Note: To anyone affected by what's been going on in the world, especially what happened in Nice yesterday, my thoughts and prayers are with you.
Lately my chapters have been barely pushing 2,000 words, so you'll be pleased to know that today's chapter is over 3,000 words.
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Emeray, Till, Lex, and Sarah went to lunch. It was subpar at best. And then to spruce up the chapter I added the DEFED threat about Jack & Jill in the ongoing saga of creepy nursery rhymes and the Famoux. On that nursery rhyme note, it has also come to my attention that DEFED's identity has been revealed. Surprise . . . it's Melanie Martinez.
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Dollhouse? More like Fishbowl.
(To anyone who expressed confused, Melanie Martinez is an artist with songs mainly about childlike things, such as dollhouses or nursery rhymes. She reminds people of DEFED, but she's definitely not making a fanfic appearance here any time soon.)
emeray
All throughout the drive uptown, the recurring word Norax used to address our new house was hideaway. "You're going to feel so at home at the hideaway," she'd tell us, twirling her finger in the air. I wasn't sure what the gesture was supposed to represent, but she used it again and again regardless.
After an hour, she perked up in her seat. "The hideaway is just up this street. I can't wait for you to see it."
But we didn't need to go any further to see it. In fact, we didn't need to be anywhere within a few miles of it to be able to see it with absolute distinction.
Using the word hideaway to address the colossal castle that now stands before me seems a bit like an oxymoron. The house sits upon a huge expanse at the top of a hill––a skyscraper in its own right, crafted to look like an old mansion. It wouldn't take many guesses for someone to assume that it belongs to the Famoux.
We situate ourselves in front of it, Classix and Fanatix, lined up side by side like a class of kids waiting for recess. Wordless for a minute, we take our oxymoron in as best as we can. This proves to be a challenge––facing it directly, you can barely catch the fullness of it's unprecedented grandeur.
Dwarfing the many cottage-like dwellings squatted along the edge of the grounds, our castle can likely be seen from the furthest buildings in the city. Thick green vines snake up the exterior of first few floors, breaking away to reveal an expanse of gothic stone and mortar. The top is a shade of ebony, appearing to me like wax poured over the drum towers and parapets and bastions.
Acres upon acres of snow-capped grounds span around the structure and down the gradual decline of the hillside. The scene looks somewhat ghostly in its vast emptiness. I have no doubt in my mind that the spring sings a different tune; closing my eyes, I picture grassy fields and flowers in abundance.
