The Sineater

The Sineater Pt. 1

Na'ryn sat up and reclined against the headboard, the wood warm against her skin, the cotton sheet slipping to expose her breasts. Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed in the heady aroma that filled the room-- dragon's blood and vanilla, a hint of something spicy, and blooming lotus carried on the breeze coming in through the open window. Suddenly there was a weight that shifted the bed that settled between her thighs. A scratchy beard tickled her lower belly as he nuzzled into her, getting comfortable before wrapping his arms around her leg. His warmth was comforting and she could feel the tingle of his energy move across her skin, skimming lazily along her body and setting the hairs on her arms to rising as if by an electric charge in the air. 

She let out a gentle sigh as she exhaled, his head rising and falling with her breathing. He seemed content with not speaking, so Na'ryn waited in the silence a bit before beginning. Opening her eyes she traced his hairline with a featherlight fingertip before running her hand through his hair. He grumbled when she gripped it tighter and nuzzled deeper into her center, pressing into sensitive places with his shoulder. Her breathing hitched but she went back to lightly tracing the curve of his neck to injured shoulder and arm. She feared he'd fall asleep before she got to tell her story, so she began.

"There is something to be said of soldiers who seek the comfort of a woman's touch, who, upon returning from war, go first for drink and whores or the beds of their wives before anything else-- after payment, of course, to be able to buy such services," she began, and heard him chuckle into the space between her legs. She shuddered slightly at the vibration felt there but continued. "The drink is to celebrate victory, hopefully, but also to dull the memories some, and the pain. Toasts to lost comrades, to brave souls, to worthy opponents. The women, though. They are for a purpose wholly different. Men seek their touch for their tenderness, their innocence, their warmth. For the quiet whispers when they wake in the night full of terror, for the gentle touch when all sense of self is gone, for the safety of their embrace and the softness of their body after the hardship that is war. They seek solace from their nightmares, forgiveness for their sins, and a sense of being human once more. They seek surrender instead of combat, comfort instead of hardship, pleasure instead of pain. Some of it many seek in drink, sure, an often misguided and abused outlet. But the heart of it, their most inner drive, calls to something in the very marrow of their bones, and buries them between the thighs of a woman. It is a returning-to. A dying and rebirth. A confession. A baptism. Seeking to be whole again. It is a harking to the days of old when the warriors first sought out the temple priestesses. The goddess manifest in her earthly vessel, his coin exchanged for the lifting of her veil, and when he surrenders to her, he is gifted with freedom. Absolution. Love. This returning to, this knowing in the depths of his soul that draws him to her, is something rooted in the memory of the lineage that is warring men. In an unbroken chain from the beginning, when clay and blood were mixed together and formed into the first Man, when life was breathed into them, they have known to seek balance, to try to lighten the scale that weighs their heart and save their souls in the embrace of women."

She was quiet a moment, thinking him asleep, his breathing deep and his weight heavy on her. Suddenly he kissed the center of her and wrapped his arms around her hips tightly. Looking up at her his face was serious, and yet contemplative, green eyes glittering. "I would seek absolution at the altar of the goddess," he said, his voice deep with need and veneration. She smiled, then lifted her chin to attempt a look of regality. He returned the smile, his hungry, and began to kiss her from her center to her breasts. Arching into his touch, she gathered him to her and became the Sineater.

>>> <<< >>> <<< 

Na'ryn dreamt of darkness. All around she felt it pressing in on her, a crushing weight that made it hard to take a breath. She struggled in the inky abyss, disoriented, not knowing where she was or why or how to free herself. Fearing she would be lost, she began to call out. "Lerand, Lerand, I can't escape, find me Lerand..." Suddenly she was jarred awake, startling a gasp from her chest as if she really had not been breathing. As she lay in the bed gulping air, she felt chilled as the breeze from the window cooled the sheen of sweat on her skin. Warily Na'ryn opened her eyes and saw his peering down at her, concern wrinkling the skin at the corners, his eyes slanted like almonds. It was dark, the only light coming from the moon outside which had risen halfway into the sky in it's nightly journey, chased by the sun. Or chasing the sun, depending on who you asked.