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Lovers' Rendezvous
Lovers' Rendezvous
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Front view.
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Back with trees.
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Back with trees removed.
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Various exterior views.
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Basement.
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Main floor.
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Upstairs.
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Hallway.
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Dining room.
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Stairs.
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Various interiors - clockwise from top right - kitchen, parlor, master bedroom, porch.
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At night with snow and holiday lights.
This is the story of a dandy, his lover, a dwelling, and a diary...
The recent discovery of the diary of Miss Rachel Katchadorian, the Armenian live-in maid of Roger de Montsimquiou, has shed a new light of information on the architecturally stunning, though mysterious house at [LOCATION WITHHELD] in the cozy town of [LOCATION WITHHELD] and those who lived there.
Roger de Montsimquiou was a well-known gentleman and dandy. He was widely popular in the circles of the nobility, the bohemian world of art and poetry, cliques of musicians and composers, the vaults of old money, and even the purses of nouveau riche American expatriates. While not difficult to fall prey to his charm and intellect, it was far more a challenge to gain his approval, as Roger held notoriously high standards. Jean-David Moreau, Comte de Menesclou once astonishingly remarked in a letter to his fiancé, "I actually have the feeling that Roger believes me to be alright, that he might tolerate, nay, desire my company. It is a blessing, really, but not a true blessing. The Almighty God isn't that discerning! But a beatification from de Montsimquiou... I must have that, how do you say, je ne sais quoi he so fervently demands from his associates!" Roger was himself one of the greatest epistolarians of his age, who frequently praised the creativity and wit of others, whilst damning anyone he found pedestrian in his countless letters. He wrote, "I am constantly required to invent novel ways to describe one as boring, lest I become such myself. I could remedy this by never engaging with new people, but where's the fun in that?"
In late 1882, construction began on the home at [LOCATION WITHHELD]. By the autumn of 1884 the building was complete, as letters to and from de Montsimquiou began bearing the address. However, Katchadorian's diary begins that summer, when she moved into the home. She describes the home as "marvelous, yet a tad on the small-ish side for all the money he's throwing at it." From the onset, Rachel referred to the house as the Lovers' Rendezvous, apparently privy to its purpose even before her arrival. She wrote, "Construction continues noisily. Heavy and unusual rains this past spring prevented the fancy bits outside from being done on time. The bricklayers are a loud bunch and use such words that I'm not sure I want to know. The woodcarvers, however, are nice and one whistles such quaint tunes while he works on the wood for the hearths."
While Roger de Montsimquiou wrote constantly (mostly of everyone else), he was rather secretive with the personal details of his private life. Roger loved a good conversation and was a superb listener. He was frequently known to indiscriminately share all of the information he had heard, evidently so much so that the phrase "to roger up," synonymous with sharing only the juiciest of gossip, was popular in the vernacular. But of his own doings, he was noticeably silent. Katchadorian's diary, however, provides great insight to the very guarded gentleman.
While there are those who claimed to be in the most inner of de Montsimquiou's circles, it is unclear how much they actually knew of him. Roger was widely believed to have had a lover, as when asked about affection, he replied, "Oh, I know love... I would perish without it... I know what it gives and takes, and even granted that knowledge, I surrender to it completely... a truly and more sacred light that permeates the infinite soul and envelopes the mortal corpse like a letter sealed with granite. However, that woman you, sir, have recently grown a fancy toward, offers nothing more than a crumpled paper with brittle wax that will crumble upon the faintest breath of the next man who catches her smile." The identity of such a lover was never disclosed, though a selection of possibilities had been previously debated, including Otto von Austwein, Gabriel Soretti, and Edward Samthwaithe, the 6th Earl of Doustsimshire.
On September 5, 1884, Katchadorian wrote, "The other half has finally arrived. R. has been here almost two weeks, and I thought he would take to death of separation from his beloved Paul." After a lengthy passage about laundry, she continues, "P. is a really nice young man, and R. loves him to bits. He's not the kind of friend I would have ever imagined for R. Not striking at all, with that shock of red hair and those gaunt cheeks and ruddy eyes, like he's always just woke from bed. For all that R. watches himself in the mirror, I'd thought he'd like someone more dark and posed, like himself."
