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Dream Home
Mar. 22nd, 2006 08:41 amI have always been fond of the Royal Palace, which is most fortunate, as I shall, in all likelihood, spend the rest of my life in it once I leave this station. It is a rare thing to reconcile the architectural style of several centuries into one harmonious whole, and the Royal Palace has been build and rebuild under various Emperors, each with their very own design to inflict their taste on the entire oeuvre, yes? But somehow, this happened. One our legend claims that the very first Emperor, tired of a lifetime of war - it was he who defeated the Xon for good, you know - told his architect to take the dream a dying man would have on the battlefield, that dream conjuring up perfect beauty, and set it into stone. We Centauri take our dreams quite seriously, of course, but the poor architect found this instruction to be somewhat on the abstract side, until he recalled that every dying man dreams of water. Thus, he created the splendour of fountains and gardens which adorn the Royal Palace and have become the model for Centauri architectural beauty ever since.
And yet, I cannot claim that this is truly the home my hearts desire - either of them. No.
My grandfather used to own an estate on the island of Celini, and as a boy, I once spent a summer there. It was nothing more than a summer house, nowhere near the magnificence of the town estates of House Mollari, but for the majority of my visit, I was very happy there. As most boys do, I liked to swim, to stroll on the beach, breathing in the salty air, and I even persuaded the fishermen to take me with them on some of their expeditions. Naturally, I did not catch many fish, but this was beside the point, yes? The house itself, a modest affair in shades of faded brown and purple, smelled of old arkenwood and the perfume my grandfather's third wife, who lived there, used. She was feared for her sharp tongue, and had somehow managed to secure my grandfather's library after his death, despite the competition from his other widows; perhaps because, as she pointed out, she was the only one who enjoyed reading scrolls and volumes instead of data crystals anyway (though the other wives were interested in the collection for its obvious financial value; these were hard times for House Mollari, alas). Consequently, the library was the only room in the house with a modern security shielding, to keep the humidity away; entering it, one felt as joining another world entirely, one of dry air and the smell of paper and ink. I liked this room as much as the rest, for the contrast, and because even as a boy, I was fond of words. (Coming of my own mouth, my friend Urza would have added upon reading this, and would have laughed.)
Sometimes, I dream of this house. I dream of bringing Vir there, and Urza's children and, Great Maker, Timov. Sometimes, I even dream of what never was and never can be; of walking on the beach with Adira at my side, feeling the sand under my bare feet. I dream of smelling the scent of arkenwood and perfume again and writing foolish poetry, as I dreamt of doing as a young man.
But of course this house was destroyed, utterly and entirely, when the island of Celini exploded into destruction, along with everyone one of our people still on that island and the cursed creatures that had their base there. This tells you something about my dreams, yes?
And yet, I cannot claim that this is truly the home my hearts desire - either of them. No.
My grandfather used to own an estate on the island of Celini, and as a boy, I once spent a summer there. It was nothing more than a summer house, nowhere near the magnificence of the town estates of House Mollari, but for the majority of my visit, I was very happy there. As most boys do, I liked to swim, to stroll on the beach, breathing in the salty air, and I even persuaded the fishermen to take me with them on some of their expeditions. Naturally, I did not catch many fish, but this was beside the point, yes? The house itself, a modest affair in shades of faded brown and purple, smelled of old arkenwood and the perfume my grandfather's third wife, who lived there, used. She was feared for her sharp tongue, and had somehow managed to secure my grandfather's library after his death, despite the competition from his other widows; perhaps because, as she pointed out, she was the only one who enjoyed reading scrolls and volumes instead of data crystals anyway (though the other wives were interested in the collection for its obvious financial value; these were hard times for House Mollari, alas). Consequently, the library was the only room in the house with a modern security shielding, to keep the humidity away; entering it, one felt as joining another world entirely, one of dry air and the smell of paper and ink. I liked this room as much as the rest, for the contrast, and because even as a boy, I was fond of words. (Coming of my own mouth, my friend Urza would have added upon reading this, and would have laughed.)
Sometimes, I dream of this house. I dream of bringing Vir there, and Urza's children and, Great Maker, Timov. Sometimes, I even dream of what never was and never can be; of walking on the beach with Adira at my side, feeling the sand under my bare feet. I dream of smelling the scent of arkenwood and perfume again and writing foolish poetry, as I dreamt of doing as a young man.
But of course this house was destroyed, utterly and entirely, when the island of Celini exploded into destruction, along with everyone one of our people still on that island and the cursed creatures that had their base there. This tells you something about my dreams, yes?
