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| - Sometimes you need a change of scenery. We arrived two hours ago, just when Lisou arose from her slumber. Jos was curled up, briefly asleep, looking like an Iego cherub in the dawn light coming down into the limo. I couldn’t write in my diary then, since I was too consumed with that divine vision seated next to me. Right now, he is tucked under the covers, in the Candy Box Suite at the far end of the hall. I’m here in my accustomed bedchamber, in the window seat, with my indigo silk coverlet draped over my shoulders.
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| abstract
| - Sometimes you need a change of scenery. We arrived two hours ago, just when Lisou arose from her slumber. Jos was curled up, briefly asleep, looking like an Iego cherub in the dawn light coming down into the limo. I couldn’t write in my diary then, since I was too consumed with that divine vision seated next to me. Right now, he is tucked under the covers, in the Candy Box Suite at the far end of the hall. I’m here in my accustomed bedchamber, in the window seat, with my indigo silk coverlet draped over my shoulders. Here comes the wind, swimming through the window. The coral and aquamarine bed veils flutter outwards, only on the top since they’re bound in canopy form to the four posts. Sometimes, the effect of wind-driven tapestries looks like a sky rising up to meet the ceiling. It reminds me of those times I’ve been blessed to ride through the clouds on Bespin. Three visits to the world made of Tibanna gas have given me the barest but tantalizing glimpse of the other worlds that lie far away from Deiu. Riding along with the thrantas while in a cloud car is definitely one of the most exhilarating experiences I will ever have in this lifetime. Life is a contrast of contradictions. Take the homes of two brothers. The Quodris manse is ornate on the inside, grim on the outside. Gold, pink and acidic green predominate, interwoven into overly simplistic and puffy fancy ceiling paintings strewn with vaguely artistic nude females being utilized as accessories by muscular demigods. And the columns—blue Vourosi seastone, creamy aradicite, black obsidio, all towering like old growth redwoods, meant to impress the observer about the magnificence of he who inhabits and holds the keys to the place. But it also reflects the great insecurity that hides in the alcoves of a man who wields power. The outside of Mtah Di’sallach’s home is unlike the cushy and pompous interior rooms. It’s big and brown, very masculine, cold, and forbidding. Here at Lord Reunhan’s manse, things are quite different. Start with the carmine brickwork paired with ivory marble on the outside. One could say this combination is gaudy. But that would be wrong. Think instead of it as exuberant. The interior is grandiose and attractive. Unlike the rooms in the Prestat's house, the public parts of this mansion are different than the private spots where he and his family can relax. Bright shades of multiple colors in the shinosherie style are combined together in the music room, which adds an extra touch of giddiness when I sit down at the cantachord and do a few songs at one of the intimate affairs His Lordship holds every so often. There are the arches flowing up in curves over doorways, carved moldings brushed with coppery aurichalcum, and porcelain tiles painted with feathery brushstrokes...it's wonderful around here. Then there are the bedrooms. Goddess All, each one is a treat for the eyes. The suite where Josym has taken up residence is a mixed spicy confection of scarlet and white, hence the nickname "The Candy Box Suite". My bedchamber is filled with jewel tones, all picked out by me when I first came here. The others are sumptuous and simple, unique but unified in providing comfortable spaces to rest a weary head at night. This sojourn away from the manse of Quodris is what Josym needs to restore his spirit, turning it from bleak to bright however long he needs to stay. Even if part of the reason for him to spend the Season under the aegis of his uncle is to find him a wife. Is jealousy lingering in my heart? Perhaps. It makes no sense to feel envious of a woman who is inevitable for his future. One of the first lessons taught at the Cortigiamira is that a courtesan can never hope to marry her benefactor. I understand the truth...but it hurts.
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