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Message-ID: <37051asstr$1024996204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Alexis Siefert <ealexissiefert@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP - Nevermore (F-Solo? M?F) {Alexis S.}
Date: Tue, 25 Jun 2002 05:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Nevermore.txt" begin>

Nevermore
by Alexis Siefert
(M?F myth F-solo?)
Copyright (C) 2001

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

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 intellectually knew the 'truth,' her mind 
refused to believe that the depression was just a series of emotions, feelings 
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.

She picked up the blade and tried a few "courage" cuts.  Nothing.  She
saw the small drops of blood form along the lines she drew on her forearm, 
but there wasn't any pain. Not really.

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.
'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. She 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.

She noticed it again. The raven. The white raven. 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 are 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 fight, a small piece 
of darkness stark against the bright light of day.


~~~~~~

Thank you.  Please, let me know what you think.

Alexis
ealexissiefert@yahoo.com

<1st attachment end>


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