𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖎𝖘 actually hope stilinski
and lives in beacon hills, unknowing of her real
heritage, until her mother and father and a crazed
family of original vampires arrive at her h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
HOPE SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED HER NEW FRIENDS WERE RICH, AS THEY PRACTICALLY FLAUNTED THEIR WEALTH ALL OF THE TIME. Like Lydia Martin when Hope first met her, their wealth was their persona, but not in a bad way; more as an act of intimidation. But despite the knowledge that they were far better off than Hope and Stiles, she had never realised that their wealth was beyond all reason and logic.
Hope was sure she'd never seen a house that big before in her life. Scratch that, one couldn't really call it a house, not when it stretched as far as the eye could see, with thick gates shrouded in purposeful vines and roses and endless green fields. And the fact that this estate, far grander than those in the magazines Lydia had lended her, was built by them, paid for by them, a construction of their own design, made her wonder if the money in their banks was laced with gold ink.
Her head was craned as she took in the clean marble, softened to look like white glass, reflective by right. Her friends, Kol and Rebekah, were by either side of her and, as though aware of how impressive their home was, they gave her a moment to take in the building in a kind manner, distracting themselves with the car; but Hope was sure a thousand moments in the presence of this mansion would not wipe away its glory. She couldn't wait for Stiles to see it.
Often, Hope had dreams about living in a mansion as large as this, so recluse with size that she never had to speak to anyone she did not want to, cut off from the real world. To have each room perfected by her own mind, each floor a different person's to design; it made her feel motivated for the future. But then she would glance at her house, crumbling under the weights of the debts sealed at her door, and the inevitability of living from paycheck to paycheck, running from the letters with a fierce helplessness, hit her hard.
"Are you done ogling the marble, Hope?" Rebekah asked in amusement as she slammed the car door shut, arms filled with all sorts of bags. She had played hooky last lesson to go shopping; light shopping, she had said to Hope beforehand. She feared they had different meanings to the word entirely.
Hope rolled her eyes as she sighed, "It's so beautiful. It's hard not to ogle." She explained softly.
A hand was looping through her elbow, tugging on her arm and pulling her to the front of the grand drive, where the cobble lined the floor for what seemed like miles. A grand staircase, larger than her entire bottom floor of her home, led to the front door; a pillared frame of gold and white increments.
"Wait until you see the inside." The blonde said, "I fear I will have to tear off your limb to get you to move on."
Hope grinned bashfully, "You said your family made the house? Who designed it? You or your sister, surely."