Of the known acquaintances of de Montsimquiou, only Paul Miderot, an unsuccessful writer, fits that description. Historians had never considered Miderot as the lover, as Roger had barely mentioned him in all of his letters and even, only then, on passing guest lists for events. Not much was previously known of Paul Miderot. Accounts recall him as extremely intelligent, learned extensively in the Classics, but somewhat awkward and distant socially. In a letter to her niece, Maria Arclovich described him as "fidgeting, always so much to say, to share, but it never comes out correctly. A rather glum sort, that infectious sadness that makes me want to avoid him, but still sad enough that I can't, out of pity. He doesn't drink at all, can you believe it? I think it would help him immensely." He had published a few poems to mostly indifferent receptions. One critic said of Paul's Ode to the Winter's Night, "heaps of creativity, all the right ideas, but all the wrong delivery."
Katchadorian paints a woeful picture of Miderot as well. "P., though just as tall as R., always seems kind of hunched, like he's carrying something very, very heavy that you can't see--that no one would ever want to see. I think R. sees it. Anyone else in their right mind would turn P out, but R. lets him in. Very sweet. Foolish." She had rather great admiration for their relationship, referring to it as stronger and more joyous than most she had seen. "Had I not known that R. returned from abroad last night, I still could tell by the air. When they are both here it is a house of mirth, a very happy place, folks songs on the breeze, like cinnamon and bread." Katchadorian noted, "R. gone last night. A shadow falls over this home when it's just P. Sometimes, I don't think I would like to be alone in the house with just P. Thank God for Thumbtack [her nickname for the Portuguese gardener/handyman who was the only other permanent resident] being around, even though he doesn't speak a lick of Simlish. It can just crush one. I need a buffer. I know P. doesn't mean to be that way. It just scares me so sometimes."
Often de Montsimquiou would allow friends to use the home, when both he and Paul were away. Katchadorian did not like such arrangements very much. She was far more tolerant toward the promiscuity of men than those of women, whom she would frequently refer to quite derogatorily in her diary. "A no-good w****. A painted hussy, girdled up, twisted like in a sausage casing. I hope R. never lets her use the house anymore. M V. seemed to be a very nice gentleman though. Shame who he chooses to spend his time with." Roger and Paul never entertained guests while they were there, and Katchadorian mentioned it "to be a shame. No one ever knows the air when they are together. I'm lucky that way. Maybe Thumbtack is lucky too, but I don't think he knows much at all. I swear I spent an hour trying to get him to bring in white thread when he goes to town this afternoon."
In the spring of 1888, she recorded some modifications to the house. "Noisy today. They are taking out the lovely marble from the bedroom. It has these strips of yellow and gold throughout, but R. said that P. can't have the yellow. I asked him why, but he wouldn't say. I asked him if it was all yellow, and he said no. Just the very bright kind, like a daffodil. I said the happy kind? R. scowled at me." She noted a change in Paul as well. "P. is worse than ever. And R. is here with him. R. is never sad, he is never not together. But he seems... worried... scared." From an entry on July 26, 1888: "P. is always writing now. And not like R. writes. R. sits at his desk in the parlor and writes his letters, smiling to himself, chuckling with the conversation before him. P. broods. He writes upstairs in the little study. I don't have to go up there. I don't want to. It's angry and sad and mean and terrifying. I had to go up the bedroom earlier, and I saw the lamplight from underneath the door. It was light, but it was like not light at the same time. Like something else was seeping out."
From August 11th: "P. was in the hall talking to the mirror. Reciting lines, holding his arm out in a heroic pose. I was carrying the dishes from coffee in the parlor back to the kitchen. I felt hopeful, thought he was having some fun. Performing a play, sir? I said as I came near. I then saw into the mirror. Oh my God, what did I see?!?! It was like him. No. It was something else, but for only a second. A moment, It was not him, but a thing, like him, but not. Like it was wearing of mask of P. P. turned to me, and I saw his face. I dropped the dishes, but it didn't make a noise. There was no color to him like he'd died, tears ran down his face, sticking in his red, unshaven stubble. His eyes so puffy and sore, like he'd been crying for years... My blood froze, it was like I was leaving me... He looked at me, and something in his eyes pleaded with me... I was so scared. I couldn't move. It was forever, but really only a second or two. He said that the first act came out so easily and that everything now was just stuck, trapped. I gasped and I came back and ran to the basement and out the carriage door. I stopped at the road and looked back. R. was on the porch lighting the fire. I went around back up to him. I didn't even get to say anything, he just saw how shaken I was and he came up and held me for a moment. That was the first time he'd ever hugged me. He said he knew and that I should go into town. I only spent a hour at town, since it was already evening. When I got back, the mirror in the hall was gone, and R. must have picked up the broken dishes. And the house was silent."
