My lair is in the slums. Its a short subway ride to downtown and It doesnt look like much from the outside. It looks much like any other towering tenement or festering cesspool of humanity. To me its perfect, there are a billion cracks, crawlspaces, holes and hiding places. Modern buildings are too air tight, i find them restricting.

The place i rent is on one of the upper floors. My place is devoid of the usual things people scatter about a house to make it a home. I have no pictures, no dvds, no music, no posters. My Lair is a man-made cave with heavy curtains and dim lighting. It could easily pass for a heroin den with mismatched furniture; most of which i found on the side of the road discarded.

The only item that doesnt seem to be salvaged from a trash heap is the television, which sits atop the sturdy cardboard box it was sold in and rests in the corner of the room.

If your particularly unlucky you may see my bedroom. Me reliquiary. The place where mother Ananasi speaks to me. I keep this room closed off and have sealed the windows to all but the tinyest of interlopers. I have filled the walls, cieling and floor with thick webbing nearly soundproofing the room and giving me a perfect place to crawl right into the weaving.

The room itself is obviously not a normal bedroom. There is no bed but instead a nest of woven white webs; spiders silk on a massive scale that restricts the movement of all but its architect. This is my lair, this is my sanctuary, and this is where my collection is kept, safely hidden among the entrapping webs. If you make it this far its unlikely you will live to tell anyone about it.  

--Last edited by Nayk on 2008-12-06 09:06:33 --