"Of course I will."

And so it was that I followed you home, brother dear, a soul beckoned forth by the reaper himself. My steps were light with the reunion's joviality, latent remnants of forgotten youth lending spring to a Seraph's wings. Thoughts and plans, they whirled about in a frenzied dance, and I welcomed them all with open arms, relishing this brief break from the tedium of acting, the break you give me with your blood and wrath. Trees gave way to ice, and ice to snow; deeper into the frozen north you lead me, my stoic little brother grown to tall, noble king. Ah, but you'll always be that gangly colt to me. Curse of the sibling bond, I suppose; better get used to it, my sweet little beast.

White and dark in the stark winterscape, we make a pretty pair with our matching blue eyes, thin horns in thinner air and the sleekly regal bearing of The Cunning Himself. Around us the mountains pierce into the sky; it's a cold home you've chosen on top of the world, but I hide disappointment from your burning glare, masked with a smile and innocuous gaze. The snow crunches sweetly beneath cloven feet, leaving triangle trails that follow us home. Home- is it mine, now, too, this desolate tundra so far from the sea? The idea's appalling, I have to confess; but my blood has made its nest, and I am forced to comply. Perhaps we shall remedy this problem at a later time; I do miss my Tides, but I miss Deimos far more. Besides, there will be plenty of opportunity for expanding territory later, right, brother dear?

We step through the threshold and suddenly there's green. "It's lovely!" in a frigid, lofty sort of way- but really, it is quite lovely, your little pocket of life in a world of snow. A cornucopia of alpine life from what I can see at this outsider's vantage; green beckons from the far valley floor, promising food through the cold winter months. The mountains stretch high; we are well-fortified, and the view isn't bad, if you like rocks and pine. I've always been more of an ocean girl myself, but perhaps I can get used to this place. Still... "It makes me miss the Tides" I tell you softly, my voice the lilt of silver bells. Yea, I miss our birthplace, the clear cool water lapping at a crescent shore. I miss it dearly, but this will do.

I look back at you for a moment before striding forward, eyes trained on the world just waiting to be seen. It's a figurative thing, an act all for you but not of my normal sort; I want you to see that despite all my misgivings, the threads of nostalgia that tear at my heart, I will take this as my home and make it ours, our empire from which we shall gaze forever down, our home of debauchery and triumphant sin, our throne of skulls and brittle bone.

"Come, little brother, and show me our home."