Katchadorian makes no more mention of Paul until December 14, 1888: "R. and P. left this morning. Together, which is odd, as they have always come and gone at different times. It was a very long autumn, seemed like the leaves turned so slowly, while every other year you can blink and the trees are bare. I hate to say it, but it is all P. I used to think he carried a weight with him, but it's the other way around. Something pulls at him. Only R. has been there to hold him up. Before they went, R. came to me and told me things would be better now, that P. finished last night. And I think he is right. Even though it's just Thumbtack and me left here, the house is feeling fuller now. Brighter. Safer."
When Roger and Paul returned to the Lovers' Rendezvous, it was in the spring of 1889. "Like they left, R. and P. have come back together. R. seemed happy, said he had great holidays. I then remembered I had gotten daffodils from my trip in town a few days before. They were still fresh in a vase on the dining table. I started apologizing and that I would throw them out right away. But R. stopped me. He looked at P, and P. said that it was alright now. And he smiled. It seems silly, but I'm not sure I'd seen P. smile like that before, where it didn't look like there was a sadness inside that was trying to tug down the corners..."
Katchadorian's diary goes on to describe five more happy years as a maid for the gentleman dandy and his lover. The entries are fairly mundane and much farther apart, and no more are twinged with the darkness of those in 1888. In 1894, the last year of the diary, Rachel, at 26, became engaged to a carpenter named Guy, and, understandably, her entries gain frequency, hinting that she'd found a love like that of her employers.
October 19, 1894: "I've been so busy. Last week, R. told me that he plans to sell this house, and that he'd like me to come work at his main home in [LOCATION WITHHELD]. That is, if it was okay with G. and me! I said of course, G. has been speaking of moving to the city. This should light a fire for him, no better reason to pack your bags than to follow your love! Been preparing to leave for [LOCATION WITHHELD], packing, working out lodgings for G. there, and making lists and notes for the new lady who will manage this place until it is sold. R. says the house is no longer fashionable, not that anyone ever saw him here but P. Was finishing up the inventory of the china on the porch last evening. P. came up to me. He sat down at the table with me and said he was sorry for those years ago. We had never spoken of it, like it had never happened, and I had locked it away so tight that I wasn't sure at first what he was referring to. I didn't know what to say, so I just kind of smiled. He said that he hadn't meant to scare me. That it had gotten a hold of him. I asked him what it was, and then he just gave me a little smile back. He continued. It came to him, because it knew it could get in, and that just like everything else he wouldn't be able to get it out correctly, or even at all. That it grew in him. P. said he hated being sad all the time, and hated what it did to everyone near him. He said he was sorry so many times. I told him but it got better and that there's been many happy years since then. He put his hand over mine on the table, and smiled again said he knows. He told me it left him, that it was gone, it was in the words now. I wanted to ask him what all he meant, but he said thank you, stood up, wished me a goodnight, and returned inside. P. has changed so much over the years. He is still the awkward looking man, thin and pale, but with the look of a man that knew of horrors, not one living with them."
Rachel would leave the following day for the de Montsimquiou's main residence, and with that the story ends.
The riddle of the identity of Roger de Montsimquiou's lover has finally been solved with Katchadorian's diary, however, it has only opened the the door to a greater mystery...
Did Paul Miderot really pen the mythical play, The Sim in Yellow, whose notoriously sinister second act is said to drive those who read it into the inescapable depths of madness?
Lovers' Rendezvous
3 bedrooms (master on the upper floor and two smaller ones in the basement)
2.5 bathrooms
Furnished price: 203,206
Unfurnished: 130,025
Lot size: 30x30
Version: 1.50.56 (Current patch as of March 7, 2013)
Games used: All EPs up to and including Seasons, except Generations. I only used items from Outdoor Living. No other SP was used.
Store Content (Optional)
Gothic Glamour Living Room- Technophobic's Terror Television - Looks pretty, but not at all vital, any flatscreen television that can fit above a mantle will work.
Creator's Note
I used a significant amount of CFE to construct this home, as a result the mansard roof above the frieze and cornices is "anchored" at certain points on half-height CFEed walls. Modifications of these walls will likely disrupt the roofing. MOO was used extensively as well. All the decorative, sideways cornices were moved off-grid ever-so-slightly to avoid clipping.
