Flowers and Fey (Closed for WeaverofWorlds)

[WeaverofWorlds]

He chuckled lightly at her half-mumbled words. She didn't like her little nickname, or at the very least she railed against it because it was unfamiliar. A shame then, that their bargain did not include foregoing terrible nicknames.

"Does that mean you'd prefer Anne? Or Mone?"

I wish you'd just get straight to the point.

It echoed in his soul, drove him onwards even as his words danced about. To the point. It had him moving around the counter, the hand holding her guiding her to turn around, so that always she was facing him. It had him invading her personal space, their bodies closer than what might be considered polite, the warmth exchanged between them highlighting everything. His smile hadn't left, even as he listened to her speak around the issue(now who isn't getting to the point?), watched her seem to breathe deep of the magic of the Green, felt the magic unfold within her body. She even thanked him for it, something that cause his grin to sour somewhat. A shame he couldn't take credit for that little bit of magic, it had little to do with him. Not that he'd tell her that of course, but he hoped soon enough she'd realize he'd much more to give than the paltry power that she seemed to be drinking like water.

I wish you'd just get straight to the point.

"And if loss is what led to the power you seek? We are bound, you and I. The power you are reaching for will not come quickly. It will be quite some time before such work is done. Knowledge too will come with time. Both I will not withhold from you, for I agreed, and the Fey keep their word. But you..."

Her back was to the counter, nowhere for her to back up without trying to climb over, or sidle past him. He was the hunter, she the startled prey. That she evaded, deflected, just made him want to pursue her all the more, to push and push. A hand had found its way to tracing a line up her hip, her stomach, over the top of the clothing perhaps but it was a start. He leaned forwards, his lips planting a kiss upon the edge of her lip, another teasing almost, before he was whispering in her ear.

"You ask me to forego the fun before the main event. To simply take what is owed without any thought to you, or even my, enjoyment. But I don't want to miss the pleasures the come with the process, dear Nem." He was using his nickname for her on purpose now. If it drew reaction then it was worth it, if it distracted from the fact that his hands were moving her shirt up her body, that a hand was finding its way to the skin beneath. "Not having to do something is nice, at times, but there's a certain joy to going through the process. All the better to leave a good memory for someone's first time. That is a thing among you humans isn't it? A saying, I believe it goes 'you always remember your first'. Tell me, do you think you will remember me, decades from now? Or will I be a passing dream, forgotten upon the annals of your life, a forgotten flower in the garden of your memories?"

I wish you'd just get straight to the point.

He was fighting it a bit now, the insistent call that nearly begged him to hoist her onto the counter, to drag her legging about her ankles and take her without delaying. It was easily enough done, her wish hadn't been a strong one, but still the thought was there. But no, his point was more than just mindless sex, or some ritualistic passing over of magical might. No, he wanted to enjoy her, for her to enjoy him, for the passing of a shard of his essence to be an experience she would not soon forget. To make this moment, this fulfillment of a wish, last for as long as he could manage to hold onto it.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Though it was said that a cornered rat could still do damage against the cat that pinned it there, there was no fight in Anemone as he pinned her to the counter. She’d allowed herself to be driven back, half-mindful of it, luxuriating even now in the newfound energy that coursed through her. Was this what it was supposed to be like from birth? Was this what it was like to be a fully fledged Daughter of the Green? How on earth had she managed so much with so little before?

“Will it matter?” She was doing it again; tracing the line of his lips with her head, unconsciously following the movements he made, seeking another touch. “You’ll figure out another stupid nickname…” Another slip in her composure, one she didn’t immediately try to fix. Thinking rationally was getting harder. Like swimming through molasses. He was so close.

What was he saying about loss? Why did his voice seem to be singing through her skull, rising and falling, setting its own counterpoint to the beat of her heart? His hand touched her stomach, caused the flesh to jump. Startled, a soft gasp left her: why hadn’t she thought that he’d touch her? What did he want from her? Was she supposed to play along?

What if I touched him first?

A whine: he’d come so close to kissing her properly, only to evade, his mouth near her ear. Words that filtered through, but she only felt she was catching every other one. He was drifting in and out from her, smoke between her fingers. “I could never forget you. That’s the problem…” She didn’t have to say more. Surely he’d know what his kind, male or female, had on mortals? And he’d been inching her closer and closer to the cliff, waiting for her. It was still in her hands.

So she flung herself off.

She’d grasped the counter behind her, to steel herself. No longer - the hand that hadn’t been caught in his looped round his neck, pressed his mouth to hers. Clumsy bumping of teeth against his mouth, eagerness overcoming the caution that would lead to eventual finesse, but he’d teased and teased and teased and even with the Green, there was only so much she could fight back. His fingers had promised touches of summer, and as a Daughter of the Green, each beholden to their own season, well, summer was her favorite, the one that held the most joy for her.

Lips parted, tongue grazed against his own lips. Still clumsy, but she felt it was the right thing to do. Guidance given to her through a deep hum in her blood, reaching back past the magic for a more primal notion. Magic had shaped her family, had molded her into a unique creature, but it wasn’t so strong as she thought, not strong enough to resist her body’s natural impulse to want to be physically close, to breed. Adding the irresistible nature of the Fey perhaps, was the true key to unlocking it all.

Her lips pulled away from his, a break, as she kept her eyes closed, the tip of her nose running across his as she tilted her head lower, trying to keep herself away from him. Before more words slipped past, embarrassing her further, she could accuse him, she could keep fighting. She couldn’t win. There was no way. He was saying something about joy, pleasures. Didn’t he know, couldn’t he feel, that just by her touching him, she was experiencing a newfound joy, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself? And the Green, what of it? The roses had finally slipped away, into a bright afterlife, but the others, silent sentinels, seemed to be…all encouraging. There was a sense of deferment to the Fey as it was, but this, sensing the animal side of their human sister, there was encouragement. Here was spring, here was summer: time to wake up, to display, to produce and absorb.

“I’ll never forget you, it doesn’t have anything to do with being a first,” she pulled away, only long enough to discard her shirt. There was a sexual impulse there, yes, she could recognize that, but more than that, she wanted to be as close to him as she could be, to feel his touch against her. Beneath the black shirt was a simple green bra (fitting, of course), exposing that much of her figure she’d downplayed, for the sake of comfort, for wanting to blend in. Her chest was fuller than her shirt had hinted at, firm swells that filled the large cups of her bra easily. “I want to feel you - do..” A minute of hesitation, opening eyes to look into his, “Do you want to touch me?”

Not being coy - but a sincere question. If she let herself be too logical, she knew that he had centuries on her, had done this with more than one mortal. And even if she was lucky enough to have him by her side for the rest of her life, well…He’d forget her over time. But would that matter, as long as she kept him inside a shrine in her own heart?

Does he know? I’ve fallen in love with a complete stranger at first sight. And now I want him -

“Oh, god,” she murmured, low, like a wounded animal. And she was trying to wiggle free, to pick up her shirt from where she’d tossed it. “I can’t do this.” Fear rushing into her veins, plunging her into ice, snatching her away from the quiet encouragement of the plants. “I’m already in love with you and I just met you and this isn’t how any of this is supposed to work. Just…” Snatched her hand from his, to cradle the sides of her head again. Her mind was spinning. Bad enough she’d called him, worse still, she’d ambushed him -

“I wish, I wish I knew what was going on with my mind, my body,” she groaned, “I wish I didn’t want you inside of me so bad. I wish I didn’t want you to fuck me,” the profanity left her with the ease of someone well-versed to baser language, “No making love, I can’t fall for that, but use me, take what I said I’d give - don’t make it worse on me."

A swallow. "I wish you'd just bend me over this counter. Get it over with. I'll already remember you for the rest of my life. I don't need the illusion of love. I just need you, for however long you'll give it to me."

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Her kiss was clumsy, unrefined, the definition of the unpracticed attempt of a first time. But it was filled with need, with hunger, with want and desire. It was a sweet nectar to him, to feel that directed at him. The tracing of her tongue against his lips, the feel of her hand upon his neck, drawing him in, keeping him close. Then it was the reveal, the discarding of cloth, the reveal of the full bounty of the flesh. The soft swell of her tits, contained only by the bra, but offering the tantalizing view of what she so carefully hid away. He could feel himself stir at the combination of it all, the view of her, the passion on the display, the awakening of a Winter-touched girl, cold and distant, to the Summer touched woman, warm and vibrant.

"Do you want to touch me."

Oh how he did, wanted to touch her, feel her, taste her, claim her. She was a sight, a beauty, a summer breeze, a flower unseen and unappreciated. A crime, against her and against the very concept of beauty. How could any mortal believe her anything but a vision, how could anyone consider her anything but deserving of attention and lavish offerings? Courting had changed, he knew, but the mortals still believed in gifts and compliments, surely if any deserved it it would be she. But before he could act she was suddenly retreating, pulling away. Like a rabbit, wasn't she? So full of caution. So very uncertain of herself, unwilling to seek out what she wanted for fear of... something. He didn't quite understand the why's, the fey were far more likely to simply follow whatever whim and fancy they desired. Mortals seemed to delight in being so very confusing about that. "Follow your heart" and such phrases like it abound, yet they called those who did so reckless. So, apparently, did she.

Love.

It was a difficult concept to wrap one's head around, even for one of the Fey. Love to the humans seemed a fickle thing, ever changing from person to person. Ask a thousand, and it was a thousand different answers, each as confusing as the last. He preferred the Fey understanding, that like the changing seasons it came and went, and not always with the same person. Among the fairfolk, it was said that a true love was one that could survive the changing season, the moments of disinterest, of even outright hostility, to blossom once more beautiful and strong. It was something he'd not experienced, though he'd many lovers throughout his long life, fey and human both. Many had even spoken of loving him, more often the mortal than his kindred. Not once had he ever felt like they'd truly meant it, too many times the mortals were more interested in something he could do for him, or were so enamored of what they thought he was without truly understanding. Anemone though, her's seemed different to him. Already their bargain was struck, she had in her palm what it was she sought, and certainly one so infused with the Green was not mistaken as to who and what he was. Why then would the emotions that sprung from her like a spring breeze be so very confusing, yet so very strong?

