First, I looked up, mouth agape. The room, no, the whole house seemed to be like the hill. Or was the hill, for that matter. There were ledges acting as a second & third floor 15 & 30 feet up. But there seemed to be no end for the ceiling.
Lights of all sorts ringed the walls at odd intervals. Knick knacks sat in organized revolving racks. Books of all kinds were scattered everywhere: on shelves, in stacks, in cupboards, in a bone-dry fish tank. Some were nonfiction, others were in an odd language of symbols, but many were novels. All looked to be well-worn, read at least twice.
A small piano crouched between the fish tank & a periscope. Next to periscope was a lift & staircase to the front door. The door, from the ground level, was covered with an elaborate mosaic, complete with Tiffany stained-glass window, casting blue & green light to my feet.
A control panel of various switches took a bit of wall by the kitchen sink.
I looked to Julie. She bowed slightly, slightly grinning. “My humble abode.”