There are fire alarms near each fireplace, often hidden behind tall furniture.
I had a blast building this home and formulating a long and silly back story while doing so. I hope you enjoy it as well!
Lot Size: 3x3
Lot Price: 203,206
The recent discovery of the diary of Miss Rachel Katchadorian, the Armenian live-in maid of Roger de Montsimquiou, has shed a new light of information on the architecturally stunning, though mysterious house at [LOCATION WITHHELD] in the cozy town of [LOCATION WITHHELD] and those who lived there.
Roger de Montsimquiou was a well-known gentleman and dandy. He was widely popular in the circles of the nobility, the bohemian world of art and poetry, cliques of musicians and composers, the vaults of old money, and even the purses of nouveau riche American expatriates. While not difficult to fall prey to his charm and intellect, it was far more a challenge to gain his approval, as Roger held notoriously high standards. Jean-David Moreau, Comte de Menesclou once astonishingly remarked in a letter to his fiancé, "I actually have the feeling that Roger believes me to be alright, that he might tolerate, nay, desire my company. It is a blessing, really, but not a true blessing. The Almighty God isn't that discerning! But a beatification from de Montsimquiou... I must have that, how do you say, je ne sais quoi he so fervently demands from his associates!" Roger was himself one of the greatest epistolarians of his age, who frequently praised the creativity and wit of others, whilst damning anyone he found pedestrian in his countless letters. He wrote, "I am constantly required to invent novel ways to describe one as boring, lest I become such myself. I could remedy this by never engaging with new people, but where's the fun in that?"
In late 1882, construction began on the home at [LOCATION WITHHELD]. By the autumn of 1884 the building was complete, as letters to and from de Montsimquiou began bearing the address. However, Katchadorian's diary begins that summer, when she moved into the home. She describes the home as "marvelous, yet a tad on the small-ish side for all the money he's throwing at it." From the onset, Rachel referred to the house as the Lovers' Rendezvous, apparently privy to its purpose even before her arrival. She wrote, "Construction continues noisily. Heavy and unusual rains this past spring prevented the fancy bits outside from being done on time. The bricklayers are a loud bunch and use such words that I'm not sure I want to know. The woodcarvers, however, are nice and one whistles such quaint tunes while he works on the wood for the hearths."
While Roger de Montsimquiou wrote constantly (mostly of everyone else), he was rather secretive with the personal details of his private life. Roger loved a good conversation and was a superb listener. He was frequently known to indiscriminately share all of the information he had heard, evidently so much so that the phrase "to roger up," synonymous with sharing only the juiciest of gossip, was popular in the vernacular. But of his own doings, he was noticeably silent. Katchadorian's diary, however, provides great insight to the very guarded gentleman.
While there are those who claimed to be in the most inner of de Montsimquiou's circles, it is unclear how much they actually knew of him. Roger was widely believed to have had a lover, as when asked about affection, he replied, "Oh, I know love... I would perish without it... I know what it gives and takes, and even granted that knowledge, I surrender to it completely... a truly and more sacred light that permeates the infinite soul and envelopes the mortal corpse like a letter sealed with granite. However, that woman you, sir, have recently grown a fancy toward, offers nothing more than a crumpled paper with brittle wax that will crumble upon the faintest breath of the next man who catches her smile." The identity of such a lover was never disclosed, though a selection of possibilities had been previously debated, including Otto von Austwein, Gabriel Soretti, and Edward Samthwaithe, the 6th Earl of Doustsimshire.
On September 5, 1884, Katchadorian wrote, "The other half has finally arrived. R. has been here almost two weeks, and I thought he would take to death of separation from his beloved Paul." After a lengthy passage about laundry, she continues, "P. is a really nice young man, and R. loves him to bits. He's not the kind of friend I would have ever imagined for R. Not striking at all, with that shock of red hair and those gaunt cheeks and ruddy eyes, like he's always just woke from bed. For all that R. watches himself in the mirror, I'd thought he'd like someone more dark and posed, like himself."
Of the known acquaintances of de Montsimquiou, only Paul Miderot, an unsuccessful writer, fits that description. Historians had never considered Miderot as the lover, as Roger had barely mentioned him in all of his letters and even, only then, on passing guest lists for events. Not much was previously known of Paul Miderot. Accounts recall him as extremely intelligent, learned extensively in the Classics, but somewhat awkward and distant socially. In a letter to her niece, Maria Arclovich described him as "fidgeting, always so much to say, to share, but it never comes out correctly. A rather glum sort, that infectious sadness that makes me want to avoid him, but still sad enough that I can't, out of pity. He doesn't drink at all, can you believe it? I think it would help him immensely." He had published a few poems to mostly indifferent receptions. One critic said of Paul's Ode to the Winter's Night, "heaps of creativity, all the right ideas, but all the wrong delivery."