And then, finally the wishes. So many at once, each said one after the other, so filled with emotion they burned bright before his eyes. She was confused, emotional, her wishes a jumble of things her desires didn't quite agree with. He could feel her subtle struggle, the half-hearted attempt to get away, to remove herself from his presence, to cover herself with her discarded shirt. Some part of him growled against that, passionate Summer wanting her to want him, hunting Winter, eager to chase her even as she fled. Love... he did not understand the human concept of it, but that didn't mean he did not appreciate what it meant to them. He'd spent centuries among them after all, he knew how important it often was, the lengths they would go to in the name of Love.

"You want me to fuck you, Nem? You want me to bend you over, take you, drive myself into you as if you are a doll, a mere plaything for my own amusement and pleasure? The thought has it's appeal, of course, devouring the little rabbit before me would certainly sing to Winter, wouldn't it? But, little Nem..." He pushed deeper into her personal space, took hold of her by the hips, twisted her around so her back was to him. He could have pushed her forward then, bent her over as she wanted. Instead, a hand came around to grasp her by the tit, to drag her bodily back against him, to force her back against his chest and bring her ear against his lips. The other hand remained upon her hip, guided her in grinding back against him, against the hardened cock within his clothing, showing her how much he wanted to take her, how much he was enjoying her. When he spoke, it was with his warm breath tickling her ear, his tone one of carnal promise. "You misunderstand. I will take my time with you because that is what I... wish..." He stumbled upon the word, the bittersweet of it like acid in his mouth, before continuing on doggedly. "In this moment, you are mine, and I will unwrap you, touch you, fuck you at my leisure."

He ground himself against her again, let his hand slide down the swell of her breast to the skin of her stomach. The warmth against his palm, even as he flexed once more the Fey magic at his fingertips, subtly tracing the magic into her skin. It was a difficult thing, trying to lay down a complex ritual circle upon someone so magically sensitive, not to mention making it stick against the wards the had rebuffed his earlier subtleties. He had to give a nod to her abilities, if she'd managed so much with such relatively little magic, she was gifted in the magical arts. It would be truly a delight to see what she'd manage with what he intended to gift her. Hopefully, with all the distractions he was providing, she wouldn't notice this latest bit of magic being performed.

"Unless, of course-" The smile upon his face could be heard in his voice, teasing once more, though always, always, with the promise of lustful want. ", you plan to force my hand."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

"I said I wish I didn’t want to-!” Last bit cut off as she was spun around from facing him to now facing the counter. There it was again, that throbbing between her legs, out of tune with her pulse, but just as insistent. If she rubbed her thighs together, she could feel her panties clinging to her. She grasped onto the tile of the counter - or she would have, if he hadn’t pulled her back against him. She made a sound, a gasp, a moan - something - as he ground back against her.

So her body was virgin: but her ears were not. She’d overheard conversation, hell, she had a TV: she’d heard “hard ons”, seen them in passing (only in photos and in videos), but had handled it with the same idle curiosity in which she approached most things that had to do with her body. Fairly clinical there: did cocks actually get like, metal hard, or was it more like touching the bone of her shin? It would seem that now she had her answer: and then some, as she angled back against him naturally, shifting so that he fit neatly in the cleft of her ass, the fabric of her leggings doing little to protect him from the heat of her.

His hand on her breast - maybe she should be offended. She could feel his fingers through the thin cup, feel the weight of her breast eased from how he cupped it. There was a bit of possession there, that much she could understand. She had offered herself again and again, after all.

“If there’s more power,” she ground out, “Then do what you like.” Would she be a slut if she gave in too easy? Well, she’d already taken off her shirt; hadn’t had much success with trying to get it back on. And now she was wishing he’d just yank down her leggings, her panties with them, and just…touch her. Fingers, tongue, his cock: anything of his against the fattened lips of her labia. His hand across her breast, now her stomach: filled her with more heat, sparks dancing from his fingertips, leeching through her flesh, dancing through her blood. She wasn’t too far gone to not, dimly as it was, recognize the touch of strong magics. Now wasn’t the time to question it. There was to be an exchange: they’d been clear about that. He was bound to her, as she was to him. And with his ability, surely he was able to shield himself better from the onslaught of emotions that poured through her: fear, desire, the sweetness of a first love. Had she meant undying love, the kind that weathered all storms? She wasn’t sure. And wasn’t about to question it. She was falling. No more stumbling, only the faintest trace from her beloved plants kept her to her word. The clank of wooden bracelets: as all talismans, could only channel power that she pulled up, helped her direct it. They were like molten metal against her skin now, burning without being painful, swallowing magic as it leeched from her, from him, gorging themselves.

“It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?” Timid, again - bowing to the inevitable. Her body, once so loose against his own, tensed in self preservation. “Just…do it quick.” She hoped for one firm thrust, tearing her maidenhood away like blowing away dandelion seeds. She didn’t want for anything to be prolonged. Just one hard thrust: tear her open, mold her to him.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Her voice a delight against his ears, her body a warmth he craved in this moment more than anything else in the endless planes of existence. The feel of her against him, the press of her against his crotch bringing the heat of her into sharp relief. This was worth the deal alone, even ignoring everything else. He'd have taken her as a lover without the need for such things, though he doubted she'd be similarly inclined.

Yet she remained so focused upon her goal. A grumble of discontent, though he couldn't fault her resolve. Perhaps a method to try to keep herself from drowning in the sensations, to preserve some semblance of her own identity amid the magic and the mere influence of his presence. If the ritual worked, she'd have far less to worry about in that regard. But then again... it had been a long time since a human had been gifted even a morsel of Fey power. He wondered if he'd be reprimanded for this...

But his thoughts were a distraction from something far more appealing. His hands found the line of her leggings, and the panties beneath, and in one motion pulled them down. He had to separate from her to finish the act, at least draw her clothing down far enough to no longer be a detriment. He could smell her arousal then, feel the hum of it in the air. His own magic was reacting to his own, a result of having to release it enough to perform the spellcraft needed. It swirled, dancing around the pair like leaves on a breeze, the sound of tinkling bells hanging in the air. A finger, slow and soft, found its way between her legs, up the slit of the flower that was Anemone's lower lips. A hum as he felt her, the heat and wet. Her question hung in the air, reminded him of her virginity, her inexperience. Yes, it might hurt, but there was nothing to do about that truly.

He undid the fastenings on his own clothing, let his manhood free of its confines. He took pleasure it guiding it back to press against her, feel her warmth. His hands quickly found their way to the firm softness of her ass, the paradox of it a wonder under his touch. A few moments of such simple enjoyment, of her and him sharing warmth, feeling the heat of each other, of him drinking in the nectar of anticipation of what was to come. Then he was pulled away from her once more, enough only to guide himself to her entrance, to press gently against her, to enter her in only the shallowest manner. It drew a whisper soft groan of pleasure from him, lightning in his veins at the thought of taking the woman in front of him, of in this momentary fashion taking all that she was and making it his. A tease almost meant for himself more than she, a long moment of self-control, a line pulled taut, straining against the tension, so close to snapping it was almost painful.

Like the snap of lightning across the sky, patience gave way to want.

He drove himself into her, hands upon her hips to hold her steady, pushing himself to the hilt within her. A fraction of resistance against the intrusion into her depths, the tightness of the untouched drawing a fresh groan from his lips. The magic that exploded from her body, the mystical marking of her passage from maiden to woman, was caught in the webs of magic he'd woven, twisted, turned to another purpose. Even that was the slightest afterthought, the feel of her around him the sweetest joy, banishing any other thought from him. He had meant to make some blithe remark, to whisper in her ear again. He let that plan slip from his fingers like sand.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

There was no time to dwell on the rush of cool air to her rear, the backs of her thighs. Inhaled breath came out in a sharp whimper, hands slapping against the counter. There was nothing for her to grasp onto, to steel herself against his sudden thrust. Tears sparked at the corners of her eyes, his intrusion into her, ripping through her, a sharp sting. Closing her eyes, shuddering inhale as she tried to steel herself. He was going to move; that’s what her body was telling her to do, the flickering of animal brain that recognized what was happening.

It hurt, but it was manageable. Her breath, her legs, shook, thankful, distantly, that he was grasping onto her hips to help steel her. Buried deep within her, she was opening, muscles flexing, adapting. Accommodating.

Then…

A deeper gasp. The world was swimming in front of her, the tangible counter, backsplash near the sink, drifting away. This wasn’t a place of her dreams, not as the floor wriggled beneath her, a cat’s fur as it leaned into the caress of a hand. Not wanting to buck her off, but to get her to open more, more, and still more, parting her legs further against the wavering floor. Her body was drifting away, bit by bit, flower petals plucked away to be tossed onto the wind of magic, and she was less Anemone Hulce, and more an empty vessel, emptiness she had only imagined that she had, but had no true understanding of. He was pouring himself into her, magic flowing through her, overflowing, till she was moaning in ecstasy, writhing beneath him, though he hadn’t moved.

“Oh, god,” low, throaty, a purr humming with power. “So good…More…” Wriggling her rear against him, pushing him deeper, hands responding slowly, sleepwalking. Reaching clumsily behind her, to grasp at his thigh, his own rear, to push him deeper. Deeper still, until pleasure became a dull pain as he bumped too deep within her body, met solid walls that wouldn’t give. She had no idea that it could be like this. How much of it was the current of power drifting between them, bolstered by the plants singing long forgotten bridal hymns, celebrating the maiden becoming a woman, rich and full with potential, fecund ground for power beyond her own imagining, beyond any recent Daughter of the Green. So much potential there, lain dormant, and now, skimming the surface of her body, stones skipped across the skin of a lake.

