A song touched me. Not one made by music, but by magic. A song of sound, scent and taste. I was familiar with it, the cold roar of winter, the distant scent of woodsmoke and the heady taste of hot milk and honey. There was something masculine about it. There always was. It was his and, despite standing alone, naked and in the dark, I felt safe. He was there, coming to my side. The throb to his song was growing stronger, slipping over me, stroking me.
Then I felt strong fingers at my chin, tilting my face upwards as his mouth found mine. Despite having had this same dream for years, I found myself whimpering softly, my body swiftly being swallowed with liquid fire, sweet and heady. His kiss was fierce, possessive and deep, encouraging me to welcome him with gentle nips at my lower lip. I submitted to him with a gentle gasp, parting my lips and allowing him to taste me. His hand slipped into the wealth of my hair to pull me close, his arms circling me and bundling me up against him as his lust began to roar, his magic twining with mine possessively.
Then I was abruptly on my back with him blanketing me, his mouth at my neck, his teeth nipping at my throat and slowly drifting lower and lower until his mouth brushed the small bud of my breast. I shivered hotly, the fire roaring through me sweetly and burning away all thought. Everything about him called to me, demanding I submit to him. And I was willing to. My body responded to him, sensitive and eager, aching for him desperately as liquid heat pooled.
But just as his tongue flicked over the pink bud, teasing it into a small peak, a crow screamed by my bedroom window, shattering my dream and jolting me into consciousness.
I stared up at the ceiling, breathing stupidly fast and feeling very flustered. My sheet was sprawled out away from me and my shift was baring my legs to the world, cooling my warm skin swiftly. It took me a moment to get myself under control and realise I was alone. No man was in my room, just like there never had been before. It had only been a dream. A similar dream I had been having for the last seven years, I'll admit, but a dream all the same. I sat up sharply and purposely sat on my hands when I felt the urge to get this horrible lusting sensation out of my system. I promised myself I would get out of that habit. It was only a dream after all.
I sat there for a little while, eyes closed softly. Mother had always said I would know when I was ready for my Weaver, I just hadn't realised it would be erotic dreams most nights. It's not like I even remembered the man's face or voice or anything. He felt familiar, yes, so I know it was the same man I dream every time, but I didn't know him in reality. It made me question why my magic did this. Why not show me his face? A name? Where he was in the world so I could maybe strike out and find him? But my magic would never answer. It may communicate through vague dreams or feelings, but little else. It was no one from the town, which I was glad about now that I thought about it. Nobody there particularly liked me apart from Gabi, which swiftly reminded me about the promise I made to her.
I rolled off my bed and stumbled downstairs to find my way to the bathroom. I was as loud as possible as I washed and dressed myself, yanking my bodice tight and pulling up thick stockings. Ever since my parents' deaths this place had been too quiet, too lonely. Singing and practically shouting to myself was a way of giving myself company and getting rid of old desires for things to be back as they used to be when I was a child. That and it kept the nightmares at bay.
I grabbed my cloak and pulled the hood over my head as I stepped outside, awkwardly locking the door behind me when the key got stuck. Today was cool but warmer than it had been. With autumn now setting in, the sun was cooler, the sky drab and rain and storms were coming more often, making the earth cold and wet. Trying my hardest to keep myself up by flinging my arms out at either side, I just about managed to get across the field that separated my house from the thin well used road. Following that was a little easier and less treacherous and I managed to reach the town completely mud free for once.
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The Weaver's Source
FantasyLyra has been waiting for her Weaver to find her for years, unable to leave the safety of her home and only connected to him through passionate dreams - remembering nothing about him apart from his wild, sensual song. When the lone Weaver Grigore f...