Chapter 54: Futur Library

On the right :

The vestibule was bathed in an unexpected softness, its powdery tones softening the monumentality of the place, like a delicate breath after the grandeur of the entrance.

Further on, the dining room imposed a strict, almost graphic elegance: the contrast of black and white emphasized every line, every piece of furniture, every detail, while the large table seemed ready to host meals both solemn and intimate.

The kitchen, in contrast, stood out with its striking modernity: flawless chrome surfaces, crisp reflections, no trace, no imperfection—a space almost clinical, yet fascinating in its precision.

On the left:

The living room stretched like a calm sea, rendered in shades of ivory and cream, absorbing the light only to return it softer, warmer. Deep seating invited rest, while the bar, discreet yet perfectly integrated, added a touch of life, a muted conviviality.

The corridor, narrower, contrasted with the open volumes of the rest of the house, guiding toward more functional spaces—yet never ordinary. Even here, every detail seemed deliberate, controlled.

And... a forge.

Seriously?

The very idea clashed with the surrounding refinement, and yet it fit into a strange, almost obvious logic: that of a place where anything could exist.

Perplexed, she continued. At the center, an indoor pool crossed through a greenhouse before reaching the open air. A glass fountain released a soft, gentle trickle.

The water formed a living axis at the heart of the house, gliding from one space to another with hypnotic fluidity. The greenhouse wrapped part of the pool in an explosion of lush greenery, plants with broad, glossy leaves filtering the light to cast shifting patterns of shadow across the water.

Then, without interruption, the pool opened to the outside, as if the boundary between interior and exterior had never truly existed. The glass fountain, delicate and almost invisible, let a thread of crystalline water flow, its steady murmur instantly soothing the mind.

Blanche felt incredibly at ease there. If she could have built her ideal home, it would have looked like this.

And the more she moved forward, the more the feeling settled in: this place was not just magnificent. It was perfectly attuned to her, like a tangible projection of her deepest tastes, her most precise desires—an environment where every detail seemed to have been designed for her, without her ever needing to express it.

As she climbed the stairs, she asked:

"Excuse me, but... what exactly is a phoenix?"

Cassie answered:

"We are immortal, but very easy to kill. Every hundred years, if we are lucky, we are reborn after burning ourselves to ashes. During the year that follows, we are vulnerable. Many of us were captured, enslaved. Our former master killed us for pleasure, taking turns to keep us under his control. You saved us by bringing us here."

"And... doesn't living in a gilded cage weigh on you? " Blanche asked, surprised.

"We prefer this cage to a master who kills us every year," Cassian said. "You gave us what we no longer dared hope for, mistress."

"Call me Blanche... please."

They smiled—with the air of two people accustomed to not obeying that request.

Upstairs, she discovered her suite: a red and black bedroom, a wall library, a desk facing a bay window, a gigantic dressing room, a luxurious bathroom with a jacuzzi and an immense shower.

The space opened into a more intimate atmosphere, without losing any of the grandeur of the rest of the manor. The bedroom, dominated by deep shades of red and black, radiated an almost mesmerizing intensity. The fabrics seemed to absorb the light only to return it in warm reflections, while the lines of the furniture, elegant and assertive, gave the whole a character both powerful and refined. The bed, wide and perfectly structured, stood as a central piece, inviting both rest and contemplation.

The wall library extended across an entire wall, from floor to ceiling, filled with books of varied bindings, creating a mosaic of textures and colors. A discreet ladder allowed access to the upper shelves, adding an almost theatrical touch to this space devoted to knowledge and reflection. The desk, placed in front of a vast bay window, seemed suspended between inside and outside: light poured in, bathing the workspace in natural clarity, while the view beyond extended the space into infinity.

The gigantic dressing room extended that feeling of controlled abundance. Every element had its place with almost unreal precision: open storage, hidden drawers, subtle lighting enhancing materials and colors. Nothing was left to chance, and yet nothing felt rigid—everything invited use, life.

The luxurious bathroom with a jacuzzi and an immense shower felt like a sanctuary. The jacuzzi, set into the floor or slightly raised, promised absolute relaxation, while the vast, almost oversized shower suggested a constant, enveloping rainfall. The materials, noble and carefully chosen, reflected the light softly, creating a soothing, almost unreal atmosphere where time seemed to slow.

Further on, a smaller suite for the phoenixes, and three guest rooms with balconies.

The suite intended for them, more discreet yet just as refined, retained the same flowing elegance that ran through the entire residence. Nothing was superfluous, yet nothing was lacking: a perfect balance between function and refinement, as if the space itself respected their particular nature.

The three guest rooms, each opening onto a balcony, offered variations on the same controlled luxury. Openings to the outside brought light and breath, letting in air and landscape, extending each room beyond its walls. Each one seemed ready to welcome without imposing, to offer comfort and beauty without ostentation, like a silent invitation to stay.

"Do I often have guests? " she asked.

" Rarely, " Cassian replied."Only your servants come and go."

" My... servants?"

"A skill you'll acquire later," Phénix clarified." Your journals will tell you more."

" My journals?"

"You kept dozens of notebooks. All stored in your library."

She startled. Good idea! Why hadn't he started with that?

She ran to her suite. The three of them watched her go.

"What a strange outfit, "Cassie remarked, squinting at the fuchsia thing Blanche was still wearing.

"Pajamas," Phénix replied.

Blanche grabbed a notebook at random. Recognizing her own handwriting felt strange. She read a sentence, flushed deeply, closed it. Then she found the journals organized by era.

She sat on her bed. Dove into them. And was left speechless.

Hours later, after devouring three notebooks, there was a knock.

Cassian entered with a cup.

"Mistress, some tea?"

" Gladly."

Her writings were less frightening to read than to live. So many revelations... yet she absorbed them strangely well. To know was already to regain some control.

" Have you read them?" she asked, apprehensive.

" Never, " he replied softly. "Neither I, nor my sister, nor any servant would allow such a betrayal."

" Why?"

"We would rather die than dishonor you like that."

Blanche smiled sincerely.

"Thank you, Cassian."

"Thank you, Mistress, " he replied before closing the door.

Leaving her to her reading, which had only just begun.