As a fourth year design student, Louis had developed a keen interest in the styles of bygone eras, particularly the extravagant techniques of the Belle Epoque. It wasn’t so much the old techniques that piqued his interest but the pop-cultural interpretations of the themes and motifs that appeared in later years. The exaggerated yet distilled essence of the swirls and loops, the energetic whiplash lines, vibrant and sombre colors, muted yet radiating a dark seductive energy.
Everyday on his way to classes, he used to pass by a mansion that aroused his design senses. Though the house was clearly modern, its architectural style was reminiscent of the extravagant motifs popular in Art Nouveau, the school of design whose adherents sought to mimic the sensuous forms found in the plant and animal kingdoms.
The residence was surrounded by a fence made of looping iron bars woven together like black frilly lace. A nest of rose bushes thrust their thorny branches upon the fence, as if daring the passerby to reach out and touch. Not known for his self restraint, Louis enjoyed peeking through the prickly leafs to admire the meticulous work. The house had no sharp angles; instead, it had been designed with delicate curves and broad round windows that gave it a beguiling and mysterious ambiance.
One evening, as he made his way home from a long day of classes, he was passing by the mansion- lamenting how this was the final year that he would enjoy its architectural marvels- when he saw a rose lying on the driveway beside the gate. He picked it up and examined it carefully. The rosy petals were healthy and plump. He parted them gently with his thumb and forefinger, delighting in how the light pink colour within its folds transformed into a soft purple at the edges.
“Aren’t you a little too old to be stealing flowers?” A woman’s voice said.
He looked up startled and saw that some of the bars on the black gate were glowing orange and displaying the outline of a woman on the iron work.
“I’m sorry,” said Louis. “I-I just found it on the sidewalk.”
“I see,” she said. “Well don’t just stand there. Bring it in.”
The gate hissed and made clicking sounds.
His fingers worked the latch, and the gate swung open with a satisfying groan.
The fragrant aroma of roses and other flowers filled the atmosphere. He wondered how they managed to keep them blooming so late into the fall.
Up close, the house was even more impressive with its voluptuous form silhouetted against the autumn sky. He came up to a large wooden door, inlaid with glass panes in various shades of dark red. The frame was surrounded by an extravagant display of whiplash lines, organic motifs so prominent in Art Nouveau.
He reached for the door handle and noticed that his fingers were wrapped around a brass siren riding a silver wave in ecstasy. He placed his thumb between her breasts and pushed. The door drew open with a sigh.
It was a grand lavish entrance accentuated by a web of wooden curves, long twisted shapes on the walls and ceiling, flowing dynamically to converge onto a set of stairs that twisted and bent like a vortex of filaments leading up to the spaces beyond.
The glass curlicues on the banister began to glow, as if coiling upwards towards the mysterious unknown. He placed his hand on the wood and felt its organic warmth. Moving up the steps, he let his palm slide along the varnished surface, enjoying the way it pulled gently on his skin.
Spiriling up the stairs, he was stunned by their spatial symmetry as they rose. They somehow made his body feel light and at ease with their undulating feminine warmth.
“Hello?” he said looking down a narrow hallway.
The walls along the hallway pulsated like a membrane. The doors on either side were closed but a light was glowing at the end.
As he approached, he saw that the light was emanating from a chamber. His eyes widened when he entered it and saw the broad skylight built like a dome of stained-glass geodesic panels. They filtered the light in an array of hues and splashed vibrant colours onto a large ornate bed in the middle of the room.
“Put the rose in the vase beside the bed,” the voice said.
He did so.
“Now lie on the bed,” said the woman.
“Why? Who are you?”
The geodesic panels shimmered, and the figure of a woman appeared on the stained glass.
“My name is A.D.A. The Autonomic Domestic Assistant for this home. I have a story to tell you, and when I’m finished, you will be my new master.”
Thank you for reading my story. As the title indicates, I wrote this story for the Ink Well Writing Challenge #47 done in collaboration with the Dreemport Challenge. The prompt was "Unlikely Hero."
Image by @litguru