The mansion was very old. On the inside, a decadent past had been preserved within the thick stone walls, an accumulation of oldness that once tried to impress. The ceilings were high and the curtains draped heavy and dusty. I can still see myself walking past the multiple living rooms. My three year old at my hip, bathing suit and flip-flops, hair in a wet bun. We are carrying a colourful plastic collection of swimming pool toys. We pass by quickly as to not offend the furniture with our informal and modern life look.

A familiar feeling had taken hold of me during my stay in the mansion. I had felt the ghostly energy of things that have been left intact while time had passed. The sadness and desperation of a nostalgia that in this case, was not even mine.

Decadence means decay. At its beginnings it can feel magnificent, excessive, alive. But as decay spreads, the wealth that once made it possible disappears, and all that is left is a facade. One that is quickly covered in dust and melancholy and transforms into a ghostly sight.