Chapter 1 "The foundations of a house"

Only a couple of years ago, on some planet far far away, stood a big house. It was a female house which had a soul, she was strong and stable and stood the test of time. Bigger in height than in width, a mixed breed of dark red brick and birch wood, and she survived every storm there was, keeping her tenants safe.

There were many a rooms, many unoccupied. The house was owned by a very stereotypical fictional grandmother, Grandma Applehead. She was a short ample lady with short white curly hair who often wore green aprons and shower caps (that made her look like a harmless alien). She loved to bake fruit pies and clean and upgrade her rustic, colorful and traditional home.

The living room and kitchen were shared by all the tenants. They were BIG and BEAUTIFUL; colorful tiles, levels, wooden stairs, pretty counters, clay roosters, needlepoints, heavy polished chairs, detailed carpets, fruit baskets...And it always smelled like cleanliness and cinnamon.

However, only 3 people lived in the house. Even though it was an isolated house on an isolated planet, that wasn't really a problem because of the unique culture of that world. I think simply no one really heard of it, no one knew it was an option.

I would tell you more, but you have to tune in.

...

THE SECOND TENANT

She woke up and it was a monotonous morning. Rays of light stabbed the colorful glass of her window without even asking first. Kyrie rose in a simple white night gown and widely opened the window. The same old branch was still there. It was as if The Tree had grown it to keep her in check. Or perhaps Grandma Applehead asked it to, so her tenant could smell the luring scent of apple blossoms when time came.

As every day starts off, there really is nothing to do. Nothing to make it worth a diary entry. You have to really try, and often fail to find something weird.

She ran downstairs but no one was there in the joint living room/kitchen. No one was in the laundry room. The gryphon room was empty. The stuff room was really hollow when it came to people, but it was really not hollow when it came to stuff.

So she went outside and referred to The Tree and the guardian dragon.

"At least you're here." Kyrie said to her.

"I'm always here." The dragon's voice was deep and stable.

"Why? Don't you ever want to go fly?"

"I'm a noble animal, and this is my duty. I want to be here and protect the house."

"Well, do you know anything I could do today? Someplace I could go explore?"

"There is a mystery that was under your nose the whole time, but Grandma told me not to tell you unless you asked."

The dragoness moved and the ground beneath her opened up and presented a spiral staircase going under.

"It really was under my nose. Thanks, dragon!"

The girl was armed with nothing but a golden brown pretzel and messy hair and descended down the tiles. They were light pink and orange. Around the staircase there was nothing, just void. She wondered if she fell off to the side, would she ever meet a bottom.

Then there was a room behind a locked door. She couldn't see the walls around the door. It was like a hallway with no light on either side. And Kryie felt the hard bristles of a rug under her bare feet. She also felt a little scared.

"I watch enough TV to know where this goes!"

With a grin she flipped over the rug as if someone was watching her and she had to show off. The key was right there and she unlocked the room.

It wasn't what she expected; it was warm and rustic, like an extension of the house. She could hear rhythmic thumping. There were glass display cabinets with honey colored whiskey bottles. The room smelled like beeswax. Everywhere she looked she saw hung up pictures and documents. They were of financial nature, describing the price of construction material used to build the residence.

Big crumbles of wall were on the wooden floor. She looked up and the ceiling was fractured. The roots of The Tree had made their way there and climbed down. They led to the center of the room.

And right there, between the big fancy chairs was a casket made by the finest carpenter's hand. It was colored red and green with rose ornaments. And by the casket, a book in a glass case. With a push of a soft button the transparent box opened and she gently unfolded the book. It was fat and stuffed with little papers. But primarily, it was a photo and letter album. There were very old pictures in sepia and gray tones depicting a young Grandma Applehead with tight skin and her late husband.

There were pictures of them pouring cement, planting The Tree, holding peace signs next to a giant crab on some beach, and one was them embracing a baby. The baby was way too predictable and uncool sucking its thumb, she thought.