Katchadorian paints a woeful picture of Miderot as well. "P., though just as tall as R., always seems kind of hunched, like he's carrying something very, very heavy that you can't see--that no one would ever want to see. I think R. sees it. Anyone else in their right mind would turn P out, but R. lets him in. Very sweet. Foolish." She had rather great admiration for their relationship, referring to it as stronger and more joyous than most she had seen. "Had I not known that R. returned from abroad last night, I still could tell by the air. When they are both here it is a house of mirth, a very happy place, folks songs on the breeze, like cinnamon and bread." Katchadorian noted, "R. gone last night. A shadow falls over this home when it's just P. Sometimes, I don't think I would like to be alone in the house with just P. Thank God for Thumbtack [her nickname for the Portuguese gardener/handyman who was the only other permanent resident] being around, even though he doesn't speak a lick of Simlish. It can just crush one. I need a buffer. I know P. doesn't mean to be that way. It just scares me so sometimes."
Often de Montsimquiou would allow friends to use the home, when both he and Paul were away. Katchadorian did not like such arrangements very much. She was far more tolerant toward the promiscuity of men than those of women, whom she would frequently refer to quite derogatorily in her diary. "A no-good w****. A painted hussy, girdled up, twisted like in a sausage casing. I hope R. never lets her use the house anymore. M V. seemed to be a very nice gentleman though. Shame who he chooses to spend his time with." Roger and Paul never entertained guests while they were there, and Katchadorian mentioned it "to be a shame. No one ever knows the air when they are together. I'm lucky that way. Maybe Thumbtack is lucky too, but I don't think he knows much at all. I swear I spent an hour trying to get him to bring in white thread when he goes to town this afternoon."
In the spring of 1888, she recorded some modifications to the house. "Noisy today. They are taking out the lovely marble from the bedroom. It has these strips of yellow and gold throughout, but R. said that P. can't have the yellow. I asked him why, but he wouldn't say. I asked him if it was all yellow, and he said no. Just the very bright kind, like a daffodil. I said the happy kind? R. scowled at me." She noted a change in Paul as well. "P. is worse than ever. And R. is here with him. R. is never sad, he is never not together. But he seems... worried... scared." From an entry on July 26, 1888: "P. is always writing now. And not like R. writes. R. sits at his desk in the parlor and writes his letters, smiling to himself, chuckling with the conversation before him. P. broods. He writes upstairs in the little study. I don't have to go up there. I don't want to. It's angry and sad and mean and terrifying. I had to go up the bedroom earlier, and I saw the lamplight from underneath the door. It was light, but it was like not light at the same time. Like something else was seeping out."
From August 11th: "P. was in the hall talking to the mirror. Reciting lines, holding his arm out in a heroic pose. I was carrying the dishes from coffee in the parlor back to the kitchen. I felt hopeful, thought he was having some fun. Performing a play, sir? I said as I came near. I then saw into the mirror. Oh my God, what did I see?!?! It was like him. No. It was something else, but for only a second. A moment, It was not him, but a thing, like him, but not. Like it was wearing of mask of P. P. turned to me, and I saw his face. I dropped the dishes, but it didn't make a noise. There was no color to him like he'd died, tears ran down his face, sticking in his red, unshaven stubble. His eyes so puffy and sore, like he'd been crying for years... My blood froze, it was like I was leaving me... He looked at me, and something in his eyes pleaded with me... I was so scared. I couldn't move. It was forever, but really only a second or two. He said that the first act came out so easily and that everything now was just stuck, trapped. I gasped and I came back and ran to the basement and out the carriage door. I stopped at the road and looked back. R. was on the porch lighting the fire. I went around back up to him. I didn't even get to say anything, he just saw how shaken I was and he came up and held me for a moment. That was the first time he'd ever hugged me. He said he knew and that I should go into town. I only spent a hour at town, since it was already evening. When I got back, the mirror in the hall was gone, and R. must have picked up the broken dishes. And the house was silent."
