❝ this is your fault, you realise that ❞
❝ sorry? ❞
✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ- a story in which two former best friends are reunited, but it's not all sunshine and rainbows .
formula one
lando norris x grace summers
short story, valentines special
started: february...
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ੈ♡˳ ONE stained glass
SNOWFLAKES PATTERED AGAINST THE glass of the window pane in silent reverie. the odd splatter of a melted snowflake was lost in the spluttering of the logs being consumed by the molten orange flames in the rustic fireplace.
other than that, the house was drenched in peaceful quietness, insulated by layers of snow. the street outside was deserted, the roads either too dangerous with sleet and littered with the odd cars that hadn't been stored undercover, and were stained frozen with inches of snow that no one bothered to clear.
no one was crazy enough to venture out into the freezing cold snowstorm that had been raging for two days now, although it had started to clear drastically since. those who lived on prosperity lane in the quiet, wealthy outer-suburb were the least likely to head out into the icy coldness. why should they? they had no reason to, after all.
for grace summers, she had been glued mostly to her desk chair in what was once her father's office in the large mansion. ever since she had claimed it as her own, she was sure she spent more time in the confinements of the room that had aged with time, memories, and cigar smoke. sometimes she swore she could still smell the tangy smoke that made her feel sick as a young girl, as if it were trapped in the walls and haunting the room like spirits of the past.
lost deep in thought, grace winced when she felt the needle she had been using to hand-stitch pierce her thumb. no matter how many times she did it, the sharp throb still stung until it mellowed. she was quick to drop the delicate, white lace to the surface of the mahogany desk before it was tainted crimson.
she had no one to blame but herself for not wearing her usual gloves or one of her mother's old thimbles when hand-stitching. with a sigh, she dropped the needle and thread beside the lace and stood from her chair, leaving the warmth of the office to enter the coolness of the rest of the house.
barely using the bottom level of the mansion she had grown up in, it meant that descending the stairs left her feeling like she was standing outside in the snow, the exact opposite of how upstairs felt. grace pulled her grey jacket closer to her as if it would magically expel the temperature drop and headed down into the grand lounge room that barely had as much use as it once had.
the room's charm hadn't changed. the glass windows were stained in delicate patterns that her mother had picked long ago. each item of furniture was an old, rustic wood that had been passed down through too many generations. the theme was much like the rest of the house; reds, browns, and sometimes a hint of navy. a little too old fashioned for grace's taste, but she had little patience and motivation to change it at all.
