A castle guarded at morning, protectively shut out from the world on a desolate island, adrift upon the murky waters not too far from the mainland. Cool winds with an opposing warmth from the sun wrap around the grounds beneath it. Inside, gentlemen and modest women make themselves at home with a tidy lifestyle, ignorant to those residing on the mainland. With their neatly placed napkins and their delicate attire; their fanciful teacups and carefully set make-up; and their classical music dancing in the ballroom gently against the walls, the wealthy family lives a diligent (yet rather boring) life inside their castle.

 

By night, the residents return to their homes, leaving the castle without proper farewell. Their clothes are cleaned and hung out to dry, then neatly stored away in their rightful closets. The teacups are stacked gently in cupboards, washed fresh and clean. The classical music is brought to a halt and the dances within the ballroom fade out to silence. Men and women step out of the glory, forgetting their true lives for just a few hours. The clock strikes midnight, and the family wearily leaves their castle, or what used to be theirs. Now it sits on the island, an empty shell. Now it will wait for the next family to arrive with thrills and anticipation for frills.

 

   A castle born for the lower class to use at their leisure, one at a time.

A castle filled with luxury and wealth, though limited to twenty-four hours.

A mere castle on a desolate island, inviting all to crown themselves royal.

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