon on the current circuit as regal as she. Diane positively oozes sensuality from every pore and displays her spread of crimson feathers with true majesty. Her peepers are like whirlpools of cruel yearning, those yearning balmy lips have tasted blood many times over and, indeed, she habitually bathes in deep red coulis for her distended throng of lusting dependents. I must make mention of her magnificent breasts, protruding exquisitely like vivacious orbs, with perky pink pellets leading us to her bed quarters like beacons of delight, and her supple pelt which wraps around her exquisitely. Pound for pound, she is pretty damned close to sheer perfection.


Diane is at one with her intimate midpoint and exhibits the following effortlessly: prowess, honesty, integrity, warmth, affection, and vulnerability. There simply aren’t sufficient superlatives to make strong enough point here and it is quite some ask ticking quite as many boxes as she does effortlessly. Her addressees lust after her but all the while we respect her ferociously as her performances display intrinsic worth not visible since the seventies and, as Audrey Miller, she evokes every last drop of our empathy and we willingly take the pilgrimage alongside her.


When she finally unfurls her lavish wings, they open like a bird of paradise, one significantly more predatory than we’re accustomed to. She’s the prohibited apple, polished and discharging both succulent sap and, in the same moment, shadowy essence. Should we choose to sink our teeth into her forbidden fruit, then our souls will be retained perpetually. I say bring it! I bit into that sweet ripened apple the first time she washed onto the screen, inundating the Rivers of Grue in a second. If I could bottle her lasciviousness and hoard it in a small velvet trinket receptacle by my bedstead, I would unfasten Pandora’s Box with regularity. Indeed I’d strap that shit to my belt like a pager.


Now that she is my bloody sibling it is more than just that rush of blood to the hub of my loins. I desire to ensure her safe passage, support her vision, and serve her loyally. She gives a memento no other scream queen has ever bequeathed by supplying her audience everything, chronicling her life, and holding absolutely nothing back. In addition she produces these films, more than simply the face on the screen, she’s greasing the cogs assiduously and getting her hands bloody in so many ways.


The rise of social media provides the very prostrate she milks frequently and it isn’t all about personal gain. She wants to share her infatuation with the free world and the free world is beginning to sit up and take bloody notice. During my recent tête-à-tête with this scintillating succubus, it was revealed that she beat away competition during her senior year in high school from frontrunners including Oscar winner Anne Hathaway to win the State of New Jerseys’ prestigious Rising Star Award. That supplies clarity on her acting chops. Oh! And she can sing and dance to boot.


In The Orphan Killer, she felt every last twinge of Audrey’s suffering and each tormented cry of desolation was delivered with startling authenticity. She doesn’t pompously sit on a pedestal like so many others; if you show enthusiasm and commitment to her cruel cause she will, in turn, grant you access to her inner sanctum and it is a vault of voraciousness, a quim for quenching, a carnal keepsake, and a serene shrine sopping with sensually stirring salaciousness. Diane Foster, as the freshly crowned scream queen of horror, the Keeper of the Crimson Quill offers a short poem as a token of my gratitude and unconditional endearment.


You dance with the poise of a bloody ballerina,
The grace of a cygnet on water,
You’re our Katherine Hepburn, our true señorita,
And we bask in your glorious slaughter,

I bow before you, my intentions are true,
My sibling, no quibbling or question,
And with you, it is true, my goblet of grue,
overspills with the quill’s dark affection.


So what next for Diane Foster? A sequel no less. The Orphan Killer: Bound X Blood is looking to enter production in 2014 and this will allow her following even more intimacy as it looks to elaborate on her personal journey into darkness. We have witnessed her suffering in no uncertain terms and something tells me that next time Audrey will be far more than simply victim. This is a fascinating prospect as it will afford her the chance to exhibit the other side to her game. There are few more mouth-watering notions than watching her writhe around covered from head-to-toe in deep red, only this time in ecstasy rather than agony. That is the direction it is looking like taking and I believe this will be her opportunity to step out of the shade and surge forth.

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She positively drinks the camera every time she reveals her angel soft skin and commands the lens with the prowess of a proud lioness. Mark my words, there is going to be a change of personnel and, as horror aficionados, we are more than ready for the change of guard. Diane Foster has buckets of belief but, by sticking my neck out and proclaiming her my #1 True Scream Queen, I bid to offer her a little more. You watch her fly. This bird of prey soars with purpose and very soon we will be aware of her lengthy wingspan. I, for one, will be salivating at the very prospect.

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Click here to read True Scream Queens: The Rundown


Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013 (Revised Edition 2015)


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