Katchadorian makes no more mention of Paul until December 14, 1888: "R. and P. left this morning. Together, which is odd, as they have always come and gone at different times. It was a very long autumn, seemed like the leaves turned so slowly, while every other year you can blink and the trees are bare. I hate to say it, but it is all P. I used to think he carried a weight with him, but it's the other way around. Something pulls at him. Only R. has been there to hold him up. Before they went, R. came to me and told me things would be better now, that P. finished last night. And I think he is right. Even though it's just Thumbtack and me left here, the house is feeling fuller now. Brighter. Safer."
When Roger and Paul returned to the Lovers' Rendezvous, it was in the spring of 1889. "Like they left, R. and P. have come back together. R. seemed happy, said he had great holidays. I then remembered I had gotten daffodils from my trip in town a few days before. They were still fresh in a vase on the dining table. I started apologizing and that I would throw them out right away. But R. stopped me. He looked at P, and P. said that it was alright now. And he smiled. It seems silly, but I'm not sure I'd seen P. smile like that before, where it didn't look like there was a sadness inside that was trying to tug down the corners..."
Katchadorian's diary goes on to describe five more happy years as a maid for the gentleman dandy and his lover. The entries are fairly mundane and much farther apart, and no more are twinged with the darkness of those in 1888. In 1894, the last year of the diary, Rachel, at 26, became engaged to a carpenter named Guy, and, understandably, her entries gain frequency, hinting that she'd found a love like that of her employers.
October 19, 1894: "I've been so busy. Last week, R. told me that he plans to sell this house, and that he'd like me to come work at his main home in [LOCATION WITHHELD]. That is, if it was okay with G. and me! I said of course, G. has been speaking of moving to the city. This should light a fire for him, no better reason to pack your bags than to follow your love! Been preparing to leave for [LOCATION WITHHELD], packing, working out lodgings for G. there, and making lists and notes for the new lady who will manage this place until it is sold. R. says the house is no longer fashionable, not that anyone ever saw him here but P. Was finishing up the inventory of the china on the porch last evening. P. came up to me. He sat down at the table with me and said he was sorry for those years ago. We had never spoken of it, like it had never happened, and I had locked it away so tight that I wasn't sure at first what he was referring to. I didn't know what to say, so I just kind of smiled. He said that he hadn't meant to scare me. That it had gotten a hold of him. I asked him what it was, and then he just gave me a little smile back. He continued. It came to him, because it knew it could get in, and that just like everything else he wouldn't be able to get it out correctly, or even at all. That it grew in him. P. said he hated being sad all the time, and hated what it did to everyone near him. He said he was sorry so many times. I told him but it got better and that there's been many happy years since then. He put his hand over mine on the table, and smiled again said he knows. He told me it left him, that it was gone, it was in the words now. I wanted to ask him what all he meant, but he said thank you, stood up, wished me a goodnight, and returned inside. P. has changed so much over the years. He is still the awkward looking man, thin and pale, but with the look of a man that knew of horrors, not one living with them."
Rachel would leave the following day for the de Montsimquiou's main residence, and with that the story ends.
The riddle of the identity of Roger de Montsimquiou's lover has finally been solved with Katchadorian's diary, however, it has only opened the the door to a greater mystery...
Did Paul Miderot really pen the mythical play, The Sim in Yellow, whose notoriously sinister second act is said to drive those who read it into the inescapable depths of madness?
Lovers' Rendezvous
3 bedrooms (master on the upper floor and two smaller ones in the basement)
2.5 bathrooms
Furnished price: 203,206
Unfurnished: 130,025
Lot size: 30x30
Version: 1.50.56 (Current patch as of March 7, 2013)
Games used: All EPs up to and including Seasons, except Generations. I only used items from Outdoor Living. No other SP was used.
Store Content (Optional)
Gothic Glamour Living Room- Technophobic's Terror Television - Looks pretty, but not at all vital, any flatscreen television that can fit above a mantle will work.
Creator's Note
I used a significant amount of CFE to construct this home, as a result the mansard roof above the frieze and cornices is "anchored" at certain points on half-height CFEed walls. Modifications of these walls will likely disrupt the roofing. MOO was used extensively as well. All the decorative, sideways cornices were moved off-grid ever-so-slightly to avoid clipping.
There are fire alarms near each fireplace, often hidden behind tall furniture.
I had a blast building this home and formulating a long and silly back story while doing so. I hope you enjoy it as well!
Lot Size: 3x3
Lot Price: 203,206
+ 