My grandmother loved gardening. She gave me this house. A marriage of ebony and ivory, with accents she always told me were made of real gold. The flora draped down from the ceiling and the thick, earthy smell that swirled in the morning mist reminded me of her smile and the way she stroked Jardin, the cat purring in response. Sunlight danced from dust mote to dust mote as it filtered through the windowpane, comfortably lighting up the room in a chiaroscurist manner akin to the sunlight filtering through the trees near the garden in the spring. Every morning the shy summer breeze entered as I open up the windows and doors, bringing with them the scent of uncountable flowers as a silent thanks. This room, this oasis, was more than just a sanctum.
Through the vivid description, the story can almost be the in media res introduction of the protagonist and his cat, Jardin in a movie detailing the history of the conservatory and its inhabitants. By utilising the white base with the grey beige as a friendly counter-tone, the arched frames and mosaic tile floor, the space is elegant and alive.
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