Mar. 17th, 2006

birthrightgreen: (Everything has a price)
Home. It's not something I've given that much thought to in nearly 400 years. I had a home once. It wasn't very big. Just a few rooms, really. But it was safer and warmer than anywhere we'd been before. There were teachers and there was my mother. And then it was shattered.

I've lived most of my life without it. Hideaways here and there where I stashed my things, my money. An apartment, a town house, somewhere to go when I needed a break between jobs. But never for long. I spent most of my adult life renting rooms in this or that Red Moon house, taking appointments, earning a living.

[locked]
It's small. Nothing too elaborate. Just room for the two of us. Maybe the wolf. An extra room for guests. A smaller one for a child someday. There are books everywhere. Art on the walls. A fireplace with a rug in front of it and a comfortable couch. A decanter of brandy on a side table.

There's laughter. And there's love. There's healing. No demands. No shadows of the past. There are debates over philosophy. There's room to practice, to grow our Craft. A kitchen full of the best cookware. A round stone just for kneading bread.

It's warm. Close enough to town for the diversions, just outside of it enough for peace. No one knows who we are. No reputations follow us. It's safe.[/locked]

Home wasn't something I had the luxury of dreaming about. It wasn't for girls like me.

It still isn't.

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