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From: Alexis Siefert <ealexissiefert@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Nevermore (Alexis S.)(M?F myth F-solo?)
Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2001 05:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Nevermore.txt" begin>

	This is a work of adult fiction and should be read only by
adults. It is also my work. Although I receive no compensation
other than your comments, it is still my work. Please respect
this and do not repost it somewhere else without talking to me
first about it. If you are not allowed to read works with sexual
content, either due to your age or by virtue of the laws in the
geographical location in which you reside, please do not
continue. 

	I'd love to hear from you - please, please, please let me know
what you think.  Like most writers, I take what I do here very
seriously, and I'd appreciate any feedback, suggestions, or
comments that readers are kind enough to send.  

	Alexis (ealexissiefert@yahoo.com)

~~~~~~

Nevermore (M?F myth F-solo?)

        In Pacific Northwest native cultures (Alaska, British
Columbia, Washington, and Oregon) Raven serves many purposes.   He
is often a force who brings change or creates order, natural
phenomena, habits, or customs.   He's a trickster and a fool, but
he is also a protector of people and smaller beings.  

        There is a story in the Haida family in which Raven brings
light to the people.  This story is based upon that myth.

~~~~~~~

        It wasn't going away.  It had come before, and it had
always gone away before, but this time seemed different somehow. 
This time it was heavier, lingering longer, filling up more of the
empty spaces around her life.  It was seeping through all of the
uncaulked cracks in her psyche and was running down the walls of
her brain.  The cloud had taken on an almost physical form around
her.  It sat on her eyelids and made them heavy.  It rested upon
her shoulders and forced her to slump.  Although she knew, with her
intellect she _knew_, her mind refused to believe that the
depression was just a series of emotions, feelings which she could
banish if only she could find the energy.  She also knew that this
was the final time she would go through this cycle.  

        Connie sighed as she turned the faucet off.  Steam rising
from the tub blurred her vision and fogged the reflective surfaces
of the mirrored paneling along the bathroom wall.  From her perch
on the tiled edge of the bathtub she could see through the steamed
window, into the small yard behind her home.  It was just as well
that the condensation blocked her vision; her normally pristine
landscaped yard had been allowed to fall into disrepair this
summer.  Her roses, her perfect prize roses, hadn't been pinched
back once since they started blooming. The raspberry bushes lining
the tall wooden fence had grown gnarled and impossible. The berries
were allowed to grow beyond ripe until they fell, swollen and
sticky, onto the ground below.  Hundreds of times this summer she
had started outside to prune and cut, intending to weed the rows
between her carrots and peas, wanting nothing more than to inhale
the full blooms of the roses and run her hands through the carpet
of impatiens beside the stone walkway from her side door.  However,
it seemed that just putting on her gardening togs was enough to
exhaust her, and by the time she reached the door it seemed as
though the effort wasn't worth any benefit she would garner from
being out.

        This had always been the first sign that she was headed
into a dark time.  The tried and true pick-me-ups stopped working.
Biting her lip she gently eased her feet into the scalding tub. The
water was hotter than she usually found comfortable, but at least
the sensation of pain could still get through her dulled senses. 
At some level she was worried that the only feelings she still
seemed to retain were those most extreme feelings of pain. The
milder emotions seemed blocked by some invisible bubble surrounding
her.  As she eased her body completely into the water and let the
steam envelop her, Connie pushed those worries aside.  The heat
filled her head and numbed her skin.  

        Connie sat this way for what seemed like hours, partially
draining and refilling the tub whenever the water cooled or
whenever her body adjusted to the temperature.  With a
dispassionate eye, she could see the redness form on her skin, the
flush from the heated water, the slight burns.  She took comfort in
the fact that she saw these things rather than felt them. 
'Tomorrow,' she thought, 'tomorrow none of this will matter any
longer.'  She reached for the blade she had set on the edge of the
tub.  

        There was pleasure in the pain, comfort in the idea that
she could still feel something, at least for now.  She stopped the
pressure to examine the small drop of red forming on her inner arm.
The steam had built into such a thick curtain around her that she
was having difficulty focusing on the veins beneath her skin. 
Putting down the razor, Connie reached for the clasp of the window
above the tub.  She opened the window a few inches to clear the
steam and allow her to focus on the task at hand.

        As she reached to again pick up the blade, she saw a flash
of white through the window.  Squinting through her blurred vision,
Connie saw a large white bird sitting on the windowsill. 'Strange,'
she thought.  'I swear that looks like a raven.'  She shook the
thought from her head.  'Impossible.  I've never heard of a white
raven.'

