Mallorca was lovely. Melinoe could see why Horkos had chosen it, had seen how happy he was there. Of course she’d then had to buy the house down the road, which had been conveniently up for sale. (Genuinely convenient, she had absolutely nothing to do with the previous occupants believing the house was haunted. Sometimes life was truly stranger than fiction and the Moirae were big fans of irony.)

So she’d purchased it one day without so much as a ‘hey, so I’m thinking of buying and moving into that little two-story hacienda down the road from your absurdly large mansion’. What would he say? ‘no, for the love of anything you hold dear, no’? ( Of course not. In his own way, Horkos appreciated her. )

It was late; and completely dark when he stepped into the interior of his immense yet orderly home, located on the island of Mallorca. It was much larger than the house he'd previously lived in; and in many ways it was just excessive. His tastes were typically far more minimal. But the view had been the main selling point, along with the seclusion; and though most of the rooms remained fairly empty; ( it was the one location among all of his numerous residences that felt the most welcoming. )

Deià, Mallorca, was a village. Not a quaint little suburban village, or whatever popped into mind in the modern world when the word was tossed about. Deià was a village; it had exactly two real estate agents, five hotels, eight stores and a whopping sixteen restaurants and bars. Mostly because the tourists had to eat and get drunk somewhere, not because Deià needed sixteen restaurants and bars for the local population. ( Two would have been good. Three, a luxury. )