“Rylnon…” His name, trailed from her lips, whatever thought that was to follow forgotten in the haze of this absolute bliss. She could truly lose herself, just like this, without him having to do too much more. Dimly, she wondered if she’d lose herself, her mind entirely, if he were to start moving, to thrust harder, to take her like an animal. Could she break him, the posh and polish of the Fey, was there an animalistic side to him as well, one that could only be sated by rough and snarling taking - time for sweet talk and caresses and licking of wounds later, now, a meeting of flesh, hot and heavy, hers begging for more of his, his to be played with. If this was love, she would gladly drown in it.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Silence but for her moaning beneath him, her breathless words, his name upon her lips fading into the air. She squirmed, pressed against him, pulled him deeper into herself. He could feel the shimmering magic skittering across her skin, humming beneath the surface. He heard the plant life around them, singing for her, welcoming her into something new, like the passing of a season, like winter becoming spring, this moment a blossom in her life. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in it, to let this moment be his sole focus, to take her and drive her higher into the throes of ecstasy, to give into pure animal desire.

But there was work to do, magic to be woven.

Stillness became motion, not the slow motion of uncertainty or the feral abandon he so desired, but a measured rhythm. Steady and true, he withdrew from her only to thrust back again. Pleasure spiked through his mind, begged him to go faster, to grasp her body and use her for his own enjoyment. Another call served to hold him back, the fulfillment of a bargain struck. He detested it, hated that it was serving to remove him, in some small part, from the act itself. But she was ready, waiting, her magical center a vessel waiting to be filled. Magic spun about them at his command, focused, pressed in around them. A hand traced its way along her back, her spine, a combination of simple touch that was so much more.

He was of the Summer Court, a being whose very essence was made to hear the wishes of mortal hearts, to safeguard them against that which would pervert their nature. Yet he had been away from home so very long. Winter's touch, normally so antithetical to his nature it wouldn't even be a thought, held far more sway over him than it should. His attention turned to weaving the threads together, his body found it's own path, animalistic and primal. Even as hands moved gently upon her skin, his hips sped up, thrust more forcefully against her, drove him roughly into her waiting depths, a glimpse beneath the veneer of the Summer Fey. A fragment of a moment of distraction, the magic about them stuttering before he gripped hold once more, slowed his body back to a steady rhythm, though his breathing was anything but. A mumbled curse in the Sylvan tongue of fairykind, an admonition at his own failure.

Yet even in this moment he could feel the moment drawing closer and closer. It had been too long since he'd taken a lover, so very long since he'd felt the body of another. He was lacking in stamina, out of practice the humans might say, and her virginal body, the magical loss of it exploding all about them, was drawing him to the inevitable end faster than he would have liked. Labored breath gave way to one hand gripping her hip with the strength of steel, the ancient part of all living things demanding he push himself deeper and deeper, that he claim her, that he claim her in the way a man claimed a woman, that he mark her as his forever after.

Yet he would be marking her in a different way this day, something far more intimate, something much deeper still than any mortal had hope to mimic.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Soft slapping of flesh, heavy breathing. Open-mouthed panting, fingertips sliding down the tile. Though she may have expected him to thrust uninhibited into her, this slow, steady pace was banishing away the sting, to increase the flow of her own arousal. More than that, the warmth of his magic flowing through her, dancing through her veins.

Dreamy, warm - drifting away on the primal song of their bodies meeting. Her eyes closed as the world faded away further, the voices of the Green dimming. Not for lack of conversation, but the pleasant background hum of music, connecting her at last to the rest of the world, to the world that had been closed off to her. As the Triple Goddess moved from Maiden to Woman to Crone, each stage came with its own experiences, with wisdom. Even though she was late to this stage, it had been waiting patiently for her, collecting drop by drop of power.

More than that, though - more than the gradual acclamation of experience. He was pouring lifetimes of magic into her, skills and imagings that could be the collective knowledge of generations. Perhaps there had been something, after all, in her holding onto her virginity for so long. Already, he was carving new pathways into her skills, into her body. Her own pleasure was secondary - not that there wasn’t any of it, a pleasant rolling in her stomach that was building with each steady stroke, spurred further by the tightening of his grip on her - secondary pleasure to the pure thrill of knowledge. The endless fountain of magic pouring into her -

Why didn’t I do this sooner?

Will we have to do this many more times?

Heat across her cheeks - how would she go about asking for this? Would she realistically need more physical touch with him in order to further master what he was giving her? Was this a desire for more magic, or eagerness to continue to explore this new arena of her life? She wasn’t sure, and in the moment, it didn’t matter -

Skimming across her mind, butterfly wings over baser thoughts - I wish he would kiss me again. A vivid image, then: no longer bent over in the kitchen, but wrapped in a bed of flowers and vines, completely nude, entwined in one another. Kissing as flowers burst into color and filled the air with sweetness. One day, perhaps, a premonition, or a fever dream - it didn’t change what was happening to her now, the rolling in her stomach, lower, cresting from smaller waves to larger ones, pulling back, further and further until -

Crashing over her, then slipping away, her first orgasm with a partner slipped through her. A pleasant hum that took her breath away, but didn’t lend itself to impassioned, wild howls of bodily pleasure. No, this was a slow build, and as such, had been a slow unwinding, her body tightening, flexing around him, coaxing him to spend within her.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Though the signs of her release were a subtle thing upon the service, he felt it roll through her body, felt her tighten around him, flex as he thrust into her. She drew a hum of pleased delight, a rougher thrusting as he started to reach the end of his restraint. The world around fell away as magic and lust surged together, the border between real and mystical blurring in to the fey's senses. There, the very truest essence of what he was, the source of the outpouring magic that filled the air. Like a brilliant star within himself, what a human might equate to a soul.

From this, he pulled a sliver of his own essence, the merest spark of his being, and threaded it into the real, twisted it into the most primal act of all living things.

A groan, as he reached that singular moment, pushed into her as deeply as he could. He spent himself in her, for a moment losing the grasp upon the ritual in progress, letting the wave of euphoria take over. Then focus returned as the pulsing release carried a seed of magical essence and planted it within the suddenly vibrant, fertile soil of Anemone Hulce's soul, so very charged with magic. A Gift, so rarely given, but she had asked for power, bargained for it, spun magical illusion to achieve.

Now that his bargain was completed, for a time, he had more pressing concerns.

He dragged her back against him, focused entirely upon the warmth of her that caressed his cock, drew from him such hungry need. She was not his first lover, not even his first mortal lover, but she was something unique. He pulled her up, off the counter, pressed her back against his chest, turned her head enough that his lips could claim her's in a kiss that promised more to come.

And then came the surge of weakness, the absence of even a fraction of his own being a bitter pill to swallow. He... he hadn't realized how much he'd lost since his exile from the Summer Court, not even a moment to enjoy the rapturous afterglow of their union. The Archfey wrapped his arms around his pact partner, sagged slightly against her smaller frame, sighed as his body trembled at the loss he was only now feeling. To think giving the Gift of Essence would take so much from him, that he would feel the need to lean upon a mortal for even a moment...

No.

NO.

Pride forced strength back into tired limbs, had him standing once more at his full height. The façade of strength was slipped over his features like a mask, a pleased smile finding its way to his lips as he held the woman in his arms, gazed down at her with eyes that reflected satisfaction and contentment. Even then the magic that danced around him felt lesser somehow, the glamours that normally colored his word and actions not seeming so bright and mesmerizing.

"There now, little Nem, not so bad was it? I would say it was an enjoyable experience. I can only hope your felt the same, lest I have to face the knowledge that perhaps I am not the lover I believe myself to be."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Whatever she was expecting, this was not it.

It was like her body had shed its boundaries, melted away, dissolved into the ongoing song of the Green. Something flickered deeper inside of her, a little life, a small star, drawing more dust and cosmic energies, continuing to grow. The seed had been planted, and her body began to coalesce again around it, forming a nest. A safe place for it to be nourished and continue to grow.

Dimly, she felt him prop her up, then lean against her. Her skin leeched into his own, the lines of their bodies blurring, dissolving into one another. A long, contented sigh through her. Her senses were sharper, the quiet of the Green not deafening, but voices, ones she used to have to strain to hear, came through much clearer. Checking in on her, all and one, running invisible fingers through her hair, down her spine, tripping the fine hairs on the backs of her arms.

I’m okay, she sent back, buzzing with life. I’m okay.

Head tilted back on his shoulder. That nickname again. She’d sooner try and outrun the sun than get him to change it. Capricious thing. Best to stay in his good humor. Good humor that he still seemed to be in, despite the mechanical nature of it all. A transaction completed - some joy in it.

“Not bad,” quietly said, not to scare off the fragile nature of the moment. To continue to hold that flicker deep inside of her, to pull more of her little power to it, feed it. Stoke it. “I feel different. Not in a bad way.” Soreness slipped into distant corners of her body, between her legs. He was still buried within her, not something she was wanting to change, though her body was throbbing around him. Dampness leaking between her lower lips, peaceful. No power running out of it. He felt…larger than her. A blanket she could wrap herself into. Words in her ear soothing her, pulling her further and deeper away from the living world.

Only the quiet song of the Green filled the apartment, her breathing returned to normal. Moving her head from his shoulder, her focus landed on the backsplash of the sink in front of her. The cool blue tile counter; it had reminded her of something vaguely Mediterranean; something she’d liked about this place. Old world charm tangled into the modern. It had reminded her of herself; the archaic struggling to survive in the real world, nesting side by side, occasionally overlapping.

If he had been a lover, a true lover in the meaning of the word, could this have happened in that nesting place of flowers and vines, would he have kissed her sweeter, held onto her? Reassured her that he would be by her side? Ah, no time for thinking of such things.

“So…what now?” Awkward, but they couldn’t stay this way. There were answers to be held, after all. But..now that he’d given her some of himself, would he stay? She couldn’t remember if that was part of the contact or not. Would he even want to stay?