        She put the blade down on the tiled floor and reached up
towards the bird. He sat still, watching her with a wise eye, his
head tilted towards her.  As her hand approached the sill, he
suddenly opened his beak as if to squawk, but merely ruffled his
feathers and took flight on silent wing.

~~~~~~

        Connie woke with a start.  Apparently she had forgotten to
fully pull the curtain last night (although to be honest, she
didn't completely remember coming to bed after last night's bath). 
The morning sun had sent tendrils streaming across her bed to play
with the loose folds of the summer blanket.  Grumbling quietly to
herself she pulled the sheet over her head and buried her face in
the pillow.  She strained to pull tears from her eyes, or sobs from
her throat as the faint throbbing in her forearm began to assert
itself and remind her that she had failed to end things last night.
Nothing.  There wasn't enough feeling left inside her body to
summon tears.

        'Well, no sense making the same mistake twice,' she
thought as she sighed and poked her head out into the stale room
air. Rolling first to her left, she reached out and pushed the
bedroom window open.  Her body shivered slightly as the cold early-
morning air washed over her.  Twisting her body, Connie reached for
the open vial sitting on her nightstand. 'Remarkable, really,' she
thought absently, 'I would have thought that my hand should at
least shake a bit.'  Connie took this steadiness as a sign of her
body's acquiescence to the decision made by her brain.  She shook
the pills out into her palm and silently counted them.  It had
taken an amazing amount of willpower to stockpile this bottle.  Her
insurance would only allow for a one-month prescription at a time,
so she had been forced to fall back on over-the-counter sleep aids
for the past two months so she could hoard her small supply of the
triazolam. She had no idea how many pills this would take, but she
figured that her hard-saved 60-day supply should be more than
sufficient.

        Setting the pills in the ceramic dish beside the bed,
Connie stumbled sleepily to the kitchen to fill her water glass and
the water pitcher she kept by her bed.  Glass in one hand, pitcher
in the other, Connie returned to the bedroom and settled
comfortably between the cool cotton sheets.  She thought briefly
about closing the window; the temperature of the room had dropped
dramatically with the open pane, but the effort seemed silly. 'It's
not going to matter much in a few minutes anyway.'  

        Two pills at a time, slowly so as not to upset her stomach
and destroy the whole point of the overdose, Connie began to
swallow the pills.  Her stomach clenched as the pills began to
dissolve.  'Small steps, Connie.  Slow and steady if this is going
to work.'  Two on her tongue, wash them down with water, rest a
moment to let her stomach settle, then reach for the next two.  

        It was then that she noticed it again.  The raven.  The
white raven.  With her attention diverted, her hand stopped
somewhere between the bed and her lips.  Her eyes were caught by
the sunlight glinting off his feathers.  'Strange,' she thought,
'he doesn't look quite as white as he did last night.'

        She blinked her eyes and rubbed the lingering sleep from
her lids.  'No, he definitely looks substantially gray around the
edges.  Positively dusty.'  She laughed softly and her fingers
traced the small flecks of gray at her own hairline.  'Oh well,
little one.  It happens to the best of us.  One day we just wake up
and there're the telltale signs.'   Her voice was strange to her
ears.  The sound echoed against walls that hadn't heard human
voices in days, weeks perhaps.  

        The bird preened silently, almost as though he too was
inspecting his newly darkened feathers.  As his beak brushed under
his wing, Connie could see that it was more than just a new
smattering of darkness.  Where last night there were white
feathers, the undersides of his wings were black.  Mesmerized by
the raven's motions, Connie sat motionless, pills still in hand,
watching the bird.  She could feel those first few pills start to
take hold of her consciousness.

        The raven stopped and focused his eyes on her. Still,
silent. He could have easily been one of the ceramic figures she
remembered her mother being so fond of collecting.  Those silly
figurines gathering dust upon the mantle.  But there was a
difference.  This one had a fire in his eyes.  Those eyes that
looked at her, seeing through her.  She shuddered.

        'Stop it Connie.   It's just a damn bird.  Or it's a
figment of your imagination.   Let it be.'  Her voice was rough,
raw from disuse.  With a wave of her hand she shooed the bird away.
"Bah! Scat!'

        It raised itself on tufted legs and shook its wings out to
their full span.  It wasn't until then that Connie got a full
appreciation of the size of the bird.  Its wings beat a slow
rhythm, fanning the summer morning air into the room and filling
her nose with the scent of dew-damp grass and blooming morning
glories.

        She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply letting her head
fall lightly back against the pillow.  With a half-effort, she
weakly raised her hand toward her lips, but by that time the first
pills had reached their prescribed effect, and she silently nodded
off to sleep, her task again left undone.

        The once impossibly-white raven watched silently over her
as she slept, departing only as the day passed and the sun began to
set.

