If a dwelling is telling of its owner, then Zelman's has a lot to say. It's no Cair Paradisa, but the mansion looming in the center of the grounds--several stories higher than it even needs to be--is still nothing short of impressive. Two wings stretch outwards from a central mass, seeming to almost draw in the rest of the world around it, in towards its hundreds of curtained windows, hundreds of little eyes.
The rest of the grounds are massive too, reaching for several acres all around the center of things--which is not the mansion itself, as one might guess, but a fountain in a sort of courtyard that lies before it. In the middle of that fountain is a statue of a woman, arms replaced with wings, nearly lifted with flight.
As he leads her towards that fountain, the whole of the place becomes clearer. It's impressive and very well-kept, even with the snow obscuring everything, but despite the high walls and the perfect form and the grandeur of the architecture, the place feels... empty.
Maybe it's just the hush of snow, but the grounds seem too quiet. Aside from an inner wall that runs a distance to their left, the only real break in the landscape is the cold mansion and a few distant trees. It's as if this whole world is occupied by only one person, and that person puts a strong value on his solitude, privacy, and distance.
It might be prettier in spring, but who knows when that will show up.
"It wasn't exactly given with any forewarning," he replies, now stepping along part of a path where the snow has already been melted away, "But I'd been meaning to ask anyway."
He turns at the fountain, going for that wall to their left, hands in his pockets and a set look on his face like this is nothing new or interesting. Bandages peek out from under his sleeve, but as Zelman isn't the type to let his image slip up--he probably doesn't care whether or not she notices.
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The rest of the grounds are massive too, reaching for several acres all around the center of things--which is not the mansion itself, as one might guess, but a fountain in a sort of courtyard that lies before it. In the middle of that fountain is a statue of a woman, arms replaced with wings, nearly lifted with flight.
As he leads her towards that fountain, the whole of the place becomes clearer. It's impressive and very well-kept, even with the snow obscuring everything, but despite the high walls and the perfect form and the grandeur of the architecture, the place feels... empty.
Maybe it's just the hush of snow, but the grounds seem too quiet. Aside from an inner wall that runs a distance to their left, the only real break in the landscape is the cold mansion and a few distant trees. It's as if this whole world is occupied by only one person, and that person puts a strong value on his solitude, privacy, and distance.
It might be prettier in spring, but who knows when that will show up.
"It wasn't exactly given with any forewarning," he replies, now stepping along part of a path where the snow has already been melted away, "But I'd been meaning to ask anyway."
He turns at the fountain, going for that wall to their left, hands in his pockets and a set look on his face like this is nothing new or interesting. Bandages peek out from under his sleeve, but as Zelman isn't the type to let his image slip up--he probably doesn't care whether or not she notices.