A little snippet that I'm rather fond of. I had intended it to be apart of a much bigger story but I don't know if it fits anymore, hopefully I'll get inspiration to continue this on a bit as I do feel it has some merit. But if not so be it, it is a nice stand alone too.

Remember kids I own nothing.

In the gloaming, oh my darling,
when the lights are soft and low
and the quiet shadows falling
softly come and softly go..

When the trees are sobbing faintly
with a gentle unknown woe,
will you think of me and love me,
as you did once long ago..?

In the Gloaming lyrics sung by Jonatha Brooke

Drums…The gentle steady rhythm, chanting, it wasn't possible to distinguish between the sweet spell of the drums and the beating of her own heart. It surrounded her, entered her soul and danced a reel into the night.

The distant scent of the woods reached her, it's fresh pines and wholesome fertile soil painting a picture of a place and time long since gone. The smell of hearth and stone was enveloping, the warding scent of juniper wafting around with teasing grace. All welcomed her, all sought to woo her.

Tender caress of silken fur spoke its lover's words of comfort across her skin. All these elements pandered to the senses, easily luring them into an aroused state of comfort, into the feeling of home and safety. But none could achieve this so easily as the shadow of the warm-hovering-presence that now threatened to overtake her soul.

She involuntarily sought out the skin that seemed to have a furnace of heat at all times. The friction of hands that were calloused and rough, maddeningly worked there way across her body, sculpting it as they went. Firm, taunt muscles pressed against her own.

Soft, surprisingly soft, brown curls tickled at her nose, the smells of wood, hearth and metal combining with an unnamed ingredient to create the scent that would unravel her will. Lips warm and tender pulled a whimper from her flesh, she was under attack, and not a defense left to stand against the onslaught.

She could see it, in flashes of firelight. The limbs entangled, the cascading hair of emerald and brown twining in harmony. The urgency, a sense of foreboding making the shadows darker and the interaction all the more bittersweet, even as the drummed beat out it's melodies of happiness. Eyes met in the dim firelight, the connection undeniable and as his lovely mouth moved to say the words that were her doom there was a terrible breaking of the world and with a strength unknown to her, she ripped away from the sensations fleeing the terror unnamed.

Makoto Kino woke in her tangled bed, short of breath, heart racing, a cursed name upon her lips.

Her mind raced madly unable to run a straight course, her eye looked around widely taking in the room, a desperate attempt to ground herself.

Where is she? What years is this? What was her name here?

In a child-like move of comfort she twined one of her wild curling tresses around her hand bringing it up to her face to examine.

Even in the darkness, the curling strand revealed its auburn shine. Makoto took a deep centering breath, still clutching the hair to her chest, a life line. Odd, that hair color should be such a grounding factor in her life, but in the gloaming of the night when dreams and memories are indistinguishable from one another, the simple knowledge that her hair is auburn lets her know who she is, where she is.

And that it was all a dream, a memory, and better forgotten.