She never knew how it would be, returning here. It had been months, and something inside her often gnawed at her thoughts when she was away, making her anxious about returning for no particular reason at all. But as she entered the hallway of Vinerest Manor and inhaled the familiar scent of grapes, old books and budding wisteria, the worry faded away. She was home.
Before she could ascend the winding marble and mahogany staircase, a face framed by silver strands peeked around the entrance to the kitchens. The cook smiled as he saw who had come to visit. “Welcome home, young miss. The lady is upstairs, if you were wondering.”
“I assumed so,” She smiled. “The terrace?”
“Of course. Thank you, Revrin. It’s good to see you.”
She made her way up, and drank in the familiar sights. The statues of marble, the glow of the many sconces and chandeliers, the paintings on the cream-coloured walls. She made her way to the library, in many ways the pride and joy of the manor. Even the Sapiarchs were known to pay the family of Vinerest a visit from time to time, to politely ask to borrow a tome or two. She walked past one of the scribe’s desks, and glanced over at the work on display. Lament of the Sea Drakes. A parchment full of scribbled notes was placed next to it. Her lips curled faintly. Ironic. Her slender hand found the doorknob at the end of the hall. With a soft click, the door to the terrace opened.
Vinerest was built centuries ago on one of the southern slopes of Alinor, and thus had the perks of the relative peace and quiet of the mountains surrounding Summerset’s capital. She inhaled deeply as she walked across the grand terrace – a garden ever in bloom, with roses, patches of poppy, young ivy, daisies, and of course the blue and purple wisteria all around, in limestone flower boxes. She knew where her aunt would be. At the back of the terrace was a pergola, hidden behind dense green hedges and a gateway of carved stone. For as long as she had known her aunt, she had gone there to paint during bright summer days. Today was no different. She softly walked up the few stairs leading up to the gate, and saw a slender figure in silks, standing in front of an easel with a canvas resting on it. She tried to be quiet, to not disturb the feather-light stroke of the brush, but it didn’t matter.
“Welcome home, little fire.”
The figure turned around, and she looked into her aunt’s sea-grey eyes. Her welcoming smile would never change, nor would the soft sound of her voice. She closed the distance between them and embraced the closest family she had.
“Thank you, aunt Darthariel. It’s good to be home at last.”
dailybridgerton
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
janainaart
jbbartram-illu
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
