Of Ambers

Luxury is something I can’t get comfortable with. It has always, always felt like cheating, for some reason. Maybe because I don’t think we need so much comfort as society says we need. Or maybe it’s the Opals holding me back. Or, and I suspect of it, I don’t like feeling better than others, bearing a level of comfort above others’ standards. Could it be Áine doing that?

But still, I’ve got this taste for warmth. It’s the coziness of our home sweet home. Although I like the experience of getting my jackets off in an extremely cold day, mostly to test my endurance (though sometimes it’s to attend Opal’s Call), I am usually going for the comfort of warm clothes in the slightest breeze.

For activities that require concentration, having my skin warmed up is something almost like necessary. I think it’s the reason hot showers help me so much in getting into trances. Ambers might mean the taste for the security. It’s the comfort of safety.

Ambers can easily be found in those scents that reminds us of home. Those nice smells of bed clothing that was exposed under the sun direct heat, or the smell of steam iron’s vapor. And also the smell of food, which could be the dinner’s being made, the fried onions and garlic and the addition of spices and sauces. Or maybe the early smell of coffee being made, with the sound of boiling water while the tv plays the morning news’ anthem.

It’s also the taste for rustic settings. The warm colors, the varnished wood and brown, orange and dark red colors. A well-fed fire and distracting crackles also make part of this crest. In places like this I seem to feel really at home.