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

"Now, dear Nem," He pulled away from her then, placing a final ghost of kiss upon her neck before separating completely. ", now there are questions that need answering, and meetings that must be met. You've lost the where and when and what, now we must go in search of them. All the power in the Feywilde is meaningless without being where it needs being. I shall endeavor to find those who might know something of the answers, in the places few mortals tread. I would bring you along, but it would be difficult, so flush with power as you are at the moment."

He was replacing his clothing, putting what had been sent askew back in place. His eyes flickered over her, seeing the magic that pulsed inside her. She was a brilliant star with how much it sang within her. He could see Fey magic filtering through her Green, so weak it wasn't even a flicker. If things worked as they should, that would fade with time, disappear into her being and become little more than more of her own magic. A shame, it would be a delight to teach a mortal the magics of the fairyfolk. But she'd little use for Fey magic, and all the need for the Green. He would need to find her a more proper teacher, if her family had failed her then perhaps one of the denizens of the Green... there were a handful that might serve to at least direct her studies in the right direction.

More of interest though was her disheveled appearance, the pleasant sort of muss that could only be achieved through sex, the glow that clung to her skin that was more than magic. Satisfaction, the hum of life finding expression in action, the release of pleasure at it's peak, the flush of warmth and sensation that hung like a haze about her body. Even having spent himself within her already, he felt the sudden twinge of excitement shoot through him again. He was glad of his decision to plant a bit of himself into her soul, to use his own essence to infuse her magic. It would mean he would get to touch her again, taste the joys of her flesh more than this once, fill her again so that his magic might awaken more of hers. He would love more opportunities to leave her appearance so beautifully unkempt.

A shame he could not call upon the bargain to force her hand, but he doubted she would refuse further opportunities for sex. If only to suckle at the power he offered, though he hoped she would be interested in more than simply the rush of magic.

"As for you, you shall need rest. As much as the magic is surging now, it will ebb away, caught by the seed within. Fertile as your soul is, it will need tending, watering, care. And, I think, you shall need to treat with your Court of Magi, distasteful as it may be. They may have information we require, as no doubt others have records of things long passed that may prove useful. Our priority now is the Seal of the Green. We must find it... I hope it does not come to entering the Feywilde itself, to seeking out the attentions of the Courts, but perhaps... no, a possibility for a moment of necessity. For now, we shall do what we can."

The Archfey looked about the room then, gaze alighting upon each of the plants that filled the room. Their voices were strong, their attention upon her and not him, their concern palpable. They would see to keeping her safe, to filtering the magic that flowed through her. The Green looked after it's own, and she was beloved by the Green. It would not let harm come to her easily. Still...

Little ones, look after her while I am away. She will need your help adjusting to her newfound strength.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

His withdrawal from her felt that all heat was pulled from her body. It had to happen, she knew it, but she hadn’t expected to feel so empty. The kiss to her neck was a reminder that they were separate creatures; that the deed had been done, transaction complete. She leaned forward against the counter, her breath evening out, the slick, cool feel of the tile grounding her. If she closed her eyes, focused - it became easier to stroke the flicker of power that he’d given her. It wouldn’t replace his warmth inside of her, but it was soothing.

“You’re speaking in riddles,” annoyance slipped into her voice. Foolish of her to think that their coupling would have allowed for additional comfort. Fine by her. Pushing herself off of the counter, she began to straighten out her clothing. Breasts re-settled in the cups of her bra, top tugged back down. Thankfully, there was no wandering around to collect miscellaneous items of clothing, making it that much easier for her to get her head straight. Reaching down, she pulled up panties, leggings, in one fluid motion, choosing to ignore his seed leeching out of her, down her thighs.

Looking down at her palms, she clenched her hands into fists, once, twice. Her skin fairly tingled, still processing the energy that he’d deposited within the core of herself. It would take some adjustment, certainly, to filter out the overwhelming voices of the Green. Reassuring the plants in her home was second nature; she already felt that much closer to them, that she was wrapped in invisible vines. Protected. A beloved child. A small smile then. The Green felt more like family than her actual blood - but, was that accurate? Was her power gifted through the Green, or inherited? Or a combination of both: gifted by the Green at the dawn of her family, and passed down, the same as eye color or skin color?

Rubbing her temples, she tried to make sense of what he’d said. Inhaled the sweet scent of flowers, coming from nowhere. “ ‘Meetings that must be met’…” Was it possible that the Fey were privy to what was happening? Had a better idea of what was brewing?

“The Court of the Magi wouldn’t know where our Seal was kept,” she said, a bit of bitterness in her voice. “None of the outside families know where the other seals are kept; it’s to keep things better hidden. So if one seal were to falter, the others wouldn’t easily fall behind it. Like keeping a set of dominos from falling over.” Rubbing at her wrist, she felt the warm flicker of magic in her bracelets. “I’ll have to just..ask the Green.” He’d asked about a sacred place for her or her ancestors - and while there wasn’t one that she could think of, nothing her family held close, with the power that coursed through her now, surely she would be able to ask and connect deeper than she had before. She had something to bargain with, though the Green never asked more of her than what she could give.

“I don’t need rest,” a sniff of incredulousness, “I feel more…awake, aware, than ever. But if there are errands you need to do, then by all means.” A dismissive wave of her hand, not meant to be insulting. More to protect herself from his dangerous, otherworldly beauty, from the desire that still tugged at her heart. If she had the bravery, she would have asked him to stay, to kiss her, to whisper sweet things to her. Couldn’t be possible. Or helped. The Green relied on her. “But..” Some consideration had to be taken. The Green around her was awake, as always, waiting, drawing sustenance from the earth, listening with invisible ears. But as sure as she felt her own pulse in her body, she could feel the concern of the plants. They were different, they said, she was flesh and blood. Rest was needed. Tomorrow would come, and with it, an answer.

Quiet in the apartment as she listened to silent voices, a corner of her full mouth turning down. They were asking, in their own soft way, for her to listen. And they had never lead her astray. Not yet.

“…But it seems that I’m being outvoted,” laughter close in her voice; not close enough to actually escape. “Let it be known that I’m only going to bed because of them - not you.”

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

"So it is known."

He moved to bop her on the nose again, playful, granting another brilliant smile upon the human before him. Her obstinance would serve her well in keeping her wits about her. Even better when he took her to see those who might offer greater aid than he, at least in seeking the knowledge she sought. The Fairfolk would not easily, or even willingly, divulge anything of value to him, but if it was little Nem, the Daughter of the Green, Beloved of the Oak, Protector of Nature's Seal... well, that might do nicely. But first was to get her strong enough, and for that she needed more than just a bit of essence and careful tending. She'd need someone who could show her the Green, guide her to the knowledge she likely already had, somewhere deep within at a primal level that could not be expressed. Humans had lost that sense, so long ago, but for the druids, witches and others similarly touched by the Green.

He chose not to press the issue of the other Magi. She would know best in that regard, he supposed, though he'd admit fully that he didn't expect they'd have much anyway. It would have been grand fun to rub their noses in Anemone's newfound strength, watch her parade in front of them and be as dismissive of them as they had likely been of her. She'd only grow stronger, and while the Green's power might have waned over the years, it was certainly waxing strongly in her now. How envious would they have been, what jealousy hidden behind fake smile and insincere congratulations? But he supposed she'd not care for such things. He should have expected it, the Green cared little for the interests of others, so must the Green's Chosen be similarly disinterested. A shame, but he would respect her decision on the matter.

"Rest, and I'll return soon enough."

Fey magic pooled around him, washing over the room as he gathered it up to spirit himself away once more. There was much work to do yet, and a few he could remember that might be of some use. Exiled or not, he was still an Archfey, and more than a few owed him favors that perhaps it was time to collect upon.

It was not some grand display of magic, some burst of gossamer fairy nonsense or sparkles like starlight in the sky that marked his passage, as humans so eagerly assumed of his kind. Rather, one moment he was here, then next he was there, like words carried unseen upon a breeze. The sight of Nem, her apartment, the cascading voices of the plants that so loved her, replaced by the near silence of a snow covered forest. Even the evergreens, so used to fighting against Winter's chill touch, were not exempt entirely from the silence that a blanket of snow placed upon a world. His presence elicited only the barest hint of their voices, a quite hum all around that soon faded once more into a quiet sort of stillness. Even the heavy, mortal boots he wore made not a sound, fey grace letting him step across the surface of the snow with not a trace of his passage left behind.

He felt them before he saw them as he made his way deeper into the forest. He might have sought out a teacher more in touch with Summer, but the passage of time left those of his kind preparing for their months long rest. No, Winter would have to do, no others would be alert enough to provide him the answers and aid he sought. Still, dealing with them was always so much more difficult than it needed to be. It was as he emerged into the clearing, deep within the woods, the place untouched by any mortal hand, that they finally revealed themselves in some small manner.

not wanted here

Their voice was that of the Green, but somehow conveying harshness and uncaring contempt. The weight of their malice pressed down around him, unseen eyes filled with sneering disregard. Yes, they detested his presence in the way that only those touched by Winter could be, the only one's of their kind that truly knew Winter's frozen touch.

"Wanted or not, I am here. I've come to seek your aid."

An unnatural flutter of tree limbs was the response. Laughter, at him, at who he was, at the situation he found himself in. They knew what he had come for, at least his original reason for treading into the forest.

exile unwanted cast out no help here

"I ask not for myself now. A Daughter of the Green seeks help, help I cannot provide but to ask it of you-"

no green daughter exile alone no daughter

A flash of annoyance, of rage. They'd cut him off. Perhaps they felt they had the right, the authority, to look down upon him. But even if he was no longer of the Courts, he was still Archfey, and he would not suffer the insult of those beneath him, however much the Green so cherished them.

You will respect those that stand above you!

Power laced his words, pulsed through the hanging branches of snow laden trees. It tore into them, finding the magical places within that concealed their occupants. Gripped them, ripped them from their home, forced them into revealing themselves. Three of them, bearing the vague appearance of women, though hair was snarled branches and leaves, fingers the sharp edges of carved sticks, skin the hard shell of bark.


