"She can move, and change, and she can understand what's said to her, and do what's asked. Sometimes more than what's asked." Lorcan laughed, thinking about it. "I guess she could lock someone in the closet, Winifred sat on someone who attacked my mother. But she wouldn't lock me." Lorcan was very sure of his house. "I made her, after all. We get on well together."
He sat down on another, larger chair, but it was too slick and after a moment sitting he found himself sliding down. He shook his head, looking amused, and let himself slide almost all the way off the chair, then popped up again and looked around. Something odd caught his eye, but a few other pieces were in the way; he moved in that direction.
The chair that had caught his eye was a large rocking chair, big enough for two to sit in if they squeezed together a bit, elaborately carved and patterned with inlayed wood across the top, the arms, and the base the rockers rested on. The cushions were velvet, plush but not overstuffed. "What would your mother think of this?" Lorcan asked, sitting down and kicking to start the chair rocking. It rocked silently and efficiently, surprising him. He'd expected it to take more effort.