Welcome to the Inner Sanctum of the Moon and Stars.
Welcome to my home.
Welcome to my sitting room.
Welcome to my living room.
Welcome to my bedroom.
Welcome to my boudoir.
Through my outer gates you enter, stroll across my courtyard to the heavy oak doors before you, open wide to receive you. You invitation is for further in.
Past the doors, you enter my sitting room, so classy and proper, a place you'd like to linger, but your invitation is for further in.
You enter my living room. Not as organized, not as clean, not as proper as my sitting room. Not a room to entertain strangers, but a room used, a room to spend time with friends and family. Friends like you. But this isn't a time to sit and spend time talking. Your invitation is for further in.
Passing my larder on the left, you come to another set of double doors, filling the end of the hall. These doors are the whitish red of hazel intricately carved with a scene you recognize as Atremis, naked, hunting with her hounds. Cautiously you approach, unsure about going further. But as you approach, the doors swing slowly and quietly outward, opening for you. You step inside. Your invitation is for further in.
Before you is a large bedroom of all whites and light purples. The bed in the middle is large enough for four, but looks to only have been slept in by one, in the middle of the bed. The bed is covered with fur blankets and downy pillows, like lavender and white clouds, bunched up like a nest around the place someone recently was curled up sleeping. Above the bed is a canopy of various layers of white and lavender and violet, half hiding the bed, half revealing it. You find yourself wishing this lady was still in the bed, still curled up in those blankets and pillows, that you could free yourself of your clothes and crawl in beside her, feel the softness of the sheets, the weight of the blankets, the shock of your skin against hers. But you shake your dreams off and look beyond the bed. There's many figurines and mirrors and sculptures and works of art that catch your eye, but you are drawn to the double doors beyond the bed. Your invitation is for further in.
These doors are also carved, from ash this time. They depict an image of Despoena, bathing in a pool. These doors also open for you, and a fresh breeze carrying perfume like none you've ever smelled brushes gently yet insistently against you. You step into my boudoir and find me waiting for you. My eyes are only for you, and your only for me, the boudoir itself lost to both of us. And I open for you. Your invitation is for further in.