Dryads.

I am an Exile. I know this fact, it burns within me more deeply than you mere children have any hope of understanding. But I am still Keeper of Wishes, Archfey of Mian. You will pay the respect I am due, you will heed the words I speak, and you WILL offer your aid to the Daughter of Green.

They cowered without cowering. He could feel their magic retreating, trying desperately to escape his clutches. His magic held them, rooted to the forest floor, half buried in the snow, exposed outside the safety of their heart-trees. He could taste the fear rushing from them, feel their defiance flee before the sight of his rage. Even he could not say what he appeared to them as, his fey power twisting into a glamour that was aimed squarely at them. In that moment too, he despaired, for before he would never had needed to threaten like this, would never have even considered it. He could weep at the state he was in, reduced to forcing his power upon another being, when he should have had their respect by his mere presence. But if he had not their respect, then fear would have to do.

I will bring the Daughter when she is ready for your teachings, Watchers in the Woods. Until then, spread your roots far... He sighed, letting go of the rage that had boiled up within, and with it the magic that whipped violently about him. He had wronged them, he knew, but the insult of their disdain had stung more than he would care to admit, and he needed their help. "Please, send for Willow. She... she must know, that the Seal is fraying, that the Green has need of it's chosen Daughter to be strong once more. I can give her the strength she needs, but not the guidance, not the wisdom."

willow will know

green will whisper

daughter will aid

"Thank you, from the Archfey of Mian."

He felt it once more, the sudden spike of scorn and distaste. He couldn't find it in himself now, to scold them, to get angry. Even if he still held the title, he knew Mian was no longer his home, no longer sheltered the wishes of those who would call for a fragment of a dream. These children had the right of it, in the way only those uncaring of anything but the truth of things could be. Still he offered a courtly bow to the three dryads of this wood, grasping just that little tiny bit tighter to the illusion he clung to, that he still had the power he once did, still held the respect that he once commanded. If only for a moment.

Then he was moving once more, stepping across the snow as the dryads faded back into their heart-trees. This was merely the first of many meetings, most he was sure would garner nothing. Favors he might have, but the fey that still hid in this world cared little at all for someone who'd been banished from his court in disgrace. Still, he had to try, and maybe some scant few would remember him, what he used to be, and that would be enough to get some semblance of the answers he sought.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

With him gone, the apartment felt colder, clouds across the sun. A deep inhale, grounding herself. Then, inexplicably: humming. Old jazz standards, things that could be easily recalled without taxing herself. A way to check in with herself, to wind invisible fingers around the Green outside of her, and now, to caress the seed that took root inside of her. Colder, yes, but still her home all the same, sacrosanct. Humming flickered the apartment back into a world she held within her hands, could cradle and mold all her own.

And when she woke up the next morning, the events of the day before felt like some distant fuzzy dream. Sitting up in bed, blinking sleep from blurry eyes, she’d looked out of the bedroom window and with some curiosity, noticed the rain falling in long gray sheets. Content to stare at it, she drew her knees to her chest, rested her cheek on them, and watched the black rimmed droplets collide against the glass, run down in untraceable patterns. Rainy days were a favorite of hers, even if the water magic wasn’t hers. The Green breathed easier under a good rain, bathing, drinking, living. Strange, then, that The Court of the Magi kept everyone separated, just so, powers guarded jealously. She’d always supposed that there would be a natural connection through the Magi families that were born of the earth: those that wielded the elements that occurred naturally in the world. Fire, Water, Air, Light, Sound, The Green - each part of this wondrous planet, with her own mysteries and life and breath. Not for the first time she lamented the distance between them all, the petty jealousies of humans that spoiled everything that they touched.

“Even a gift like this,” she murmured to the rainy window, feeling a ghost of a smile. The Water Magi - were they still a clan of their own, or had they been swallowed by another, more powerful? Sound and Light had merged together, she recalled - told by the murmurings of the ocean seaweed. Hadn’t that been a surprise at the beach. Lucky for her, she supposed, that The Green and its aspects weren’t as finicky with information as their other relatives were. What little she did know of the other families had been from willing gossips of plant life - the steady sway of seaweed, nomadic bundles of kelp, scrub brush growing from volcanic rock.

But what was to be made of this creature, this Rylnon? Had she made a mistake? Should she have relied on her own power? Pulling her cheek from her knees, she held her hands out in front of her, inspecting the long lines of her palms. She didn’t feel any different. Curling her fingers inwards, she studied the pink shells of her nails before releasing her grip. There was a limit on what she could determine for herself, that much she knew. And that feeling of dread had eased, perhaps washed away by the rain itself. But it still clung, a thin sheet of ice over a deep river. Something was amiss, though it didn’t prick as badly as before.

Had she dreamed of deep, green places, the womb of the earth, of scarlet hair and soft hands? Maybe. She laid back down, stretching her limbs beneath her sheets. Somewhere in the darkness of night she’d undressed, and the fabric was in parts chill and flesh-warmed when she moved. Staring up at the ceiling, she closed her eyes, breathed in. Breathed out. Thought of the chorus of “Fly me to Moon,” the first song she’d ever used, ever learned to sing, for the benefit of the plants. As the ceiling stretched on into an endless off-white behind blurring vision, her senses stretched out and away from her body, her energy escaping from the corporal form. From damp flesh, circulations of blood and veins and billowing lungs, she felt the unnameable part of her skip off -

Stronger than ever before. Almost like she could literally look down upon her body like this. No longer a feeling in her stomach, she could feel herself skip on the air, curl up amid the myriad leaves of her plants, slip into their veins, chlorophyll becoming her own blood, welcomed with their sweet voices. They had worried about her, a flock of brothers and sisters all, the night before, with the loss of her innocence, some had scolded, given too freely, while the ghosts of the dried roses sneered and the violets somewhere had nodded in Victorian grace, while still others spoke of her finally joining the rest of things that lived and reproduced, and lucky for her, being touched so intimately by such a miraculous being -

Rylnon.

Waking from a dream, she returned to herself. Was that what it was like, being one of the Fey? Being able to slip from form to form? She opened eyes she hadn’t realized had closed. How long had she been among the plants? She hadn’t ventured from her own apartment, she knew that, as she knew in her stomach that the old Oak had no more information for her. Had he not said something about getting her help?

Would she truly need it? Rolling to her side, she grasped her outstretched arm in the other, fingers curling round the joint of her elbow. He’d given her some of his power - a risky thing. More for her than for him, and she’d not only survived the process, but the power had molded to her willingly. Better than the stories would have suggested. She could’ve burst into flame, gone power mad. Been tricked and ended up a raving lunatic.

Only problem was that she was certain she was quite irrevocably in love with him.

She grimaced, and brought herself to sit up. Love she could deal with. As long as he wasn’t in front of her, as long as she had this mission to heal what was ailing her precious Green, her heart, her body, had been a small price to pay. And what was love, anyway? He could hardly beckon her; he was off doing whatever it was that he said he was doing. And being of a Fair Folk, his interest would wane, and he’d go off to some other summons. And she’d still have his power. Until she died, more than likely, and then it’d flicker off to him again.

Maybe.





A shower, with that song released to the steamy air. Stepping out, dressing her usual monochromatic clothing, v-necked t-shirt a size too big and black jeans, barefoot and sandalwood bracelet in place. Hair held back by a bandana as she padded to the kitchen, the scene of the crime, as it were, and started the water for tea. Tea first, always with milk and sugar, then to do what she could.

He’d mentioned a sacred place. She had no information, no familial notes. Had thought it done, then the rain - that had reminded her of the ocean. Of how everything had started there, flowed back to it. So if the plants here had no memory of such things, then perhaps the ocean would know. A river, to start, she thought, would be the best.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Time was, like much in the world, a mutable thing.

Perhaps not to the limited views of the mortal races, or even lesser fey, but to one of his ilk, time could be twisted to some degree. It was not, as it so happened, something he liked to do often, and even at the height of his power it wasn't an easy thing to accomplish on a grand scale. Time travel was something far out of reach to any being beyond what one might claim as a god. But when needs must needs must, and he'd far too many favors to call upon and old "friends" to pressure. Besides, it wasn't so much twisting time as it was stretching it in this case. A little lengthening of the seconds, a nudge to the temporal clock of the universe that perhaps a minute wasn't actually a minute but a bit longer than that. Anything more would be ill advised in any case, the realms of mortals were far less willing to bend to his whims than the wilde, however much power he had. Still, what might have taken days, perhaps even weeks, was squeezed into the space of a night with a combination of luck, speed and not an inconsiderable desire to return to the far more fascinating company of the Green Daughter.

It was what allowed him to, in the end, arrive where he wished to be. As always, one moment he was there only to be here the next, watching the young woman busy herself about the kitchen from a corner of her living room. He supposed, as he often did upon watching mortals, that this was something one might call a domestic moment. Or was that for barnyard animals? He could never remember the phrases these humans interchanged with each other with delightfully frightening speed. Still, he chose to not draw attention to himself, silently shushing the green plants that adorned her home so that he might watch her longer. She seemed, at least to his eyes, to have adjusted well to her new state of being. She housed a glimmering seed of magical potential within her own essence now, none the worse for wear for it. That spoke well of her, or perhaps just her desperation. Either was a delicious thought, and if she was taking so well to it perhaps he might tempt her to grasp at more. Without the need to focus on constructing a complex magical ritual about her, he could delight in the pleasures of union much more properly. A tempting thought, a shame she wasn't one of those humans that liked to wear nothing but an a too large shirt as they wandered about the house. Then again, it was passed time for humans to start their day, wasn't it? Perhaps he'd simply not caught her at the right time for proper temptation.

Alas, he'd have to suffer without, at least for the moment. He supposed that meant he would also have to start his day, and since she was busily making up some tea...

"Would it trouble you at all to prepare something for me as well, little Nem? I've nearly exhausted myself running across the world, and I think a little pick me up would do quite nicely."

