As Arianne dusted the busts on the mantle, she thought of her grandparents. Not because they looked like the old men carved in white, but because the glamor of this place would have sickened them to their core. She was raised to be like them: minimalistic, only having the bare essentials. These people, though … Arianne had never been surrounded by such glamor. The lights above her hung in crystal strands, and even the door frames were gilded, as were the knobs. Books in shelves stacked neatly released the perfume of old pages, and the child’s playroom was stacked from floor to ceiling with boxes of toys, easily reachable.

She cleaned, and she felt herself grow angry. Despite herself, she wanted it all. And now, she was in a place to have it all, too.