STARTED JAN 2023--
MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT. Viewer Discretion is advised.
Priscilla Pearl Wolfe is a Pornstar.
Halen Elle used to be.
That is until the apathetically charming jackass with a back pocket full of guitar picks and skittles moves...
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The sign to the housing community where Halen's parents live said 'Welcome to Penny Meadows,' but at first glance, you'd guess it was Whoville.
The winding, twisty streets of the suburban utopia tucked in seemingly the middle of nowhere, are lined with homes up to three stories high. And every single one is different.
Some have comically large windows, or uneven siding. Some are entirely painted with muted grey shades and others are splashed with the loudest red.
Some have barren land with only dirt, rocks and dried up frozen flowers, and some are home to snowy trimmed hedges in the shapes of elephants or giraffes.
Some are falling apart at the seams with cracked sidings and crumbling chimneys, and others' have new modern additions like shiny, square mailboxes and silver garages that put them out of place.
Some are boxy, some are domed.
Some are skinny, some are wide.
But, each one has a post at the end of the driveway with the address and family name engraved on it in sharp letters, and each time they pass me by, I feel my stomach clench.
I'm waiting to see the 'Bates.'
My breath fogs up the window as we turn the corner and I wipe the glass with the back of my hand, keeping my view crystal clear.
Halen squeezes my thigh. I look over at him and he nods ahead. "It's there. At the end."
I lean forward with a held breath and look up out of the windshield.
At the very end of the street stands a crooked manor three stories high. Black and chestnut brown on the outside with a bright red door, it takes the cake as the most unique house on the street. And not for its' Victorian flare or uneven eaves that have tipped the frozen icicles dangling from them, in one direction.
It's the only house on the block, in the neighborhood even, glowing with light. With life.
The chimney pumps with grey smoke. Shadows dance across the warmly lit, peachy windows on the first floor. Holiday lights from Christmas are still wrapped around every hedge leading up the driveway, and they track around every window, twinkling and blinking brightly.
They shine the brightest at the top where I can only guess is the attic, and the round window there has lights that trace a spinning circle. I can see pictures taped inside, and from this distance, I think they're flowers. But, as we park, I see the words: 'Pop's Playhouse' to accompany them.
It's far from what I was expecting and I'll admit, I wanna see more. Terribly.
After gathering up the gifts, Halen opens my door for me like a gentleman and offers me his arm.
