I think winter may not come this year. Did you do that, Sweet Flyer? I know how you hate the cold. Any sort of cold. I love where we live. I love the skeletons in the closet, and the bats that fly in with messages exactly half way to dawn. I love the fire , and the candles. I love the way the stairs circle and twist. I will never tire of chasing you thru the garden and laughing with you under the old willow. I love it when you talk to the moon.
I like to know her secrets.
Moon told me a secret that was no secret last night, wile you were out and I was prowling. She said you are restless and not happy. I think you need a change. Is there somewhere we could go, my dear?
Eire, perhaps. You always loved it there. The fey are wilder and everywhere. We could sit once again in a small pub, just before closing and listen to fiddlers play. Little do they know where their tunes come from. Some may come from you. I know they have come from me. No matter if the locals are jealous, as they were before. You can bite them again. They hate that. Or love it. They are never clear. We will lure their fiddlers away with us , tho it always makes you laugh when the poor things wind up on the other side for years, or days, or moments. They are never much the same, but it makes for great music .
There is an island that we could go to, that no one knows, full of old gods and deeper mysteries , where no man or women has ever been. Pele lives there now, she of the fire, lightning, dance, volcanos and violence. Hawaiian women tell stories of her , and believe she lives yet at Kileuea, but I happen to know her sister chased her from there long ago. I know where she is, I could take you there. Yes, there are many volcanos and they might well suit your mood. We will no take anything from her, tho I know you laugh to think a god could curse You, or I for that matter. She may, however, give us something. At any rate the water is warm and clear, and shines like the turquoise you found in Persia, so long ago. There are jungles with beasties that walk nowhere else, and we can chase them for a while, instead of each other.
From what I hear, there are many hauntings in Nova Scotia, tho they tend to be mostly in old schools, and hotels. I wonder what they did to the poor children in such schools that they would continue to haunt them for so long? I know we do not go much for saving the children, rather Scaring the Children is more in our line, but it really doesn’t seem fair and if you are feeling nobel, perhaps we might clean the area up a bit. Or start a few hauntings of our own. It is very empty up there by the sea, and wild. You can see the fog roll in late at night, and run for miles without seeing anything but deer. And Elk. And wolves. Yes, I am hungry, but even I would not eat wolves. They are much like my children. I do like deer tho. And Elk.
Or if you want adventure, Wales, where I found you once, has never been tamed. Much anyway. They still tell tales of a female vampire who haunts Baron Hall, and it has been many years , as people do reckon, since we played that little joke. Vampire indeed! I still laugh to think about it. There are many magic places there, and doors. We do not have to stay Here, you know.
There are stars, and moon paths, and places where the light is neither day, nor night, light such as even you would love. There are places where the trees can talk and the flowers sing, tho not so lovely as you do. You can sing to the water and charm a kelpie . We could ride to them, these places, if you charmed a kelpie with you song.
Let’s go away for a bit, my dear. The butler, and his wife will care for the house in our absence. And we, as you know, have all the time there is.