He deliberately spoke in the sort of pleading tone that a beggar might use, affecting the persona of someone who'd been busy running to and fro all night. He had, of course, but it was not truly the weariness of a mortal body, the exhaustion of lack of sleep. He could go months without sleep if he'd the need or desire. No, whatever weariness he felt was the strain of using so much magic to stretch the time as he needed it to, not to mention stepping across the world in search of answers. He favored her with a put upon, weary little smile once he had her attention, though he stopped himself short of using a glamour. There was little need for that, and using it too much on her would lead to her mind growing naturally resistant. Assuming she wasn't resistant already, with the power he'd given her.

He made his way over to the counter that separated the kitchen from her living space, brushing a finger against one of the plants in a greeting and, perhaps more carefully, to ask of them in his own way after her health now that he'd made his presence known. The gentle choir of affirmations, that she'd rested properly, that she was fine, was accompanied by the further chatter of her already deepened connection to the Green. So eager they were to sing to him of her accomplishments, however small. He could feel recrimination from some, boldly chiding him for daring to touch their precious one in such a way, while others chirped gleefully of Anemone Hulce and her many wonderous qualities. Why would they seek to push him towards her, hm? But they remained stubbornly tight lipped and evasive, some secret thing he wasn't supposed to know, the plants and flowers of her home were unsurprisingly far more loyal to her than he.

"It would seem your companions have mixed feelings about my presence."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

If it had been the day before, his reappearance would have been cause for alarm. The air was different, alerting her to him before he could speak. And like a returning part of herself, she simply gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and soundlessly, retrieved a second cup. He’d asked nicely, after all.

Funny, all of it. She thought that if she saw him again, her heart would be filled to bursting. That she would simply die of love from seeing him. While she couldn’t deny that it felt that the sun, warmth, had returned to her life, there was a steadiness there. A faint pulsing of the power from the night before, still wisps of power that eased off of him.

She fixed the second cup of tea, a mate to her own, and set it in front of him. “I suppose they would.” Why wouldn’t they? You’re one of the Fair Folk, only summoned out of desperation. Shared power with a mortal, probably because it amused you in the moment. They know you’ve got my heart and they worry about me, more family than the ones pulled to me by blood.

“So,” she rolled the ‘o’ in her mouth, perhaps entirely too causally for a mortal facing such a fantastical creature. Would she ask where he’d been? Was he exaggerating when he said he’d been around the world, or was that the truth? No matter, right? She knew what she had to do. Rivers. Oceans. Something. The details would work themselves out - like money, for one. She sat down at the small table she had, leaving him standing at the counter and in the varying expressions of the plants that gathered there. “You can keep standing there, or you can come sit here with me.” She gestured to the empty space across from her at the table. Perhaps it had been the bit of power he’d given her, but there was a calmness about her, a certainty that hadn’t been there before. The suggestion of a cool, deep pool of water in a quiet forest.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

So calm she was. That spoke well of her self-control, or perhaps her ability to rabidly adapt to new situations. Then again, it might be that her connection to the Green allowed a sense of some otherness, something that no human would normally have an interest or ability to mimic. Or perhaps he was simply looking for things that were not there, some semblance of the fey within her that could not be found, as she was decidedly human even with the bit of fey essence within her. Regardless, presented with his cup of tea he let of a hum of contentment, the liquid hitting his tongue with floral accents that pleased him endlessly. A whisper of a moment where his thoughts drifted into nothing, and then once more he was snapped into reality, the fairy mind jumping once more in the endless web of thoughts and action. An invitation to sit, yes, that would do nicely. And so he did, making his way to sit across from Anemone Hulce, another sip of tea as he eyed her.

"You've taken well to the passing of power it seems. That's good, it'd been a shame if you'd lost yourself to it. Or turned into a tree. I've seen that last one, while funny it hardly did anyone any good. Real shame, Sister Willow had liked him. Ah, I've found you a teacher, as it were..." A pause, a contemplative look upon his face as the statement hung in the air for a moment. Teacher. That wasn't right, teacher made it sound as if she'd things to learn, but the Green cared little for such human methods. The Green grew, and those who followed it's ways similarly grew into the ability they required. "No. I've found you a guide. Yes, a guide. Much better. I've found for you a guide. Not Willow, but then I don't think you are ready to meet Willow. Or your guide, for that matter. You've strength, but not enough. Not yet at any rate."

Her calm, natural and cool, was starting to throw him off a little. To be fair, he was only used to her uncertain, fumbling self, a maiden uncertain. It would seem the transition had done more for her than he'd expected, she a woman now far more in control. Or perhaps there was more to her than he'd thought to begin with. Then again, she'd already shown remarkable self control, a stubborn insistence on pursuing the one thing she'd been after. A shame that, he'd been looking forward to her flushing cheeks and stubborn refusal to admit her own desire and pleasure. Humans were always so surprising at the best and worst of moments. Never ones for moderation, not when extremes suited them so much more. Time to pursue her once more, to seek the touch of her skin and the pleasures of her flesh? No no, they'd need of a proper 'discussion', droll as it would be. But it needed doing, however much the mere thought of it was beginning to bore him.

"I don't suppose you've found some clue as to the whereabouts of your most sacred of places? An inkling of an idea as to how one might locate it? None of those I talked to had any idea of it, though I certainly found out more than my share of information regarding the other families. I must commend the Daughters, it seems you've all managed to keep yourselves well clear of gossip, even among the magical creatures of the world. Well, beyond being hardly worth mentioning. I can't say the same for those of the Brown and Blue. Which, as I've found, are practitioners of Animal and Water magic. How imaginative of you humans. It would seem your closest magical cousins are missing, presumed vanished or consumed by another clan. I'd imagine that the Green were the ones to do it, if I didn't know better. You don't seem the sort to go stealing the magic of others."

His boredom he made apparent through his chattering, if only in the vain hope that they could move on to far more interesting things. He doubted it would do much of anything, Nem had proven in the limited time he'd known her to be single minded in her duties and obligations. Still, despite the affectation of disinterest, silver eyes remained locked upon her, attentive beyond the language of his body and tongue. A deal was a deal, and he'd play his part without complaint, if only to perhaps have her perform a task for him that he'd not been able to, and maybe manage finally to gather a clue as to how to return home once more. He'd learned much in his night of travel after all, and more than just the strange politics of the magical mortals.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

I want something else.

She glanced away from him, looking about the room, her brows knit. It felt that those words had been spoken directly into her ear. But he hadn’t spoken.

With slightly narrowed eyes, she slowly turned back to Rylnon. Pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. “Did…did you say something?”

Blunt as always, with a faint undercurrent of disbelieve. She was sure what she’d heard, sure that it was his voice. She finished the last bit of her tea, and rubbed the sandalwood bracelet. A case of nerves as well as focusing power. If he could reach out with his senses, he could feel much more than just nerves from that bracelet. Since their exchange, it had become a sort of magical battery, storing excess energy that her newly opened body couldn’t process. Perhaps it was because of that bracelet, much older than her, that she hadn’t turned into a tree. It was an odd thing, “odd” in its own simplicity. Plain reddish brown wood, shiny from years of use, of the oils from the skin of many wearers. Ancient, perhaps - certainly older than her, but on the same hand, hers and hers alone, only as old as she was, as if she’d been born with it.

Her unspoken desire sang through the wood, lent it a special aura. She wants you, you know, it seemed to whisper back to him. Forever and ever and ever, it sing-songed, as vocal as any of the plants around her.

“I had an idea of where to go,” she said, snapping herself back into the reality of her small dining room. “Since you’ve given me some of your power, I don’t…” A stop. She didn’t want to insult him. “I think I can do the rest on my own. I needed more power to understand more that I didn’t get before. And I get it now. I can’t keep relying on you.” Because you won’t always be here. That wasn’t part of the deal. Unspoken, but as clear as she had. “I don’t know about the most sacred place, but I think a meeting of the Green and the Blue would be the best place to start. Our family hasn’t had a Guide in generations: I doubt they’d want anything to do with me,” a rueful smile there, apologetic as not wanting to trouble anyone else further. “The Green spoke to me; so I believe it’s up to me to get this taken care of.”

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

"I say a great many things, little Nem. Or perhaps you have not noticed how much my tongue likes to wag about. But I do not think that's what you speak of, or at least I said nothing that would confuse you so. Perhaps you've lose your mind, and this is all some fanciful dream, a dashing fairy come to wisk away your troubles."

He was only half paying attention to her words, his gaze drifting down to the bracelet about her wrist as she fussed. A gentle hum of interest, it had caught his attention only in passing before, some nervous tick of the mortal woman to fiddle with, some magical battery to hold her power. But now it seemed more, old and young, like Grandmother and Daughter all in one, a relic of something more. He was not so blinded that he could not feel the ebb and flow of the sandalwood, could not recognize that it was more alive than something cut from the Green should be. A living artifact then, a totem passed from mother to daughter? Or something else still, a blessing from Mother Green herself, the natural world displaying its love in some way that could not be known but to Green from which it came? Awakened now that power had been gifted, restored to its chosen bearer, singing now in service of one it held dear.

His hand snaked out, catching her wrist in a flicker of movement near impossible to catch with the eye. He drew her arm closer, held her wrist gently but firmly that he might examine it more carefully. Fingertips brushed at the woods, warm beneath his touch, some piece of it reaching out to as the trees reached toward the sun, drank of him as roots sipped from the earth. The power within caressed his, no longer suckling greedily but brushing against, the wood shivering at the exchange. And he could hear the gentle whispers, like the breeze through the leaves of some ancient wood, a message that seemed just out of reach until one knew how to listen properly, could pluck the song from the gentle chatter of all around him. The Green had gone silent but for the longing reach of the bracelet, seconds seemingly stretching as he reached for this piece of what was, is and would be, bound to the woman who sat before him.

She wants you... Forever and ever and ever...

