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By rights, she should be a fringe figure, a cult artist.But as 2013 rounds the corner toward 2014, as Swift puts a bow on her fourth album and begins work on her fifth, there’s no mistaking it: Beyoncé, Rihanna, Gaga, Katy, Miley, ­Justin, Justin, Usher, Jay Z, Kanye—they’re all vying for second place.“I made these, and I’m super-proud of them,” she said, pushing a plate of cookies across the counter. The concert the previous evening was the final one of the tour, and the toughest. “I found it a little bit easier to sing than to talk, which was, like, a miracle.” In fact, Swift’s cold had provided one of the show’s Kodak moments.About halfway through, she settled in front of a microphone to perform her 2010 hit “Sparks Fly.” Suddenly, she thought better of it.Can you imagine imperial Beyoncé or imperious Lady Gaga telling a sold-out arena: Hang on a sec, I’ve gotta go snort into a napkin? The crowd—14,000 plus, mostly female—erupted in a deafening, inhuman roar.Twenty seconds later, Swift was back onstage, strumming her twelve-string acoustic guitar and singing “Sparks Fly.” Swift’s Red tour is her biggest yet, and it has all the trappings of a stadium-pop blockbuster.The singer has two other homes—a modest house, which she calls a “cottage,” in ­Beverly Hills, and her main residence, a penthouse apartment near downtown Nashville—and her team makes every effort to keep the addresses hush-hush. On a Sunday morning in late September, a 12-year-old girl and her mother, who had flown to Nashville from Connecticut to see Swift’s concert at the Bridgestone Arena the night before, walked into the lobby of her building.This was celebrity stalking at its most benign: The mom and daughter had a gift for Swift, a big container of homemade chicken soup, which they left with her doorman. When I arrived at her apartment later that day—my visit was scheduled—she was audibly under the weather.

“I always wanted to know and I always used to daydream about what it would be like to stand on a really big stage and sing songs for a lot of people, songs that I had written … 1 thing when I was little, because I didn’t have much of a social life going on.

Swift’s ceilings are hung with all kinds of things: gathered silk, wooden birdcages, chandeliers, lanterns.

Ornate railings line the apartment’s second-floor balconies; it looks like a stage set for a production of Romeo and Juliet—or for the scene in the final verse of Swift’s 2008 hit “Love Story.” In short, it’s exactly the kind of apartment you’d expect Taylor Swift to inhabit: whimsically girlie, dreamy, appointed in a style you might call Shabby-Chic Alice in Wonderland. Even when she’s touring, she tries to sleep in her own bed, picking the shortest distance to one of her three residences and flying home in her private jet after shows. You might not know it from her public persona, but Swift is funny; she has a dry, ready wit.

She looked the picture of health: She greeted me in her big, open-plan kitchen, wearing a loose-fitting white-lace frock and friendly grin.

But when she spoke, what came out was a croak, a husky voice pitched about two octaves lower than Bea Arthur’s. You’re safe.” Swift had been sick all week, fighting the kind of head cold best treated by curling up in bed with a magnum of Ny Quil. She’d come home to Nashville to wrap up a seven-month-long North American tour in support of her fourth album, Red, which was released in October 2012.