𝕭𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖓 ✧ American Horror Story

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗: 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 1

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Flashback

Eden settled on the edge of her daughter Ophelia's bed, the eve of Halloween casting an eerie glow in the dimly lit room. Eight-year-old Ophelia was snuggled cozily under her blankets, her wide eyes fixed on her mother as she read to her with theatrical flair.

"Halloween," Eden began, her voice carrying a mysterious undertone, "originates from the ancient Celtic holiday of Samhain. It marked the end of the bountiful harvest season, and the Celts celebrated it to ward off their deepest fears. They firmly believed that on October 31, the veil between the realms of the living and the dead would fade, allowing spirits to walk among us." Eden paused, her gaze shifting to her daughter's innocent face. With a haunting smile, she continued, "That's why people dress up in spooky costumes, to scare away any lingering ghosts and ghouls."

Ophelia's little head shook emphatically, her golden locks dancing in the faint moonlight. "No way I ever want to be a ghost," she declared, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "It's so sad."

Eden gently used her free hand to caress her daughter's cheek, her fingers tenderly brushing away a stray lock of hair that had strayed onto Ophelia's face. With a soft, reassuring smile, Eden began to speak, her voice carrying a gentle lilt. "You're right, my love, but there is undeniable comfort in the thought that our loved ones will always be there, watching over us." Her words wrapped around Ophelia like a soothing embrace, offering reassurance and solace in the face of the mysterious and ethereal nature of life.

As the story unfolded, the room seemed to carry an enchanting ambiance, and the soft rustle of wind outside painted a picture of the mystical Hallows Eve night. Eden's storytelling artistry captivated Ophelia's imagination, and the mother-daughter duo embraced the spirit of the season, finding comfort in each other's presence before the night of Halloween embraced them with its mysterious charm.

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Marcy sat perched at the island in the sunlit kitchen, her dark eyes glinting with determination. Across from her stood Ophelia and Joey, both looking a tad disheartened. "This is unacceptable, Marcy," sighed Joey, his frustration evident as they had only managed to attract a single person to view the house in the last two weeks.

"Just one person in two weeks," Ophelia chimed in, lifting a steaming cup of coffee to her lips, her memory lingering on the peculiar encounter with the apprehensive blonde visitor. "And she didn't even stay for the whole tour. She was so freaked out by it."

Joey urged Marcy to take action. "You need to do something, Marcy."

"Please don't put the blame on me, Dr. Bishop," Marcy responded, defensively waving her hand. "This house has an image problem, plain and simple. Fix that, and this property will sell like hotcakes."

The desperate question hung in the air. "What are we supposed to do?" Joey asked, seemingly out of ideas.

"I think we need a fluffer here," Marcy suggested, Ophelia to raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"Huh?" Ophelia inquired, unfamiliar with the term.

Marcy began to explain. "They're talented individuals we can hire to sprinkle a dash of style and élan throughout this place."

"We have style," Joey retorted, slightly offended by the insinuation.

Marcy smirked knowingly. "Everyone thinks they have style, and everyone thinks they're funny. But most people aren't," she candidly pointed out, drawing a slightly offended look from both Ophelia and her father. "That's why in my business, we have fluffers. They come in, they rent some accessories, karate chop a few throw pillows, and make this home look like a magazine spread."