Her words, spoken aloud, seemed keen to banish him from her sight, to push him away. Or perhaps she expected such, expected to be abandoned by him now that payment had been given and that she would presume his interest sated. Her pragmatism, or perhaps experience teaching her to place her faith in no one but herself. How endearingly annoying little Nem was proving to be, how very... frustrating. His hand became like steel, grip hardening around her wrist and locking her in place. The gentle silver of his eyes became cold steel as his attention shifted sharply back to her, gaze catching hers as his mood snapped from morose boredom to cold rage. A surge of harsh fury took hold of him, the gentle Summer giving way to furious Winter, as the mere thought that she would dismiss a bargain struck, as his power erupted into the room in a violent howl, the Green all around him shrinking away, wrapping about her, shielding her from the brunt of the magic.

"You would ask me to break my word, Anemone Hulce?" His voice was frozen, the words spoken disguising none of the anger, dripping like venom from his tongue. "You would cast me aside now that I have served my purpose? Sip of MY power and then release me, as if I am some base familiar conjured up by your magics? Do you think me so small, so tiny, that I would not see a bargain struck through to its very end? Or perhaps you think me some uncaring demon, seeking you only for your petty mortal soul and wiggling out of every deal made? A dragon perhaps, dazzled by all that glimmers and shines, backstabbing and conniving so hoard all the riches of the world? You have stuck a bargain for MY aid, Daughter of the Green."

And like the changing of the seasons, swift as the passing of time, anger faded, winter ice melting into a summer rain, washing away all traces of his momentary outburst. Yet the boredom was gone entirely now, the nervous hum of energy like a current within his frame, eyes locking on the woman, daring her to challenge him again, to suggest once more that he abandon her to whatever fate she might find.

"Do not insult me by presuming I will not see it through to the end, little Nem. I have offered my help, and it shall be given. Besides, you are far too fascinating to leave you be, who knows when some princely fey will come along and sweep you away. Best I stick around to... what was the phrase? Something about a stick, I think." Fingers traced patters within her palm now, a lackluster attempt to soothe whatever frayed nerves there might have been at his outburst. He hadn't intended that, but that she would presume to cast him aside, or that he would release her from his grasp... "Where were we? As yes, the Guide. And the Blue. I presume your family hasn't had a guide because of the advances of humanity. If you kill them all there's hardly going to be any left. But that's hardly your fault, and I've found a grove of dryads who will do. Winter dryads perhaps, but dryads all the same, I'm afraid most of Summer have departed from the world, and those that remain slumber. As for the Blue... well, it seems we shall have to seek them out ourselves if we wish to contact them. I'd imagine you have better knowledge of that, as I've said they've gone missing. Though I suppose they might have simply isolated themselves as you have."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

His grasp on her wrist was enough to bring her out of her thoughts. Past them, really, past reality, into that realm between wakefulness and dreaming that his type seemed to frequent. The world around her chilled, turned dark, gray and icing over. His grasp was less of that of warm fingers, flesh and bone, and more of wrought iron, forged around her and holding her fast. Fear, hot and fast, cut through her - and had it not been for the bracelet, it was a very real possibility that she would have been completely spirited away by his anger.

Instead, she seemed to reach down into the ground, her feet growing invisible roots, an ancient tree used to the changes in the season, and though not fond of the cold, knew that it would pass. But she had been wrong: and she was woman enough to admit that. Though the fact that he hadn’t let go of her didn’t do anything to calm her animal nerves, the ones that still trembled, wanted to flee, in the face of such otherworldly anger.

A press of her tongue against the inside of her cheek. She’d have to make it up to him, some offering. It’d be more of an insult to apologize, especially empty handed as she was. And it would be a risk to assume that he’d even be placated by words; she had little else, if anything, to offer him.

Nothing that he’d want, anyway, she thought, somewhat…disappointed? He’d shown no further interest in her body - not that she could tell, but to be fair, that was hardly her area of expertise - and the Green had been chastened enough by his sudden outburst that it offered no suggestion, all of its eternal power wrapped up in keeping her standing, in keeping her physical form intact around the spark of her soul. “…That I have,” she said, with a surprisingly dry throat. Her eyes were dry, too - felt that every blink her eyelids would stick fast.

“None of the..sources,” if that was the right word, “Ever go missing,” gently said, as if explaining why the goldfish was floating at the top of the bowl to a child. “They get quieter, yes, but they don’t just vanish.” They were as much as a part of her as she was of the world; natural elements, the basic building blocks of all life. Everything could be boiled down to them: breath in the lungs, blood in the veins, light in the sky and heat and cold and dry and wet. “Guides, though - that’s a different thing,” charitable, wanting to concede where he was coming from. Guides were something she’d heard of, but they populated the same world as fairy tales, in a time before modern times, before the world changed and moved faster. Certainly no one in her last few generations had mentioned anything of it, save for that…

She rubbed her chin with her free hand. “I think…my sister, Marigold, may have had a dream about a Guide.” Closed her eyes, reaching back into her memories, no stone, no matter how small, inconsequential. Eyes still closed, she spoke, floating through dreams: “She gave her power to me, something that shouldn’t be possible, but neither should have my mother giving birth to two daughters…not sure if it was a Guide, like you speak of, or maybe something more sinister…”

Opened eyes to look at him. “Is there a way that these Guides that you speak of could tell? If it was something more sinister, something looking to weaken our grasp, then this has started long before me.”

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Disappointment, an acrid tang upon his mental tongue, causing an unbidden frown to press its way onto his lips. It was hers, he could feel that, another odd echo that he wasn't sure was intentional. It gathered his attention like spider's silk gathered morning dew, held it fast just upon the edge of itself yet revealed nothing further. The charm about her wrist, the relic that was new and old and ancient and recent, provided no further answers. It's power was perhaps distracted, twisted to some greater goal of its mistress, no doubt a fault of his own.

Weak. Winter should not overcome Summer.

It was a gentle admonishment, the only one he allowed before Nem was away again, her voice forming ideas into words, possibilities into plans, concepts into actions. He could profess no great knowledge of mortal magics, its working a mystery to his fey sensibilities. While there were member of the Fairfolk that drew their power from other... "sources"... it was and always had been the Green that ruled the mercurial sensibilities of his kind. Fey of the Blue, the Brown, the Red, and the ever more esoteric "colors" were few and far between, fewer still the farther they traveled away from the Green's influence. He'd be of little use to her in contending with the Blue, or finding someone else who could speak with it's voice, beyond inquiring after those of his kind that chose Blue over Green.

"It is possible a Guide had a hand in aiding your sister in her goal. It1 is just as likely the Green knew your sister's intentions, and felt it best to award its power to one more willing, and suited, to its touch. It would be near impossible to tell, any such influence would be long faded... though, the powers of a Dryad would be far more discerning of such things. They are more closely tied to the Green than I, living within its bosom as they do. They might be of use to you, beyond their mere use as Guides of Green, but as you are, they would merely scoff at any questions. Winter Dryads are... well, I it isn't my place to color your judgement, nor to speak of the Courts of the Fey. Alas, it will be sometime yet until you are ready to meet your Guides. The power you wield now is still weak, the seedling to the Great Oak that it one day could be. Letting it grow will take time."

Time he didn't particularly want to have to wait for, if one could have found the ability to pry the cold truth from his lips. But he'd little interest in that, and besides, what was the fun in coming out an saying things like that? Humans and their constant need to be told things. No, he'd much rather play the game, and validate the strange whisperings that had echoed in his ears. Did she want him, somewhere deep inside her mortal heart? It was not inconceivable, and she would not be the first, and she'd even said as much in their last meeting, not even a day ago. Still, mortal hearts were whimsical things, and words were little more than words more often than not. And all the same, it left him plenty of rhyme and reason to play the games of cat and mouse that men and women played with one another.

"I suppose we could speed up the process, feed the seedling the magical equivalent of sun and rain, hasten it's journey to sprouting properly. I could even make it enjoyable again, if you'd prefer that to more... forceful methods." Her hand was brought to his lips, though his kiss found itself not upon her skin but upon the wood of her bracelet, an echoing of power, asking permission for it to lower its careful guard of its mistress. Even as he did so a Glamour shimmered across his form, a subtle working that picked at her attention, drew her eyes to the qualities of his physical form that pleased her. There was, unfortunately, little to see of his form, wrapped as it was in layers of winter gear thanks to his worldly journey, but alas there'd been little time for collecting more appropriate clothing. He made of show of absentmindedly licking his lips, eyes watching her for any reaction that might show her interest, however subtle, even as he kept the Glamour shimmering just upon the surface.

He could just here it, the murmuring of the Green all about him, the chiding of those warning him of playing his games with their mistress, others whispering their encouragement, imploring him to lavish his attentions upon her. He ignored them both, focused as he was upon her, the slightest of smiles as he gazed upon her and sought some sign that her calm was interrupted. Would she insist upon the boring mechanics of it all, or perhaps she'd loosen after the first time, would seek out her own pleasure in some fascinating new way. Or maybe she'd reject him completely, toss away the concept entirely, and wouldn't that be just as entertaining to see, to experience, a mortal woman willfully rejecting the professed object of their affections.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Her focus seemed to register back to the here and now, rather than the fog of her thoughts. A small, gentle smile, breaking through the frost of her composure. A turn to face him, shining that small smile on him. “…You’re quite charitable, aren’t you?”


In response to his mentioning that the Guide could have aided her sister for their own collective good, as opposed to being something hostile. Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue on his part, or, a part of her hoped, it was true, based on knowledge that she was far too young to ever understand. It was surprisingly humanizing - and for the first time since she was introduced to him, she felt that he was actually physically there with her, not a teasing shadow of romantic dreams.


“I didn’t think that Guides, or Dryads, in this case, could be physical beings. I feel as if they belong to stories and dreams. I don’t know what I’d do if I actually met one face to face.” A bit of awe there, a small slip of envy: imagine, being something, anything, other than human, being so intricately tied with the Green that there was no discernible difference between where she ended and where her host, a lovely tree, began. What wouldn’t she give to live a life like that: breathing, connected to the small pulse that moved her now, except even moreso, with it filling all of her senses, being able to shed being human.


