March Twenty-First [ FF cons ]
By Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

Lori felt herself falling. The sensation curious and simultaneously
frightening. A dark void seemed to swallow her, as though she wasn't
there. But she was.

She had just slipped into bed, the crisp sheets and the heavy comforter
providing a solace from the cold wind and sleet swirling just outside
the window. She hated winter. She was perpetually cold, except when
she was in bed. Or in Heather's arms.

She could still feel the lingering warmth of Heather's soft lips. Still
detect her soft scent on her fingers. Almost reexperience the gentle love 
making in Heather's living room. Still remembered the sight of Heather, as 
Lori had walked through the swirling snow to her Pathfinder, standing, 
almost forlorn, in the doorway waving. Only her satin nightgown protecting 
her small body from the ice and snow. Shivering, but waiting for Lori to 
drive out of sight before finally allowing herself to close the door against 
the elements. 

Lori knew she should have stayed. Especially on a night like this. Like she 
had wanted to. Like Heather had wanted her to. But she couldn't. What if 
someone had seen her truck? Known somehow? Known that Heather and her were 
sharing a bed. In love? She felt so guilty. So unsure of herself. And 
Heather. God, she wished she was here. So understanding. So patient. Waiting 
for her to understand herself. Her feelings. All these stupid thoughts 
running through her mind. And running away. Back to her empty apartment. 
And her comforter. Just not the same as Heather's soft skin. A tear tracked 
slowly down Lori's cheek, unheeded.

She closed her eyes. Unable to sleep with the howl of the wind outside.
Missing Heather. She shivered, despite the fact that she was finally warm. 
The sound of the wind haunting her.

Somewhere far to the south and on the other side of the world, the sun 
quietly slipped across the equator.

Then, falling. Her head swimming. Coloured lights. Spinning around her.
She fell. Through the fabric of time itself.

She felt warmth. Different. She finally braved opening her eyes. It was
twilight. A soft warm breeze ruffled her blonde hair as she raised her
head. Blonde? Her hair was a soft shade of chestnut. She touched her hair,
bringing the tresses in front of her eyes. Blonde. And smelling of clover.
She felt the soft grass beneath her body. Confused, she turned over and 
sat up. Gazing through the soft light surrounding her.

Lori took a deep breath, calming her nerves. Her nose tingling. The air
seemed cleaner somehow. Fragrant. The smells of a wet rain, forest, mist,
soft flowers and incense. She took another deep breath. Holding it deep
in her lungs. Savouring it.

She slowly climbed to her bare feet. She looked down. Bare? She distinctly
remembered wearing thick socks to bed. She had been so cold. But this
obviously was no longer her bed. And she was no longer cold. A vivid dream, 
perhaps? She didn't remember falling asleep. She idly pinched her arm. She 
didn't awaken.

She looked down at herself again. She was wearing a simple white robe.
Almost diaphanous. Swirling around her body as she moved. The slight
wind curling it around her as she stood. She could see the swelling of 
her breasts as they pushed the fabric away from her body like gentle hills. 
Felt the soft, almost caressing, touch as the unknown fabric kissed her body. 
She brought her hands up. No nail polish? She pulled the simple clasp holding 
the silken material together at her throat away from herself. She almost 
laughed. Nothing underneath. This had to be a dream. Despite not needing 
one, she rarely, if ever, went without at least a bra. And those weren't
her breasts. Similar, but not hers.

She turned slowly. Mist. Low rolling hills in all directions. And the
twilight almost eerie. Lighting up the scenery. Beautiful.

She heard faint voices. She knew she ought to be frightened. But she wasn't.
The voices strangely compelling. Her body reacting to the almost chanting
voices. Her bare feet began to move on the grass, pulling her towards
the source of the soft sounds. The hint of incense intensifying as she
walked slowly towards a hill. The diffused light not allowing her to make
a determination of direction. But it didn't seem to matter.

As she crested the hill, she halted. Confused and unsure of herself. A ring
of stones had risen from the moor in the valley below. A flock of people
were assembled there. Softly chanting. Some had their faces upturned towards
her. Some facing in the opposite direction. All were clad in simple white
tunics. Barefoot. All female. There were small fires burning to each side 
of the ring, sending fragrant smoke up into the evening air.

She followed the gaze of the women not gazing at her and saw the faint outline 
of another person. Female. Across the valley. Standing as Lori was atop a small
hill. She couldn't make out any other features of the stranger through
the mist. The faint figure reminded her of Heather.

The voices called to her. She could feel it deep in her being. The calling.
She felt like she was almost outside her body, watching as she moved herself
slowly down the hill, her bare feet whispering through the grass. The other
figure slowly moving down the hill opposite, mirroring her movements.

She swallowed as she approached. Her heart in her throat. Not understanding.
Understanding not being required of her. As she approached, she could hear
the women's voices harmonizing. A haunting sound, like bagpipes, but not,
accompanying the beautiful voices. Some ancient instrument. She didn't 
understand the women's words; the language soft and harsh at the same time.

The women parted for her, making a path through themselves. Their voices 
encouraging her to pass into the ring of stones. On the other side of 
the circle, she could vaguely see the other figure, slowly striding through 
the parted women on the opposite side. The other figure was dressed as she. 
Diaphanous satin, bare feet. Her face, like an angel. Deep red hair tumbling 
across her shoulders. Unfamiliar features, and yet familiar. Lovely. The 
robes clinging then releasing her body as she moved. The myriad of voices 
filling her senses.

