- Invitation Status
- Not accepting invites at this time
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- 10AM - 10PM Daily
- Writing Levels
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Female
- Genres
- Romance, Supernatural, Fantasy, Thriller, Space Exploration, Slice of Life
One might say anyone that owned the Ainsley Estate must be insane - which in Jonathon Blake's case may very have been true considering he died in a freak ziplining accident while on a trip with his mistress. Perhaps if he had lived in the centuries old New England home, he'd have been another on a long list of unfortunate souls victim to the estate curse.
Alleged curse. When the manor and it's grounds came into Chloe St. Andrews' hands by way of inheritance (fuck his two previous wives and his mistress), she'd come to find out the local color about the place had been more than exaggerated. First of all, no one had ever died from anything beyond old age or common place illness. As far as the records showed, no one had even murdered anyone either. In fact, the only reason the house had remained empty for so long was that it was incredibly expensive to upkeep and at some point it had simply gotten lost in some rich asshole's collection of properties.
May he rest in eternal damnation.
Despite all this, the moment Chloe saw the house and grounds itself she knew in an instant this was somewhere special. Sure, renovating an entire house wasn't quite the same as rescuing antiques, but there was a damn fine amount of old pieces inside the home and with a good amount of work she could make the place truly beautiful. More than that, she could create a business through renting rooms, using it as a venue, and so much more. Chloe could build a legacy of her own.
Investing everything she owned into the place and moving right on in, Chloe got to work. The estate was so large, things had to be done in sections. A month had been spent in updating the kitchen, another month in making sure she had a proper bedroom and bathroom suite. Every week someone was coming in to fix electrical or replace walls. Six months in, everything was honestly going as well as it could.
Until today.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Chloe squealed, sloshing her way through ankle deep water that was now flooding a laundry-room-in-progress. The demo work on the walls had been finished to expose all the beams, electrical, and pipes that needed to be updated. But one of those mustached bastards must've forgotten to cut off the water supply. Chloe had no idea when this mess started, but it had gone on long enough to flood the entire room and it was spilling out into the rest of the basement.
"Freaking hell!" she shouted again, finally making it to the main pipeline. Setting her flashlight aside, it took some muscle (and a lot more cursing) to twist the valve shut. Slowly the pouring water came to a stop.
Chloe sighed and frowned at the mess. Well. She supposed something had to go disastrously wrong at some point.
An odd croaking sound gave her pause then, like the bending of wood and a spine chilling scraping of stone. The ground under her feet rumbled a bit to her confusion. By the time it dawned on her to run - it was too late! Chloe didn't make it three steps before the stone floor beneath her feet crumbled under the weight of gallons and gallons of water.
Water, stone, lumber, and Chloe hit the ground below in a painful crash. When all was still, she muttered a soft curse, lifting her head and testing the movement of her limbs to make sure nothing was broken. Bumps, bruises, and open cuts for sure, but at least nothing felt broken.
Alleged curse. When the manor and it's grounds came into Chloe St. Andrews' hands by way of inheritance (fuck his two previous wives and his mistress), she'd come to find out the local color about the place had been more than exaggerated. First of all, no one had ever died from anything beyond old age or common place illness. As far as the records showed, no one had even murdered anyone either. In fact, the only reason the house had remained empty for so long was that it was incredibly expensive to upkeep and at some point it had simply gotten lost in some rich asshole's collection of properties.
May he rest in eternal damnation.
Despite all this, the moment Chloe saw the house and grounds itself she knew in an instant this was somewhere special. Sure, renovating an entire house wasn't quite the same as rescuing antiques, but there was a damn fine amount of old pieces inside the home and with a good amount of work she could make the place truly beautiful. More than that, she could create a business through renting rooms, using it as a venue, and so much more. Chloe could build a legacy of her own.
Investing everything she owned into the place and moving right on in, Chloe got to work. The estate was so large, things had to be done in sections. A month had been spent in updating the kitchen, another month in making sure she had a proper bedroom and bathroom suite. Every week someone was coming in to fix electrical or replace walls. Six months in, everything was honestly going as well as it could.
Until today.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Chloe squealed, sloshing her way through ankle deep water that was now flooding a laundry-room-in-progress. The demo work on the walls had been finished to expose all the beams, electrical, and pipes that needed to be updated. But one of those mustached bastards must've forgotten to cut off the water supply. Chloe had no idea when this mess started, but it had gone on long enough to flood the entire room and it was spilling out into the rest of the basement.
"Freaking hell!" she shouted again, finally making it to the main pipeline. Setting her flashlight aside, it took some muscle (and a lot more cursing) to twist the valve shut. Slowly the pouring water came to a stop.
Chloe sighed and frowned at the mess. Well. She supposed something had to go disastrously wrong at some point.
An odd croaking sound gave her pause then, like the bending of wood and a spine chilling scraping of stone. The ground under her feet rumbled a bit to her confusion. By the time it dawned on her to run - it was too late! Chloe didn't make it three steps before the stone floor beneath her feet crumbled under the weight of gallons and gallons of water.
Water, stone, lumber, and Chloe hit the ground below in a painful crash. When all was still, she muttered a soft curse, lifting her head and testing the movement of her limbs to make sure nothing was broken. Bumps, bruises, and open cuts for sure, but at least nothing felt broken.