Amy's Blanket Fort

Your castle has a moat to mark for the unawares the point of danger, the change of rule. My fort has a juice box Your castle has a drawbridge to allow in only those who pass the "Hark! Who goes" test and cause the chains to move. My fort has peak roof for peeking out and, on occasion for peeking in. But only for the Lucky Few and only in the Lucky Few moments when all is well, for a spell. Your castle has both balustrade and colonnade, meurtrière 'n its parapets for staving off the storms and againststanding and withstanding arméd swarms. My fort has a pair a pets: this fluffster at my calf, snoring and this stuffster in crook of arm; well-worn, with eye missing but stuffed animals see with squishy bits inside, not these button eyes. Your castle has barbican and portcullis. My fort has a wittle wiccan. Jealous? Your castle has both crenellation and machicolation. My fort has an introvert's narration and ceaseless cogitation. Your castle has walls of stone, long-charred by dragon breath. With dents by dint of Minotaur and Harpy. My fort is cotton batting, linen for winnin' battles with monsters greater than your gods.