Dream Home

[singindemonhq]

Some of my homes were built to please myself, (I guess most people would expect that.) I like big rooms with bare wooden floors, smooth and ready for dancing, slate can look interesting, too, but it’s too slippery. Wooden furniture, polished to bring out the grain, solid enough to be danced round or over. Lots of room. I like interesting shapes and – if you’ve seen the way I move you’d understand.

I guess I’ve had over a hundred homes, and that’s not counting the places I’ve stayed in during Gigs. I’ve had at least a hundred names and in some ways that’s the least of how they call me. I come, in part, from the imagination, and that means that I look and react and behave pretty much as you expect, especially if you’ve got really strong feelings about me. That means that some of the places were made to house a queen – but some were made to please one and those can vary a lot.

(I’m a glammer user, what do you expect? Just show me, you may get it in a way. Over the years, a bunch of them have expected a kind of seraglio set-up and liked it when they got it. They didn’t expect to go outside, women of rank didn’t do that, when they came from. They had servants and their personal suite, sometimes they visited my rooms [when I was around, which I mostly wasn’t after the first few months.] Bards and Amazons and so forth were usually more fun, but most human societies don’t produce them.)

Once upon a time, there was a queen who was different in a special way. Our home was unusual, too - I made that one to please us both. It was tucked into a hill that was steep enough to be called a cliff, on one side. The other was just a gentle slope.

Part of that place was standard mansion but part was special. The rooms there faced out over the view– the outer wall was curved, toughened glass and a waterfall poured down over part of it. When the sun was in the right part of the sky it sent rainbows dancing across the room inside.

That fall was part of a river, real living water. I’d expected the local equivalent of trout to come over with the stream, at times, but I was surprised when catfish hung themselves from the glass with sucker mouths and looked at us with eyes that seemed to be goggling in shocked curiosity. (I couldn’t pick up enough from them to matter, but they’d have had reason enough for shock, or envy, if they’d really watched the mammals. That honeymoon was long and educational. That was the least of it, though.)

She hated being shut in and the curved window gave her a panoramic view of the grounds – parkland stocked with game. She was out there a lot, at times – once upon a time. She was immune to most of my mojo including thrall. The whole romantic love thing grows out of courtship and difficulties, I knew that, I’ve seen it hundreds of times. Humans – with the others I could read them well enough be a step ahead in the dance, but

Once upon a time,



She wandered through the rooms as lightly as a flame.
She knew a home is just a place to share,
(I never seemed to call her by her proper name,
I watched the sunlight tangled in her hair.)

A roof, some walls and floors can't be a home because,
Without a life inside these things are chill,
If home is where the heart is then I guess she was,
the heart-deep warmth that ought to glow there still.
The house was just a place to put our home in.
A home should be the place you want to stay,
A home to be the focus of our roaming,

But that was long ago,
And far away.


Muse; Sweet the Singing Demon
Fandom BtVS

Words 665