The Scorpantinni house was magnificent. The ceilings were high with delicately crafted woodwork and sparkling chandeliers which hung low, giving a soft warm light. The furniture was luxurious with rich reds, blues, and browns which laced through the entire mansion. There were lavish lamps and exquisite statuettes carefully exhibited on intricately carved tables. Each room was adorned with a magnificent fireplace and the sweet smell of burning wood hung in the air conjuring images of elaborate parties bustling with extravagantly dressed women and commanding men.
“Holy cow, Sara, this place is amazing!” Jason whispered as he looked at opulence he had never seen before.
“Yeah, whatever” Sara was used to this kind of reaction. There was part of her that loved the look of admiration on people’s faces when they first saw her house. The feeling of being something special when their awe struck eyes turned to her and she knew they saw her in the same way.
“It must be amazing living here! You have everything you could ever want!” Jason had moved over to the window and was looking out onto the perfectly manicured yard where a pool was lavishly landscaped into an exquisite English style garden. Off in the distance he could make out tennis courts and rolling acres of tightly mowed lawn with perfectly groomed horses standing as if posed for his pleasure. “I’d never want to leave this place if I were you,” he almost yelled in an excited whisper.
New visitors always talked softly at the Scorpantinni mansion. The servants never spoke above a hushed tone, and Sara often wondered what they did when the house was empty. Most of her acquaintances felt as though the grand rooms were more like a museum or a library than a home. As if talking in a normal tone might disturb someone. But Sara knew she could scream at the top of her lungs and the only ones who would notice would be the servants scurrying down the halls.
Sara liked the shock value and prestige her parent’s mansion gave her but, the problem was she despised her home. The warm inviting colors, the soft comfy furniture, the gentle glow of the dimmed lights or the familiar smell of the roaring fireplaces were all just for show. To Sara the house was cold. She had no warm memories of Christmas morning under the tree with her parents. There were no charming stories of her dad carrying her around the gardens on his shoulders. There were no sweet mother-daughter talks next to the pool. The only time she spent with her family at the house were during parties where she was expected to put on the ‘darling daughter show’ for her father’s business associates, or her mother’s elitist coven.
“Holy cow, Sara, this place is amazing!” Jason whispered as he looked at opulence he had never seen before.
“Yeah, whatever” Sara was used to this kind of reaction. There was part of her that loved the look of admiration on people’s faces when they first saw her house. The feeling of being something special when their awe struck eyes turned to her and she knew they saw her in the same way.
“It must be amazing living here! You have everything you could ever want!” Jason had moved over to the window and was looking out onto the perfectly manicured yard where a pool was lavishly landscaped into an exquisite English style garden. Off in the distance he could make out tennis courts and rolling acres of tightly mowed lawn with perfectly groomed horses standing as if posed for his pleasure. “I’d never want to leave this place if I were you,” he almost yelled in an excited whisper.
New visitors always talked softly at the Scorpantinni mansion. The servants never spoke above a hushed tone, and Sara often wondered what they did when the house was empty. Most of her acquaintances felt as though the grand rooms were more like a museum or a library than a home. As if talking in a normal tone might disturb someone. But Sara knew she could scream at the top of her lungs and the only ones who would notice would be the servants scurrying down the halls.
Sara liked the shock value and prestige her parent’s mansion gave her but, the problem was she despised her home. The warm inviting colors, the soft comfy furniture, the gentle glow of the dimmed lights or the familiar smell of the roaring fireplaces were all just for show. To Sara the house was cold. She had no warm memories of Christmas morning under the tree with her parents. There were no charming stories of her dad carrying her around the gardens on his shoulders. There were no sweet mother-daughter talks next to the pool. The only time she spent with her family at the house were during parties where she was expected to put on the ‘darling daughter show’ for her father’s business associates, or her mother’s elitist coven.
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