Clementine Vale is stunning and radiant, the girl on top of the world. She captivates and enchants, her kindness and compassion is unrivaled by her other housemates-- and it's that that disgraces her from the Wise House of Vale. Confronting her fami...
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ooo. The lily between the weeds
Summer of 1968
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𝓢pinner's End is where dreams go to die. At the mere age of eight, Clementine Vale had declared it so.
In fact, she declared the entirety of Cokeworth a landfill of unfinished dreams, abandoned by sad children, who grew up to be even sadder adults. As far as she could see, all that stood were rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, their windows opaque– cloudy and unseeing– like they've never allowed a ray of sunshine penetrate through; heavy fog emitted from the dirty river, rubbish-strewn and black, engulfing the town in a suffocating gloom.
It was all so different compared to Northumberland where the Vale family home resided. It was more a castle than anything else, really, and it was proudly perched on a rugged cliff overlooking the sparkling blue waters of the ocean. It was made of ancient stone, weathered by time and waves, but instead of giving it a dilapidated look, it gave the Vale home a timeless appeal. Sometimes, in the spring or summer months, ocean fog rose from the clear waters like an enchanting veil– never a somber embrace like that of Cokeworth.
A place where a child could dream, believing in their heart that they were living in a fairytale.
"Hurry along Clementine," her mother chided, pulling her along narrow streets and alleyways by her scrawny wrist. She wasn't pleased with the current circumstance, it was easy to tell by the downward curl of her red lips, but it seemed there was no choice but to venture on into the impoverished streets of Spinner's End until they arrived at their destination: the Snapes' dwelling.
When they did, it was clear that the house had seen better days. It was almost identical to the other rundown houses, with peeling paint (worn down bricks peeking through) and cracked, opaque windows, but it was somehow worse. At least the other houses sounded with noises that indicated life, though sick and sad with persistent, hacking coughs, and high-pitched wails from babies. The walls belonging to the Snapes though, were eerily quiet with a neglectful air hanging heavy. Clementine didn't want to take a single step inside.
