The Dream of Castles

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They flit from room to room like insects, as if afraid to light too long in one place. Chuck and Lucy, my owners and occupants; anxiety broadcast in every movement and posture, a wordless reproach. I cannot help; they should be soothed, calmed, but not now, not now.

CUE TROMBONES.

In their hands the weapons gleam, machine oil black and gunmetal gray, reflecting in the light cast back by my windows. White diode frames angled outward around every opening; nothing must be backlit, nothing must be visible from outside except glare.

CUT TREBLE 5.2 dB. ENHANCE BASS 1.4 dB. CUE ORCHESTRA.

The music hits them like a call to battle, flowing through their hearts and minds and muscles, filling them, standing them up taller and straighter. The first rays of Sun break over the rooftops at precisely the same moment, filling the living spaces with warm light, and I am satisfied to see that my timing is satisfactory, my instincts true. Their faces break with fierce, almost fearless grins.

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