Glass Houses の小説・ストーリー

I invited her to go up, or to say she went up first after Via pointed the way to the attic. Our house is made of glass, from the doors to the windows and even the furniture. But not the ordinary glass you know. We cannot be seen from the outside, and the glass keeps the ray of the sun away from us. It is also equipped with cameras, automatic bullets and arrows that would fire when an intruder steps inside. "Where's the attic?" she asked when he reached the second floor. "Wow, never thought vampires love glass," she said excitedly as he looked at and touched every glass we passed.

Crystalline water spurted upwards into the blue sky and downward into the hollow space in fours in a straight line. Behind, there was an outdoor fire pit with unblemished white cushioned chairs for recreation as borders. In the fire pit, the Kirkgardes traded tired looking fire logs, lava rocks or wood with elegant well-polished reflective gray fireglass. Fireglasses are recycled glass polished to sin. They sparkle like soft diamonds as yellow flames stained with blue dance lightly on them. It had a fire and ice look that only added to it's beauty.

A whole lot! “Today really is a good day!” I gushed, beaming with smiles as I looked out the light room. Its glass floor to ceiling wall allowing for the incredible view of the white orchid flowers, blending perfectly with the deep red dahlias and night blooming jasmines. Absolutely beautiful! Especially under the sun after they’ve been watered at noon already. While staring pleasantly, my mind drifted again to a certain looming darkness-Eliot. His private garage faced just this side of the mansion, so remembering was not abnormal.

I knew exactly where to go. After showering in the lukewarm morning water, I dressed up in a fine burgundy suits and headed out. I asked to be driven to the popular Erik Bonjour glass plants. It was the fanciest place to pick up the legendary glass plants. I knew flowers had a great spot in women's heart. Imagine getting a single rose magically encased in a glass house, showered with snowdrops. I knew she was going to love it. The mere thought of seeing her smile causes me to smile as I pointed at the rose glass on the display table.

I added. “ Face your work. August,” he replied lazily. “Oh, and listen, the hum. Do you hear that?” I said, ignoring all he said. “ It's called a ventilation system. It's Security features.” He snapped. I exhaled. “They are security features, August. Mr. Hale's preference." “ Oh, my god. Security? in a glass house? Who are the watchers? Isn't this irony too much?" I said. "Him." That was the only response he gave me.

Instead, he mixed shades of cool, sterile white, muted greens, and the cold, hard gray of polished steel. He painted a glass greenhouse. It was exquisitely detailed, the panes gleaming with a fragile transparency. Inside, under a controlled, artificial light, grew a single, pale orchid. The flower was rendered with meticulous care, its petals delicate, almost translucent, its form perfect but utterly devoid of the vibrant life found in nature. It was beautiful, but it was a beauty that spoke of isolation and careful cultivation.

The plan was supposed to go according to plan, he even made them attack at the time as he spread rumors that he was going to hide his mate in another country, away from the supernatural world to keep her safe. All his plans can’t go to ruins, so he checked on James as he searched for his mate who was close. “Shattered the glass yet?”. He asks James who replied yes. Through the east gate, there was the garden which Marissa lived to frequent so much. However, that garden had a laminated glass roof that blocks about 99 percent of the sun’s UV rays and could be open or closed, when it was time to let the plants and flowers bathe in sunlight.

“Walk.” The conservatory is a structure of glass and wrought iron built in the nineteenth century. The torrential rain turns every panel into constant, deafening percussion. The steam from the plants warms the interior, creating mist that completely fogs the glass walls. I push the door open and we step inside. The rain is immediate and total—the glass ceiling amplifies the sound until it’s almost physical. The plants create a green, damp labyrinth, and the smell is of wet earth and living things, the absolute opposite of artificial honeysuckle.

We led her through the labyrinthine corridors of the estate, the marble floors cold beneath our feet, until we reached the western wing. ​The "Glass Room" was a feat of architectural terror. It was a cantilevered box that jutted out over the cliffside, three hundred feet above the churning Atlantic. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling were nothing but reinforced glass. Standing in the center of it felt like floating in the eye of a storm.

The guest suite in the Vane Biotics penthouse was a masterpiece of cold, expensive minimalism—all white marble, brushed steel, and floor-to-ceiling glass that made me feel like we were living inside a high-end aquarium. But at 3:00 AM, with the Lagos humidity pressing against the windows like a physical weight, it felt more like a gilded cage.