All throughout the Freeholds and Waypoints within the northern boundary of Creation’s skein, ‘The Laughing Queen of Amberlight Dreams’ struck delicious terror into the graces of every Raksha within. None dared speak her true moniker, for to do so would invite catastrophic attention from the bowels of Creation’s ashen shadow. The dark stasis of this ‘Underworld’ was so much worse than the calcifying rays of the horrid Spear of All-Searing Noon, and could not be prayed to or worshipped, like the Argent Maiden, to be passed over. Speaking of it risked bringing it into the summer and spring halls, and even the autumn and winter feasts thick with Sluagh and Spindly Kine, refused to acknowledge its existence. Instead dancing on and around the void, unable to take pleasure in any that stumbled into its depths, for the Abyss stares at you, bidden or not, but looking- oh, looking gave it power unrivalled.

For a Cast-out Prince of Paupers, however, the Laughing Queen of Amberlight Dreams was an opportunity to seize, a Lover to Exult, and a Queen of Domains so separate and distant from your own purview that there was no risk of antagonism or conflict or annexation.

Your plan; a Spectacular Spectacular. A Carnival so elaborate and fractal so as to ensnare every and any mortal, immortal, fae, demon, and more that dared to cross its pavilion’s thresholds. All you had to do was pitch it within a carefully selected freehold of considered standing. It needed to be high enough to compliment their potential union, but low enough not to harm your prospects if the deal went sour.

Just say her name, you tell yourself. The Lover Clad in the Raiment of tears would come if you just called her name, offered a tableau of goblins and ogres, and threw her a presentation party so intense, that it threatened to make the very circus you would suggest to be a pale grain of sand in comparison.

Nothing, really. Not for one of your noble birth and bearing.

Nothing at all.

Ah yes, to invoke the name of one most feared to assist in such a pittance of revenge. Casting out mother and reclaiming my throne only to turn my home into a even greater stage for an even grander circus would no doubt give such a being reason to stay her hand till my dealings are complete.

But now? I would abuse the love of those around me, those that wished my life kept safe and hidden away past the chancel gate we had stolen. Such a fitting place to hold such a carnival, a play that would decide my fate amongst what should have been the safest of places. Such irony would not be missed by a being of on high.

To design everything in perfection was to be the first step. Forming the entrance into a grand mixture of opera house, coliseum and carnival grounds would be no easy feat, and yet a name already whispered in my head, the Golden Theatre. Let the guests be wanderers who were only guided by subtle hands through the chancel. Some lead to the stands to observe the show, others destined to join in as meals for the lions or fools for the show. Feed them the illusions of beauty and grandeur my kin are known for as I carefully pull the part of the puppeteer. Yes they may leave, but who would want to?

Yet I could never smile upon such work, even having given it such effort. This was nothing but a parting sample of what it could be. Nothing among such a delusion would be perfect, even as I watched the crowds from behind the curtains. Even the rarer acts of forcing the patrons to squabble over minor riches to plays of true romance and death never seemed to reach the heights that would please me. Though that was also part of the truth behind the illusion, this place wasnt the one to host perfection, just the sliver of it to prove worth and ambition to the Lover.
The time had come, and it would come many more as I would continue to grow this sliver every step of the way until it consumes the very thing I covet and love, Home