Seeing how others live, judging their tastes and décor decisions while making small talk with strangers you don’t care to know. It’s the perfect place to gain useless opinions and even more useless gossip, but every once in a while you strike gold.
Or diamonds, as the case may be.
“It doesn’t look like a party.”
Vector’s scowl is back in place, his less-than-pleasant presence following me sullenly towards the White Castle.
“You’re going to love this one. Just make sure you don’t eat or drink anything.”
His scowl deepens, “How the fuck is it a party if there’s no food or beer?”
“Oh, there will be.” Casting a glance over his snug t-shirt, I contemplate the odds of Evelyn’s concoctions killing him, “But majority of it will be laced with poison.”
Not a lick of surprise or concern.
“And you wonder why this place sucks.” Muttering under his breath, Vector runs a hand through his long blonde hair and growls at the ground, “Everyone is trying to kill each other.”
“Helps to keep things amusing.”
Patting his inflated bicep mindlessly, I lead the beast through the courtyard that tunnels us towards the back entrance of Evelyn’s home base.
For a structure deemed a castle, it is not as majestic as you would imagine. Cobblestones have faded to a muted grey, one that draws attention to the cracks decorating all sides of the manor.
It’s a building well past its prime, but for a family who prides themselves on tradition and old money, not once did they think to move, or God forbid, invest in some renovations.
Which are in dire need.
“You would think they would put some stock in aesthetics.” My lips purse together, “Might as well call it Grey Castle at this point.”
Vector snickers, proving yet again why he is somewhat tolerable to be around.
“They invested too much in the brand, so there was nothing left over for the paint.”
“Or the wishes, apparently.”
The ancient wishing well stands dead centre in the middle of the courtyard. Boards that once wore a coat of white paint now lie tarnished and faded, the stones promising a good fortune all but defeated by the layers of dirt and grime.
It is a sad looking thing, one that saps your energy just by looking at it. A plain wooden bucket hangs suspended over the dried-up well, and not even its humble appearance can breathe life back into the empty space.
Just another wish gone to waste.
Vector follows me through the arched doorway, the White family crest glistening above us. Two swords slash through the heart, their cross bearing a crown that promises death and the worst kind of exit.
“What’s with the fruit?”
Vector squints at the display cases lining the stone corridor, the polished glass offering a glimpse of the impossibly perfect apples sitting in each case.
Vibrant colours, from the darkest yellow to the richest red, lay claim to the glistening fruit surrounding us. Poison apples are the family’s claim to fame, although their advances in pharmaceutical technology has enabled them to move past fruit and into the pill market.
Something which my mother and I have both taken advantage of.
“They’re fake. Models of the real apples that helped secure the White fortune.”
“I don’t see how apples could make a fortune.”
My eyes dance across the display cases, “One bite and all your dreams come true. An offer not many can refuse.”
“That’s fucking stupid.”