Lori stopped in the center of the ring of stones. A raised dais, perhaps a
foot high, of dark granite grew from the soft grass. The woman of the deep 
red hair also halted. The two women faced each other, gazing at one another.

She couldn't control her tongue. She tried. Tried to call out to the woman
across the dais. Tried to speak her name. Instinctively trying to call
out to Heather. Call Heather's name. Though Heather looked nothing like 
the ethereal woman across from her.

Lori's mouth opened and a metifluous voice, not her own, called out clearly
a single word, "Akana."

The voices surrounding the ring fell silent. The soft wind rustling the
fabric of the women's garments was the only sound. Even the fires were
silent.

"She-al." The other woman spoke softly in reply. Somehow Lori knew that
this woman was speaking her name. And that Akana was her own. The light
was fading. The mist curling over the granite between the women.

She watched as the other woman reached up to her throat, carefully unclasping
the gown. Letting it fall in a flutter of satin to the grass. Standing proud.
Her nudity glorious in the fading light. Her bare breasts upthrust. Her skin 
inviting in the flickering of the fires. Lori felt her own fingers as they 
unclasped her gown. Again, the flutter of satin breaking the unearthly silence.

As she stepped up onto the platform, feeling the texture of the rock beneath
her soles, the voices rose again as one. Almost in celebration. Rapture. Joy. 
The haunting notes softly flowing across the expanse, filling the world. She 
could understand the music, if not the language behind it.

The women embraced. Their soft skin pressing against one another. Breathing
laboured. Joining. Softly whispering each other's names. Akana and She-al.

She-al, moved her body. They moved together. Letting the notes join them.
Move them. Dancing. Slowly. Together. Skin to skin. She-al, so like Heather, 
but smaller. More demure. Raised her face. Eyes closed. Lori, bending. 
Letting their lips touch. Allowing her tongue to trace along She-al's lips. 
Softly. Moaning. Lori's body reacting to the kiss. She could feel her heat, 
despite herself. She-al, so like Heather, but not.

Lori felt her nipples rising, touching She-al's. Lori gasping at the heightened
sensations. Knowing this unfamiliar body. Feeling the closeness. Fingers
wandering. Caressing. The voices. Rising. Flooding the women with sound
and energy. The fingers finding secret places. But knowing the secrets. 
Somehow. Tracing curves. Breasts. Shoulders. Throats. Bellies. Between 
their legs. Probing further. Inside. Soft cries mixing with the surrounding 
music.

They lowered themselves to the harsh rock, their bodies feeling the rough
texture of the stone. Cool beneath them. She-al's fingers finding her again.
The music joining the women. Understanding. At the climax, they would be 
one. Committed to each other. Loving each other. Forever.

The voices reached a crescendo. Lori aware of herself. Of She-al. Of the
music. Of her fingers. The softness of She-al. The music filling her as 
she climaxed to She-al's touch. Crying out quietly. Hearing She-al's delicate 
voice crying out as she, too, reached her orgasm. Their voices harmonizing
with the voices surrounding them.

Lori felt her heart hammering beneath her ribs. Feeling intense love for 
this stranger. Feeling like she'd known her all her life. Shared happiness. 
The wonders of her life. Shared her grief. Wanted to spend her life with 
this woman. Loving her. Forever.

The two women kissed once more. Tenderly. Knelt, waiting. The voices around
them slowly silenced. The shadowy figures filing away into the mist. One 
approaching, her white tunic floated through the mists towards the kneeling,
naked, flushed women. An elder.

"Akana. She-al. Maresque," the elder intoned softly, her fingers touching
the women's slightly damp hair.

It was done. Lori kissed She-al once more. Tasting her lips. Kissing a
tear from her cheek. Salty. Melding with Lori's senses. The elder turned 
silently away, disappearing into the mists.

Lori felt herself falling again. The darkness enveloping her as she
descended once again into the dark depths. Lights flashing behind her 
eyes. Dizzy. Crying out.

She opened her eyes. Disoriented. She lifted the covers. Nightgown. Socks. 
She ran her hand through her long hair. Pulling it in front of her eyes. 
Soft chestnut. She pulled at the throat of her nightgown. She recognized her
own breasts. She felt it; it wasn't a dream. She-al. She could still feel her 
wetness, her lips, her closeness, her love. The sharp taste of the salt 
from her tears. Tears brimmed over Lori's eyes, unbidden. A deep sense 
of loss. A deep wanting within her breast.

She slipped out from beneath her warm covers. The wind had quieted outside. 
She hurriedly threw on her clothes. Knowing what she wanted. Needed. She
almost left the apartment without her shoes. Turning, slipping her feet 
into her boots, she left at a run. Almost forgetting to lock her door behind 
her.

The night was deepening. Not much traffic after the storm. She drove
quickly, but carefully. The Pathfinder tracking through the slush. Wanting 
to get there alive, but needing to get there. Now. Something calling her.

She pulled into the driveway. Ran up the walk. Rang the bell. Waited. Not 
feeling the biting cold as she normally did. Shifting her weight from foot 
to foot. Heather answered the door, dressed only in her satin nightgown. 
Shivering. Worried. Her face as flushed as Lori knew her own must be.

Lori desperately tried to speak her name. Make her understand. Understand
how much she needed her. How much she loved her.

"She-al." Lori's lips formed the only word she could.

"Akana."
