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Oh, dear. This little ray of sunshine has no idea at all just how dark her world is about to become.
CHAPTER 5
Aurora
It's notthe motorcycle this time.
And it's not just the two of us. Hadria's offsider, the strange blonde woman who howled in the chapel, is in the car with us. She has a wild light in her eye that scares me, so that when she blindfolds me—at Hadria's nod—I'm almost relieved. But based on the length of the drive, I know we must be far outside the city by now. Hadria sits silently beside me, her breath even, her arm not touching mine.
Where are we going? And what will happen when we reach our destination? But one thing seems certain: I'm still a prisoner. I've only traded one kind of jail for another.
The SUV slows and turns, tires crunching over gravel, and the blindfold is pulled from my eyes.
"You don't want to miss the view," the blonde woman says, giving a wicked smirk. I look away from her nervously and take in the view, like she suggested.
The car has stopped at what I think must be a guardhouse, a little hut, because a man—heavily armed, enough to make me shrink away in my seat—jogs out to open the gate for the SUV.
But it's not just a gate. It's a huge, imposing, black iron-barredportalthat looks like it'd more properly belong at the entrance to Hell. But once we're through, we proceed down a long, tree-lined driveway, and my heart lifts a little as I see the range of plants and trees.
It's not so bad, maybe. Not if there's all this nature around?—
But then a huge hulking house looms into view, more ominous than beautiful. It's enormous, a mansion even, but of such modern architecture that it seems futuristic. My breath catches at the imposing edifice of stone and steel. This…this is a fortress, not a home. A huge, squat box with a roof made of a single sheet of black metal, tipped at an angle, and the windows are all shuttered over with the same material.
Whatisthis place?
Lyssa and Hadria exit the car without a word. I follow hesitantly, clutching Hadria's leather jacket around me tightly again as the wind hits me, blowing my hair around, whipping into her face as she turns to take my arm again. She closes her eyes momentarily, breathing in, and I stammer out an apology.
"Come," is all she says, and she pulls me with her. But my impractical bridal heels wobble on the gravel drive, almost make me stumble, and Hadria pauses, glancing down at them.
She gives a nod over my shoulder and, with a shriek, I'm lifted up into the air—into the arms of the driver of the car, a man whose hands, I can't help but notice, have lost several fingers. Hadriajust walks on, and the man carries me over to the front steps, where he sets me down.
The massive front door of bronze swings open silently and we step into a grand foyer. Polished concrete floors gleam underfoot, and spotlights spear through my eyes as I glance up to see where the light is coming from. Despite the undeniable architectural accomplishment, it feels desolate. Unlivable.
Just as it seemed from the outside, just as I suspected, this place is a prison.
A woman in black pants and a tailored white shirt appears to take our coats, and then a group of staff appears, filing into the foyer in a line. None of them meet my eyes, gazes skittering away. All except one older woman in a gray dress and neat hair who steps forward with a gentle smile.
"Aurora, this is Mrs. Graves, my housekeeper," Hadria says. "She will show you to your room and ensure you have everything you need."
Mrs. Graves nods. "Welcome to Elysium, Aurora." Elysium? What— "It's a pleasure to have you here," she goes on. "Goodness, you must be chilly. Let's get you into a nice hot bath." Her warm demeanor helps steady my nerves—and oh God, a bath sounds amazing right now.
A bath where I can be alone and set my thoughts straight.
It's been a heck of a day, after all.
I turn to Hadria timidly. Take a deep breath. "M-may I?"
There's a flash in her eyes, but I think she's pleased that I asked permission. Or at least, she inclines her head. "Off you go, Sunshine. I'll come and see you once you're settled in."
The soothing sound of Mrs. Graves' voice keeps me anchored as we make our way up a huge, terrifying floating glass staircase that makes me dizzy when I look down, and then we walk a long hallway with smooth, polished stone walls. She points out various rooms—a library, the music room, a sitting room—but I only catch snippets as I struggle to take in the overwhelming grandeur around me.
Because itisgrand, despite the cold, brutal nature of the building. I'm sure some famous architect must have designed it. Which makes it all the more a pity that itfeelsso unpleasant.
Finally we reach a set of double doors that Mrs. Graves opens with a small key, and we step inside what she calls my "private rooms." The living area is as large as my parents' entire house, furnished with low couches and chairs in shades of gray or white. Square glass lamps adorn minimalist side tables. Through an archway I can see a massive bed, its pillows fluffed to perfection, the sheets and covers of gunmetal silk, with one Chinese red accent pillow.
The whole place looks like something out of a design magazine, if that magazine was doing a special on interior decoration in Hell.
I look around, approach a window. It's completely black outside, no view at all—those metal shutters that I saw outside have cut off any sunlight at all.
