But my favorite place?
The library.
Every evening, I curl up in the window seat or on the settee by the fire with Sparrow on my lap and a cup of tea on the table beside me. Sometimes I read until the candlelight blurs the words. Sometimes I just watch the fire, letting its warmth sink into my bones. The silence is different there. It isn’t empty—it’sfull. Of history. Of voices and stories and maybe even secrets. Sometimes I catch myself murmuring to the room, like it can hear me.
Maybe it can.
But when I really need someone to talk to, I have Drè.
"Hey Daddy," I whisper into my phone one night, burrowed under a fluffy throw blanket as Sparrow purrs softly against my hip.
"Hey, little peach." His deep voice comes through the speakerphone on my cell, warm and calm, grounding me like it always does.
"I think the house likes me," I murmur.
"That's good, babygirl. It should. You're incredibly likeable."
I smile, cheeks warming. Even though there is nothing romantic or flirty between us, I care for Drè deeply. He found me in one of the hardest times of my life—online, in a forum for people looking for platonic D/s style support. He became my safe place.
A protector in the dark.
And even though we've never met in person, I trust him more than most people I know in the real world.
"I feel like I'm meant to be here. Isn't that weird?"
"Not at all. Maybe that place needed you as much as you needed it."
I look around the library, letting my eyes settle on the worn spines of leatherbound books, the firelight dancing againstglass-framed portraits, the velvet curtain swaying ever so slightly despite the windows being closed.
"Maybe," I whisper. "But I don't know what I'm supposed todohere. I don't have to work anymore, and that's incredible, but... I feel like I need something. A purpose. A reason." I already feel better having gotten my worries off my chest.
"Then find one, little peach. Something that makes your heart flutter. Something that fills that clever head of yours with ideas. What doyouwant? Don't tell me what you think you should do. What do you want?"
I don’t answer right away. But I feel it starting to bloom inside me—curiosity. Inspiration. Wonder.
The house is filled with mysteries. Rooms that haven’t been opened in decades. Journals and ledgers in languages I don’t understand. Artifacts tucked away behind locked cabinets I am slowly figuring out how to open.
Every hallway I explore, every strange object I uncover, makes the manor feel more like mine. More like ahome.
Maybe that's the point.
Maybe this is the purpose.
The thought stays with me long after I'd end the call with Drè and watch the fire burn low in the hearth. It settles in the back of my mind as I drift to sleep, curled under layers of plush bedding in the master suite, Sparrow kneading gently at my side. And in the morning, it’s still there, stronger than before.
I wander through the halls with new eyes, touching the edges of faded tapestries brushing dust off carved molding, peeking into rooms that had been closed off for years. There is beauty in every corner—stories etched into every wall, whispered into every floorboard. I can feel it, aching to be seen. Shared.
It strikes me while I was standing in the east wing conservatory, the glass roof long smudged and cloudy with agebut still managing to catch the morning light in a way that makes the air glow gold.
People should see this.
Not just the grandeur. Not just the architecture or the antiques. But theheartof the place. The kindness I feel in every inch of it. The subtle, comforting presence that makes me feel safe, held, even cherished.
And more, protected. It looks after me, quietly, like it doesn’t want me to feel alone.
What if I can share that with other people, too?
What if Stonebound can be a refuge—not just for me, but for others?
