The word ‘house’ seemed too drab and frumpy for such a magnificent building. Though a thick, heavy dust had settled, the ornate staircase retained its original grandeur. The kitchen would impress the finest chefs in France. The foyer in its prime once hosted many glamourous parties filled with women in sparkling dresses and men in well-tailored suits along with a glass or two of champagne. Even the bathrooms with their golden towel rails and checkered floors were fit for only the word ‘beautiful’.
But Alice hated every aspect of this putrid house.
It was old. The air tasted stale. The only colors around her were grey, slightly darker grey, and black. Half the lights didn’t work. The windows in her room wouldn’t budge open. There were too many stairs. The driveway was too long. It was too big for her family. She could go on for hours about this horrible house.
Alice dragged her feet along the floor, kicking up long-settled dust and wrinkling the soft velvet carpet as her grumbles echoed in the enormous hallways; every single one in this stupid house looked the same. Her old one was warm like a hearth and greeted her with open arms after a hard day at school, but this house was distant and cold. Even the golden afternoon sun dancing through the windows couldn’t break up the muddy hues around her as opposed to the maroon paint in her living room that would go up in flames of brilliant red every sunset.
When she finally looked up, she came face-to-face with the most stunning eyes she had ever seen. They were grey as the walls around her but they seemed much warmer and gentler. A tiny sparkle twinkled beside his iris and his soft flaxen hair was carefully pulled away from his face. Richly-colored robes of navy and gold hung from his body, illuminated by the light of a hearth, so familiar to the one she used to know. His hand was held up, as if to offer a greeting he couldn’t give as he was, most likely, dead.
Alice stood still, transfixed by the painting. She might have heard her mother’s voice called her for dinner but she wasn’t sure or rather, didn’t care. That fire looked so warm, so close…so welcoming like her old home. Even the simple yet intricate etching on the mantle reminded her of that beloved old hearth. She took another step towards the painting as the man smiled at her.
‘Where is that girl?” Alice’s mom muttered under her breath as she jogged up the grand staircase. She had called Alice down for dinner fifteen minutes ago and there was still no sign of her. She was probably sulking in her room with her iPod cranked up to full volume. Alice’s mom knocked on the door and peaked in, only to see a room full of boxes but no Alice. She left the room and continued her search through the labyrinth of hallways. She called her daughter’s name again and again, soon resorting to bribing her with an ice cream sundae if she came to dinner.
Still no sign.
Where was Alice? She wouldn’t have run away, despite her immense exasperation with the move, it was out of character. What was also out of character was for Alice was to ignore her mother like this. Her mother rounded another corner, shaking her head. What’s gotten into her? Was she feeling worse than she expect-
Her search drew to a close upon seeing Alice with a young man sitting by a fireplace, enclosed in a gold frame.