chandelier - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
His mother had come home with a chandelier in a thin-walled box. She had placed it on his bed with a note asking that he hang it for her, and gone for groceries. It was one of her impulse buys. In her mind's eye it hung above the dining table and elevated their everyday eating with a sophisticated touch. Aaron lifted it out and took it to the window. It was light for it's size, the jewels were as genuine as his kid sister's necklaces, and the covering of the frame was sprayed on gold with cheap nickel showing in many places. He sighed and re-wrapped it, took the receipt from the kitchen counter and set off for a refund. They weren't going without chicken this week so that Mum could reduce their decor to the level of a toddler tea party.
The chandelier had been hung in pride of place in the grandiose hallway many years ago before even the mortar between the bricks had fully dried. It had presided over the welcoming of dignitaries and celebrities, yet now a young man glared up and it with opera-glasses and declared it to be a fake. It was of course the only way to get it off the vaulted ceiling. By the time the "expert" was done with it it certainly would be fake. In just a week the diamonds would be dispersed around the globe, indeed they were already sold for indecent sums of money, and the solid gold frame would be a molten puddle waiting to be reformed. It was a pity not lost on the thieves that it was worth vastly more as the heirloom piece it was, but it was simpler to sell in chunks. In another week the gang would realize who really owned the house and what their likely fate would be if they didn't disappear just as effectively as the pilfered gems.
The chandelier alone was worth more than the combined annual incomes of all the palace staff. It dripped with the best cut diamonds and was made from white gold. It had been crafted only six months previously when their Gracious Ruler had commissioned it on a whim.
A chandelier hung from the ceiling like the bejewelled corpse of a giant spider. The uncoordinated colours of the fake gems struggled to reflect the weak of the "parlour," partly because of the plastic had been so roughly cut and partly because they were coated with a thick layer of dust. It was about as tasteful as neon overcoat but thankfully not so bright.
A large old fashioned chandelier hung from the dark wooden beam that ran down the centre of the ceiling. Twelve branches stretched out from the central base, each one’s formerly silver colour now tarnished with a brown hue. At the ends of each arm was a small space, just the right size for a thin candle to slot into, although only one of the spaces was filled. The feeble glow of that singular candle did a measly job of lighting the room, instead the faint glow only illuminated the chandelier itself and a small section of the rotting ceiling.
In the door way was strung a chandelier of sorts, not a pretty thing, but something to fill those who entered with dread and give the war lord the upper hand. Strung on the gun barrel of a fifty caliber sniper rifle were rotting pink lumps that gave off a putrid smell. As Kalib began to duck under it he saw a toe nail. Any sign of disgust and his mission was over, perhaps his life too. He greeted the lord like a brother, shared some drinks and listened to him boast.
Lady Franks switched on more lights into the vast and voluminous crystal chandelier which hung like some glory-cloud above the room's centre.