Miller Harris L'air de Rien

My house is resinous and translucent. The sunlight floats in like powdered fire, and even as the walls crumble they rebuild themselves.

I'm alone here, but who knows who was with me last night, when the moon was new and it's light feeble?

The leather chair holds me in familiar arms. In the golden light, the warm leather, the familiar room, everything is well and good. I watch the horses graze, as they chew unselfconscious of observation.

I was alone last night, but what does it matter?

Amber by Sage EDT

First, there is a Victorian fireplace, with a genuine replica Egyptian cat statuette resting on the mantle, along with a slipper orchid. The embers are the only visual hint that there was once a roaring fire, though the hearth is still warm and relaxing for dance-worn muscles. A woman relaxes, her hair falling out of the careful twist, her dress wrinkled, her lipstick gone. Her hands ripple through the air in memory of the waltzes she has danced. She can feel her cat purring through her little pink toenails.