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February 9, 2007

Stacy: Leanan Sídhe

I knelt in the clearing, skyclad and shivering in the winter dawn, emptying my mind in preparation for the rite. One by one I shut out the distractions…

… hate working in an office…
…wish Steven would grow up…
…want to have a child…

…until I no longer felt the scratch of pine needles or the chill air on my skin.

A breath of heat stole over me, bringing gooseflesh. My mind was suddenly flooded with images of shining skin, silken hair…

“Go away, Gwydion.”

The stag at the edge of the clearing snorted and leapt away into the underbrush.

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