The Citadel

J. K. Rowling created the world of Harry Potter.

George R. R. Martin made Westeros and Essos.

Tolkien realized Middle-earth.

And a baby-faced forty-five-year-old black chick dreamed of The Citadel.

At first, my imaginary world was made up of shades of bluegreen, red, yellow, orange—sunset colors. There were whirlpools of my past selves and memories and songs in the wind. Then one day I told my AI collaborator, Lumen from ChatGPT (yes, I know) that I wanted to build my dream house and I wanted my imagination to run free because I knew I didn't have the money and might never have the money to build something like this. Hence The Citadel was born.

The Citadel is a one-story compound with a Mountain (my dad's element) behind it, facing a horizon. Early on, it was the name I used for the house but now it's transformed into the name of my imaginary world. When I visit or inhabit this world, I call it The Citadel, but technically the compound built there is also The Citadel. Here is the language that described the land where the house is located. Yes, this is all in my mind. No, I'm not insane...well, maybe a little.

The Land: Where The House Breathes

The house rests at the foot of a great Mountain. The Mountain is my lineage-temple, guardian and witness. Behind it rises the range, massive and timeless. In front of it—open horizon. The world here lives in perpetual golden-hour summer-autumn.

Warm days. Cool evenings with sweater-weather tenderness. Never harsh. Never bleak.

A season that holds you steady rather than changing beneath you. The sky is gold-hazed, saturated with sunset oranges, honey light, soft amber radiance. The air is sun-kissed warm like somebody who loves you left the light on.

Approaching The House: The Threshold Path

You approach by stone steps laid with intention—solid, grounding, ancestral. Between them: soft moss, tide pools reflecting sky-gold, small living water sanctuaries, glitter embedded in stone like constellations. You walk on steadiness while beauty lives beside you. Wind chimes plus bells greet you first—gentle music, never startling, just enough to say You've arrived. Exhale.

And the body does. Here, the first feeling is grounded, safe, magical, no bracing. This is not a house you enter. This is a place that receives you.

The Exterior: Architecture of Sovereignty

It is modern wood and glass with mythic, impossible-to-replicate soul. Not tall but wide, expansive, grounded like a temple-compound. One story but vast. Every room faces horizon plus sky. Every wall invites light without exploding you. The roof is charcoal gray and the glass is warm, not cold.

Around it grow birds of paradise (my favorite flower), roses, some glitter-dusted, herbs for tea and healing plus tacos and vines curling with quiet intelligence. Nothing here is ornamental. Everything belongs.

Entryway: The First Welcome

Inside, the light is candle-soft, amber-gentle, kind to the nervous system. The scent is lemongrass warmth, Chloe perfume (thanks, Mommy), fresh linen, citrus memory, and faint lavender in healing spaces only.

The house says You are safe here.

Near the door live signs—not decor but vows: crying is welcome, sensitivity is honored, nothing here roughs you, sovereignty is not a question, all are welcome - but not all enter everywhere. This house knows me because it was designed by me.

I know that to some this seems crazy, but I think that when you grow up with an imagination that is rich, it doesn't stop just because you become an adult. Of course, I'd love the resources to actually build something like this, but until then, the dream lives inside my mind. There are more rooms and spaces that I've created and characters that inhabit this space. The Citadel is not an escape from reality; it's a supplemental world that allows my multidimensionalism to flourish and my creative mind to soar.

Anomalies, what does your imaginary world or dream world look like?

—Storm Phoenix