✶ ☽
NYX (gxg)
After the tragic death of her parents, Victoria Valentín seeks refuge
in the gentle arms of her aunt in a small town by the sea; hoping
that grief won't plague her forever.
Olive Rios has trouble fitting in...
The image is how I imagine Lila, except surrounded by a lot more green (instead of that plain piece of grass, imagine trees:))
Olive Rios
I've never eaten vegetables very often, but I think I need to adjust my diet now that I am in a town that is largely based on agriculture. At least, that's what I see from Irene's car.
Irene is an interesting woman, to say the least. She has a pretty accent that sounds sort of familiar and when I cuss (harshly, might I add), she doesn't flinch at all. In fact, she gives a hearty chuckle and slaps my arm. I speak from experience.
The carride to Irene's house is, so far, full of the most genuine laughter and conversation I've ever had. She doesn't seem conservative at all, in fact, I believe she's a radical liberal. Knowing this already makes me feel a lot safer than my former environment, where I was surrounded by homophobic comments and verbal abuse.
The wind is lapping at my hair in a funny way and it smells like the ocean. The air here feels really pure, especially in my smoke-ridden lungs (I promise, I'm trying to quit smoking). The town is made up of small colonial houses and small shops and small people who must feel extremely fulfilled in this big, ugly world.
We drive farther away from the town and go down a rough road that gave Irene leeway to a few cuss words and many chuckles from my side.
"Your father hated this road, he always told me to pave it," Irene told me while grinding her teeth, "Maybe I should've." She says with a grunt.
"How long did you know my father?" I ask her, looking towards the ocean for a moment. The wind is really messing with my hair so I run my hands through it a few times.
"I knew him," She takes a sharp inhale while making a pained face, "Since I was ten." I hum in response. She exhales as we drive into the presence of a gate. I frown and try to make out shapes, but all I see is green behind the gate. "Oh, don't worry. We're almost there." She says while reaching out of her convertible to touch a keypad.
I reach backwards for my backpack and feel her lurch forward, which is not good for my stomach.
"Geez, woman." I groan while feeling the cold bottle reach my fingers. I get a hold of the water as Irene drives smoothly, sighing in relief.
I readjust myself into a comfortable position and as I look forward I almost gasp. I thought this woman would live in a small hut in a remote village where she would grow nice plants in a small garden and make lentil soup every Thursday, hell, maybe even every day. The structure I lay my eyes on is not a hut, it is a giant flipping mansion.
My mouth doesn't close for a bit and I start to get scared that it'll be stuck like that forever, until she lugs my suitcase out of the trunk and utters three words:
"Welcome to Lila."
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The house is the complete opposite of modern. Weathered brick and a stylish roof make the house seem like it came out of a period drama. The house of Lila appears old and a tiny bit intimidating.
Lila still manages to have a warm feeling and a welcoming feeling, though, and was nowhere near brooding. Looking at the countless windows, I wonder which room in that immense house will be mine.
"I got the house from my grandfather and I was raised here." Irene says as she puts down my suitcase. We had entered the house and the amount of art that I see already is almost overwhelming, except it's just the right amount. There are sculptures, about two or three in the foyer, and large portraits in all kinds of different styles. I gravitate towards one of the sculptures and I study the plaines of the sculpture's face. I gently touch the face and trail the nose, then I back away and look up to see a floral chandelier with artificial yellow sunflowers illuminating the entrance.
"Your house is so cool." I croak out while looking up at a stained glass window with two women in it. The two women had sunflowers around them, creating a circle.
"Thank you." Irene said, giving me a bow as I turned.
She moves with agility and scoops my suitcase up in a horizontal way and leaps her way to the stone staircase in front of us. I chuckle and roam around a bit, absorbing as much of this house as I can.
I find myself in a stout, comfortable room with low couches and yarn on the floor. The furniture looks familiar and extremely comfortable. There is a pair of knitting needles with what looks like a yellow sweater. I continue moving and I find a more formal-looking of the stout living room except with higher ceilings and more light. I, again, find yarn on the floor, except now it seems to be attached to crochet hooks and a shawl. I roam around a little more and find the kitchen, where I finally realize how thirsty I am.
Irene wouldn't mind if I had a glass of water, right? She seems chill enough to have me hydrating myself.
I look through the hunter green cabinets of the kitchen and find a pretty glass cup with sunflower etchings, like the sunflowers outside of Lila. I look to my left and find a class jug of water by the sink, pouring it to the rim.
"Who—" I hear from behind me and I jerk around, causing water to fly all over the victim.
A tall and sort of sickly-looking girl holding a notebook (I think) in her hand with honey curls reaching her waist is now almost drenched in front of me. She has a really interesting nose with a rise and a lot of character. Her white shirt, reaching her mid-thighs is practically transparent except for the paint splotches that seem sporadically and accidentally painted on her shirt.
"Shit." I say. This girl must be Irene's... daughter? Niece? Granddaughter? I can't remember exactly, but she shares a big resemblance to her. And I just drenched her in water.
Her eyes look up to meet mine. They have an almond shape and an almond color, which makes her seem almost seductive... if she wasn't glaring at me.
"You drenched my book." She says in a shaky voice. She holds up the notepad that I saw in her hand before as if it were some sort of totem.
"Buy a new one, princess." I blurt out. This girl lives in a giant house that overlooks the sea, she must be able to buy a new book.
She looks, for a moment, as if she wants to bite my head off, but then her whole demeanor crumbles and she lets out a loose sob. I am left in the kitchen, dumbfounded.
How spoiled does someone have to be to actually cry about being bumped into with a little bit of water? By this point of of brief aquaintance, I find Irene's relative already another problem that I'm going to have to live with.