“Time’s not something that I’ve got a lot of,” a glance down at her hands, chasing away the daydreams of no longer being human. Of being caressed, loved, as much as she loved. “ ‘Speed up the process’?” A raise of her eyebrows, a slight wrinkling of her nose as she considered what he said - and moreso, what wasn’t said.


“Are you asking to sleep with me?” So much for being subtle. Or of anything being close to romantic overtures. “I…” Her gaze drifted to his lips against her dark knuckles, then to the shining embers of his eyes. It would be too easy to fall into them, completely forget herself, if she looked for too long. But all the same, she allowed herself to look longer than she should have. A bit of a nervous smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He wasn’t supposed to lie to her. “D…do you find pleasure in it?” Ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth, natural curiosity springing free. “Or is it just something to pass the time?” His kind had always been a bit sexless, at least in her readings, only using beauty to ensnare all too weak human flesh. Not succubi or incubi, but eager to lead those astray for whatever reason.

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

The compliment, if it even was one, was greeted with the slightest hum of consideration. Charitable. It was something he couldn't recall being described as, at least within recent memory. The Fey had little use for such blatant flattery, at least not without some game being played or double meaning implied. Mortals in general preferred less kind descriptors, though he could hardly fault them their opinions given his usual antics, done to relieve his near endless boredom. Then again, few mortals truly understood the fairfolk, or their whims, and fewer still were gifted any amount of time beside one to learn. He was unusual for a Fey though, doubly so for an Archfey. He'd spent centuries upon mortal soil, traveling beside mortal lives, watching them flicker to life, burn bright, and then vanish at the merest passing moment. A truth most humans seemed disinterested in confronting, though that too made them all the more entertaining to interact with. Charitable... what an interesting description...

Did he seem so to her? A charitable being, given to providing of himself for the benefit of another? To her, he must seem so. Would she think of him the same if she knew what it was he sought of her, truly? What she might, after all these year, be able to accomplish in his name?

He made no comment upon her musing as to the Dryads. They were real, in so far as they still existed, though their number dwindled with every passing year. Unsurprising given the greed of humanity, though the most recent flickers of time had seen humanity begin to notice the dwindling presence of the Green. The dryads, of course, were rarely divided by court in any truly meaningful manner. If anything, they gave little care to either Summer or Winter, paying fealty only in the sharing of disposition. The Winter Dryads were called such simply because they were more spiteful, more vicious, more predatory than their Summer brethren. Ultimately, they bowed before the might of an Archfey simply because an Archfey was stronger, but ultimately they cared for little beyond their small groves, their heart-tree, and the whims of their true mother. Still, Dryads were the greatest of Guides to the Green, few better understood it's whims and fancies, were as beloved as the Tree-Daughters.

Anemone's questions were met with undisguised mirth. His eyes burned ever brighter, gleeful at the subtle hints in her eyes, in the slightest tug at her lips. Whether deliberate bluntness or clumsy uncertainty, he found it endearing all the same. She was unpracticed in the game of temptation, though he found it less an issue and more simply fascinating. It made her reactions genuine, her "to the point" questions leaking her interest clearly in the open air. Left unsaid was that, despite her blunt acknowledgement of what he proposed, she hadn't actually said no. If there was ever a moment to assume permission, or at least willingness to consider, it was delightfully now.

"Must it be one or the other, Nem? Or even either? Perhaps I am doing this simply to provide you the power you require." He stood then, straightening if only to ease the removal of his winter coat, deposited almost haphazardly on the back of the chair he'd just vacated. Beneath the heavy jacket was clothing that was clearly of mundane make, a turtleneck of bland grey colors picked for utility over appearance. A moment of whimsy, seduction was so much easier in clothing that was not quite so clearly unflattering, before he was turning his attention to his potential partner once more. Wordlessly he took her hand again, drawing her to her feet and into some approximation of a dancer's hold. Another passing second, a chance for her to draw away, and whether she remained with him or not he was away, moving about the room in a dance to mirror the dance of words and intentions he now performed with her. "Mayhap it is all three, and more besides. The games we play, the deals we make, the pleasures we share, these are all many things to me. But if it is my pleasure that so fascinates you, maybe you can find your answer yourself, hm? I am not so aloof as to ignore you, Daughter of the Green, and surely even one so unpracticed might draw the reactions she seeks from her partner..."

An offer, unspoken, that if she wished to she could touch, and taste, and tease. That she could seek the answer to her own question, for what proper fey would ever answer such a question with a straightforward answer? Ah, but she was already proven to be uninterested in such games, despite his own eagerness to play. She would deflect, or decline, or simply demand he "get to the point", and the simple joy of the game would be over already. How deeply sad the thought was. But alas, who was he to deny someone so beloved of the Green.

"But I suppose if you are so eager to simply hear my thoughts, and leave me without the joys of your attentions," words were accompanied with an overly dramatic sigh, melancholy not quite reflected in the grin upon his lips. "then I could be persuaded to part with an answer. A simple bargain, and surely not so great a price. A kiss, no more no less, for the loosening of my humble tongue to deliver the words you seek."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“You and your silver tongue,” breathed out before she realized it may have been perceived as an insult. This close, it was getting harder to disguise her actual personality. Or perhaps it’d be easier to say the person she wanted to be. Still, she made no move to withdraw her hand from his. He was ‘pouring it on thick,’ as she’d heard others say, but being on the receiving end of it was far more pleasant than she’d even imagined. A small flicker of warning in the back of her head, easily ignored as she shyly held his gaze with her own.


He could be weaving a spell now, but what would he want with me? I’ve no real power to speak of, not compared to his…


“You’re a crystal,” she said, finally, rather bluntly, though there was still a ghost of a laugh in her voice. “I ask you a simple thing and you take it and scatter it in all sorts of directions.” But rather than untangle herself from him, her fingers tightened on his, and using him as leverage, she drew him into her, another step into the dance he’d drawn her in. Chest to chest, the warmth of her body pressed against the length of his. She was in love, she knew it down to the marrow, and knew that it wouldn’t end well, but was she scared of the all too human heartbreak, or simply being left to mourn a life lived alone?


But hadn’t I thought I was always going to be alone anyway? What difference does it make now? Isn’t it better ‘to have loved and lost than never loved at all’?


“A kiss…? Seems simple enough…” Breathe against his, sweet with jasmine tea, milk, sugar.


A reverberation, somewhere in her back molars. Thrumming through the bracelet, through their fingertips.


He wants you, sees it as a game. But you want him as well. Between the middle’s the truth. What does he really want from you - and what would you have to offer?


A conversation within herself, with herself, with the dull resonant echo of Magic, the Green, something beyond both, the origin of all. Be honest with yourself here, and you'll get all the answers you seek.


I want him, he knows that. He wants me. Do I need to think of it more?


But how do I know that?


Because he’s instigating it, sang another part of her, something picked up from the touch of his hand. Enjoy it. Enjoy him. Let everything flow through and within you.


She leaned forward now, lips parting. “Simple enough…”

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Her words were met with a proper smile, perhaps a bit too smug in its self-assurance. Humans seemed to think a 'silver tongue' a detriment, but it suited his needs just fine, and from her it was sign of the biting personality beneath. The hints of it before were there, of course, but to draw it out of her was a delight. Another game to be played, layered upon or beneath other games. The same with her comparison of him to a crystal, though the shadow of laughter in her voice was matched with a mirthful chuckle, even as he continued to lead them both in the steps of their dance. The subtle play of thoughts and emotions, hidden behind the mask of her features, left him fascinated, whatever internal debate was occurring playing before him in the twitch of her lips, the tiniest narrowing of her eyes. He was content to let her have her quiet moments, lest his interference cause the woman before him to grow stoic once more.

Though the bagginess of her shirt hid the figure beneath well, it did little to disguise the softness of her curves pressed close as she was. The swell of her breast against his chest would have been reminder enough of her femininity, aided by the scent of her, the cling of flowers, the mark of their favor upon her skin. Her breath carried yet further marking of her, the scent of the teas he'd quickly come to associate with the woman fresh and sharp, yet without overwhelming the moment.

"Simple enough..."

Her words trailed away.

"Simple enough"

His agreed.

Then his lips found hers, his tongue accepting the invitation of her parted lips. She tasted of the tea as well, sweet and smooth. His hand upon her hips found its way to the small of her back, to hold her and keep her close. It was a brief moment, that kiss. Scant seconds, for while he suspected she would mind longer indulgence, he had made a deal. Still, he drew away only far enough to allow words to be spoken, her lips tantalizingly close, that he might simply inch forward and have claimed her kiss once more.

"Your answer, dearest Nem. I find pleasure in you, and in all that you do. Should you indulge me and indulge in me, than I shall find joy in your touch, in the taste of your skin, in the sound of your voice, in sight of your satisfaction. Should you choose to deny me, that to I shall delight in, for the sight of your strength of will, of your stoic refusal, your stubborn calm. I find pleasure in Anemone Hulce, no matter the circumstance that she chooses to grant me her attention, or lack thereof."

He was being indulgent, he knew. Most fey would not have bothered to give more than a simple answer to the most obvious question, and likely not even that. But he favored her, more perhaps than was normal, for her was fascinated with her. The audacity of her plan, her cunning to garb herself in glamour, to wield illusion against the fey, master of illusion. Against another fey, a weaker fey, she might have succeeded, leaving some lesser fey none the wiser to her deceit. All the better that the Green so loved her, the plants surrounding her moving without prompt or offering to protect the one they held dear. Few could claim such loyalty, even less so that a tree would struggle against the call of Winter to be of aid.

Yes, he favored her greatly, and in another life he might have even take her wish before the Summer Queen to be granted.

"But what shall you do now that you've your answer, little Nem?"