❝ Sheep abide by the herd complex; safety in numbers. When all are the same, no one can be singled out.
A fox among sheep is able to infiltrate the herd only a handful of ways: under the veil of dusk, or by clothing itself as the prey, shedding i...
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"PLACE YOUR SIGNATURE here, sir— and here." Victor allowed the excess ink from his quill to drip back into its original home of the inkwell, before pressing the feather to the page, authorising the pigment to change the deed of the property in his name.
"Congratulations, Monsieur Dartmoore. You are now the official landowner of the Maison du Lierre estate." He shook hands with the elderly judge who was left to oversee the transfer of ownership. Victor imagined it must be strange for the gentleman— shaking the hand of the same man who was now buying back the estate, after he sold it seven years ago. Even back then, it was a job trying to sell the place. Not many people with the adequate finances would willingly choose to live so far out in the wilderness. The manor had a beauty to it, but one only a certain eye could appreciate.
Edouard, his father, wasn't a lover of people— something the property reflected thoroughly. Many considered it as unnatural for someone to crave such seclusion, then again, he had seen all what society had to offer, and decided that he'd be happier without it.
Victor was told of a time when his father was once a joyous individual— lively— even. Though, he imagined all his joy departed with his mother's death. In Victor's lifetime, at least, he had never been a man of many words. He found it incomprehensible, trying to envision the opposite.
The manor reflected Edouard's character like a mirror down to every stone, apart from the name, for that was supposedly in honour of his wife's favourite plant; ivy. The blended red and green hues of the vine had overwhelmed the two-storey structure, rendering the cemented cobbles it was built from, invisible. The shutters had somehow evaded the ivy's expansion, allowing them to showcase the latticed windows. A dated, cobblestone stable, long in need of renovation, lingered on the border of the woods, along with a few brave trees daring to take root beyond the shadows. The outside had been left rather plain as nothing more than a patch of grass circling the manor like a mote. That being said, there was no need for lavish gardens when all you have to do is open your back door to find yourself in the heart of the forest. Victor was under the assumption that the reason behind his father's particular taste in landscaping was that any symbolism of aristocracy held a bitter place in his heart, having considered his origins.
It wasn't just the château Victor was purchasing. Along with it came all seven fields attached to the deed, and its workers, no doubt. The truth was, he paid far more than for what the land was worth. If he were to stay, he'd be living in his family's estate, or not at all. Victor had only just outbid the opposing buyer, who had decided to remain anonymous. Victor had family roots attached to the land, so as to why someone else was willing to empty their funds for the secluded manor, was unknown to him.
He had unofficially decided to take up residence in his childhood home. How he'll sort out the mess he's left behind in Paris was another headache he'd have to eventually deal with. However, unlike his late father's estate, at what cost this decision would sanction him, was unknown to Victor. He lived a stable and comfortable life in Paris— one he worked hard to build— yet he was willing to risk it all on a gamble at reliving the past. Only luck could help him now.
