The Blakewood estate was a cold, gigantic fortress in the hills, situated at the very top of the city itself.
The ancient oaks lining the drive were sentinels for a history he'd long ignored. The building looked like a monolith of old stones and older money, holding a chill that slowly creeped through one's skin.
To outsiders, all they would feel upon stepping through a building with such sheer grandeur would be awe.
They would stare up at the skies that seemed closer than it was, at the trees that welcomed them, at the frightening guards at every corner like sentinels of protection, and at the house itself that felt more like a modern castle which might house a king, a queen and it's descendants, but this great home merely housed a broken family struggling to piece itself together again.
Every step into the Blakewood estate smelled of dry, dormant power.
