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INNERMOONS ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 𓃠 TWO / SMALL WORLDS
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❛ the world is so small 'til it ain't i'm building up a wall 'til it break ❜
𓃠
𝕿he Crawford mansion stood like a temple to old money, its sprawling estate bathed in the kind of golden light that softened the edges of wealth, making it seem almost inviting rather than oppressive. The grand chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling refracted the glow, casting delicate prisms against the marble floors, the walls lined with paintings of long-dead ancestors who had once stood in rooms just like this, wearing the same carefully measured smiles. The air carried a curated blend of scents—polished wood, fresh-cut peonies, the faint trace of expensive cologne mingling with the crisp dryness of champagne. Every detail of the evening, from the imported white orchids adorning the tables to the orchestral arrangement drifting seamlessly through the air, had been orchestrated to create the illusion of effortless grandeur.
Outside, the long, curved driveway shimmered under the headlights of luxury cars, each one rolling up with the hushed efficiency of a well-rehearsed performance. The valets, dressed in matching black suits, moved in a practiced rhythm, their gloved hands pulling open doors, murmuring polite greetings as the elite of Bel Air stepped onto the immaculate stone steps. Men adjusted the cuffs of their bespoke suits, the crisp sound of fabric shifting over expensive wristwatches barely audible beneath the murmured conversations and the soft clink of glasses. Women, poised and airbrushed to perfection, made their way inside with the careful grace of those who had spent a lifetime in heels, their laughter a practiced melody designed to charm but never overpower.
Parker stood near the base of the grand staircase, his posture a study in restraint. The dark navy of his suit fit him impeccably, the sharp lines tailored to perfection, but beneath the fabric, his body ached—a dull, insistent pain that had become something of a constant companion. He kept his expression composed, the years of discipline drilled into him preventing even the smallest flicker of discomfort from betraying itself. The pills had dulled the edge, but not completely. They were a temporary salve, a quiet secret buried beneath the weight of expectation.