~~~~~

        Her dreams were fitful, as they often were when her sleep
was drug-induced.  They were impressions, really, more than dreams.
Images.  

        The touch was light over her eyelids.  The faintest of
brushings along her skin, tickling her lashes and cheeks.  She
smiled in her sleep and tossed her head, remembering, perhaps, a
lover's touch.  A long-ago touch from a long-ago man.  Delicate,
loving. The feather continued its path across her cheeks, over her
lips, tracing their lines with its edge.  She lifted her chin
slightly, exposing the pale skin of her throat, the throbbing of
her pulse evident under the taut skin.  The feather paused slightly
as it wound its way under her jaw, drawing a shiver from her body.  

        Even in her sleep, she could feel her body begin to
respond. Her fingers wound into the sheet, gathering it up in her
palms as she pressed her hands into the mattress.  Her nipples
pressed against the cotton of her t-shirt, straining as they
hardened with the remembrance of things past.  The sleeping woman's
breath seemed to catch in her throat as she arched her back, giving
silent voice to the stirrings of once-felt desire.

        Through the haze of sleep, Connie could feel the steady
hand wielding the torturous feather across her skin.  The nerves in
her body suddenly seemed to cry out for more, to beg for a firmer
touch.  As the feather teased her now-swollen nipples, Connie
pressed her shoulders harder into the bed, forcing her breasts up,
searching for fingers, hands, lips, anything other than this barely-
there touch.  

        As she strained towards the unseen hand it withdrew,
leaving her quivering, struggling to pull herself from sleep.  Not
until she calmed her breath and relaxed back into a restful slumber
did the feather resume its exploration.  It began over her right
breast, tracing circles around her areola. Drawing an invisible
line from the tips of her breasts, down to the skin between them,
skin damp with the slightest touch of desire.  

        From her breasts, the feather drew paths to her belly,
pausing only briefly over the hollow of her stomach.  Along that
delicate line at her hip, over her swollen mound it flirted.  

        Connie felt her thighs parting, not completely at her
will, although not controlled by anyone other than herself.  The
unseen hand found the cleft between her legs.  Teasing her clit
from its hiding place, the feather stroked a long, slow path
between her nether lips.  Her sex blossomed, opening in desire for
the touch.

        The feather, glistening with her moisture, withdrew.  The
sleeping woman moaned in frustration and desire, her hips grinding
against empty air.

~~~~~~

        He came to her again that night as she slept.  This time
beginning at her toes, like light fingers fluttering over her skin,
stroking her soles, along her arches, and sending shivers up her
thighs to her center.  Her thighs parted, offering her willing sex
to the unknown suitor.  Muscles throbbed and clenched, and her
juices flowed freely from her sex, between the cleft of her
buttocks, moistening the sheet beneath her.  

        Stroking up her calf, drawing along the sharply defined
muscles of her legs to the soft skin of her inner thigh, it drew
its energy from her body, pulling from her the darkness that had
threatened to overshadow her being.  

        She shuddered with a forgotten delight as the cloud was
pulled away from her.  Again, he withdrew, leaving her bucking
against the emptiness of her room.  In her sleep she cursed the
unfairness of it, she railed against the exquisite torture of the
waiting, the denial of release.  It had been so long since she had
felt the desire, always the internal bindings holding her down and
the clouds darkening her soul had fought against the longing,
suppressing it until lust and desire were nothing more than vague
memories.  

~~~~~~

        He came to her again that same night, and then again,
repeating the cycle almost endlessly.  Drawing her out, pulling her
cravings from the untapped reaches of her soul, holding her body
tight at the edge of orgasm until she quivered and shook for more. 
With each passing stroke, each touch upon her skin, his body
darkened as he pulled her burden into his own being.       

        Her skin tingled as the shroud lifted, pulling her climax
slowly, drawing the orgasm from the deepest recesses of her belly. 

        Her cries, both of joy and sorrow, filled the empty room. 

~~~~~~

        It was the feeling of change that finally pulled her from
sleep. Again, the sun was shining through the open curtains, but
this morning the air in the room was fresh, not stale.  The window
remained open, and with a sudden dawning of realization, Connie
understood that she had slept at least through a day; and, judging
from the stiffness in her hips and shoulders, perhaps two.

        Connie stretched her arms above her head, slowly rotating
them to work the kinks from her stiff joints.  She wondered
absently if there was any ground coffee in the freezer, but then
she realized that she was awake, really awake, and clear-headed. 
And happy. 

        On the window beside her bed, curtains fluttering around
its glistening body, sat the raven.  Its once-white feathers, now a
deep ebony, shone in the morning sun.  With a seemingly-satisfied
nod of its head, the bird spread its wings and took flight, a small
piece of darkness stark against the bright light of day.


<1st attachment end>


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