New!!

• The Crissing Link book series website - I recently published my first book about being multiple. Excerpts on site.

Holistic Sites

• "Let's Heal the World Together" free collaborative calls - weekly conference call for motivation, collaboration and group healings
• Blueprints For Change blog goes with the Liberated Life Coaching website
• Life Coaching for holistic practitioners I'm probably the most open-minded life coach on the planet
• Open Source Reiki website - about non-traditional Reiki learning
• Shaklee Independent Distributor website - everyone needs a residual income & good health

Business Sites

• Business Coaching, Consulting & Brainstorming - also home of The Crissing Link group business brainstorming sessions
• Web design packages by Eclectic Tech
• Corporate Headquarters website - Eclectic Tech, LLC]

Personal Websites

• Crisses.org - a website about all aspects of myselves
• the evolution of my first website -- by multiples, for multiples

Welcome to the home of The Crisses -- an unapologetic weirdo raised by Llamas in the jungles of Brooklyn NY. [Well, my father is an Ares from Argentina, and Llamas are pretty close in the grand scheme of things, but my mother is a Leo from Missouri -- so does that mean I was raised by a lion and a lamb? Oh boy! No wonder my head is messed up.]

This is a personal website. If you don't want to know anything about me that might be personal, I suggest you leave. If you end up offended (or offered as a symbolic sacrifice on the altar of my Ego), or better yet, you agree that I'm a weirdo once you finally find your way back to civilization, don't say I didn't warn you!

If you do find that my warnings don't work and you still want to know something personal about me, I'm working on the Poetry section and the Blog. Other content will eventually become available here. For now, much of the "other content" resides at http://kinhost.org/wiki/Crisses

NEW!!!

About to release my poetic autobiography!

Poetic License: A poetic journey through the labyrinth of multiplicity

This is a link to the information & ordering page on my Life Coaching website.

Business Sites

• Blueprints For Change blog goes with the Liberated Life Coaching website :)
• Life Coaching for holistic practitioners I'm probably the most open-minded life coach on the planet :)
• Business Coaching, Consulting & Brainstorming - also home of The Crissing Link group business brainstorming sessions
• Web design packages by Eclectic Tech
• Corporate Headquarters website - Eclectic Tech, LLC]
• Shaklee Independent Distributor website - everyone needs a residual income & good health

Personal Websites

• Crisses.org - a website about all aspects of myselves
• the evolution of my first website -- by multiples, for multiples
• Open Source Reiki website - about non-traditional Reiki learning

1. Poetic License - on sale July 2009

Angel Anger Application Autopilot Baby Beauty Betrayal Bless Blogging Bugs Chastity Children Clients Clouds Cold Comic Css Dance Dancing Dark Death Demon Design Documentation Dragon Dream Earth Elemental Elves Evening Evil Eyes Faith Fate Fire Flying Forest Forgiveness Free Friend Garden Gift God Godaddy Gods Hate Heaven Hell Help Honor Humor Immortal Kiss Leaves Life Light Loneliness Love Lust Man Marriage Mask Masks Memory MentalDisorder Mercy Metablog Mirror Monsters Moon Morning Mother MultipleMoment MultiplePersonality Multiplicity Name Nature Night Nightmares Oath Ocean OutOfTheCloset OvertMultiplicity Pain Peace PmWiki Pray Programming Quest River Saint Sand Scar Sea Service Shame Sight Sin Sky Software Son Song Soul Spirit Spirits Star Stars Storm Sun Sword Taint Tears Terminology Terror Time Tomorrow Tree Truth Tutorial Water Wind Wings Woman X-Aliessa X-Almerissa X-Chrissy X-Criss X-Ember X-Eve X-Hawthorn X-Heidi X-Ice X-Star X-Taelee X-Telre X-Willow Y-1986 Y-1987 Y-1990 Y-1991 Y-1992 Y-1993 Y-1994 Y-1995 Y-1996 Y-1997 Y-1998 Y-2000 Y-2001 Y-2002 Y-Pre-1986

Consider a parallel world to this one: The elves had overrun their planet, destroyed their environment and their versions of environmentalists opened a portal to another world (as opposed to using space ships), and emigrated en masse to another world. Warren started off on that new world -- and that's the world Dreal was born to. There were other species on that first desert planet, and many years after Dreal had left the planet, the elves were subjugated as slaves by the Elder race (a powerful native race whose magical energies were tied directly to their life force). Warren, a non-physical being of the other sentient race active on that planet (who WERE energy, and whose energy use was not tied to their life force -- making them like gods to the elves), was directly involved with the freeing of the elves from slavery and the elves fled to yet another world with the help of some rogue Elders and nearly all of Warren's people. This second exodus for the elves brought them to the desert world that was inherently more hostile an environment -- and this is the world Star was born to years later. Perhaps too close to the sun, or not enough in the atmosphere to keep out radiation, this world started to kill Warren's people, and by Star's time had rendered the elves sterile.

Neither Star nor Dreal are from that "original" elven home world. What happened to them is pieced together from myths, fairy tales, legends from Dreal's people, and what Warren witnessed when the portal opened and the elves flooded in.

We don't know whether that original elven world had gods, whether they had turned their back on the old ways, whether they prayed or fasted or celebrated life anymore -- or if it was like this one where celebration is relegated to birthdays and people pray one day a week. However, to turn your back on nature and rape your environment is inherently to turn your back on the gods. In my not at all humble opinion. And we don't know if the gods opened the portal or if it was opened by the cutting edge technology of that elven planet. We only know that the elves came from somewhere else, determined to go back to better ways of living and not to rape the next planet. The myths and tales told to frighten children in Dreal's time account for a deep abiding respect for ones' environment. Think similar to Native American culture -- we and our environment are one, and cannot be separated. Turn your back on the soul of a single grain of sand and you are turning your back on yourself. You can't kill and eat the deer if you do not recognize that the deer has sacrificed its life to prolong your own, and give it much honor for the gift. If you kill something and do not recognize and honor the gift, you are killing yourself.

Star started out on an awful poisonous planet -- but there were no other species already there. It was in many ways a haven, and a place for 3 species to go and lick their wounds. And at the same time it was incredibly isolating. Star's Lord maintained a portal to other worlds and a spy network -- as well as a commodities & exotic goods trading post. This expenditure of his own life energy cost him dearly. Elves went through that portal as spies, ambassadors, traders -- doing his bidding. Star was his right-hand welf, and had first right of refusal for a mission to another planet. She accepted to escape being her Lord's lifeline. He was jealous of her energy and healing abilities and wanted essentially a slave to help him stay young -- between the healing gift & Warren in her head, she was the highest rank of elves, and he didn't want her to accept any missions.

Now, Gods on Kerri, that new Middle-earth like world with elves and dwarves and forests and wolves.... there were people of faith -- I assume there were gods. There were certainly demigods and people with divine blood. I don't know why they didn't stop Xaron. But Xaron was like Zeus of Greek myth. A titan amongst the gods -- and jealous & vindictive. Just because he had taken a fleshy avatar/host does not diminish his ranking amongst what may be a godlike race. And he was not out to own or wreck the world -- that was a side effect of his real mission. I suppose you would have to understand what makes Xaron tick to understand the singlemindedness of his drive to get into the territory of Kerri. There was a whole world around that one small place of elven solace. Think that a madman attacked Rivendell, only a single if well defended peaceful elven stronghold -- to seek out a single alien companion who sticks out like a sore thumb in the environment. Meanwhile she slips under the radar and becomes a wolf to mask the one thing he can hone in on -- her mind. He loses sight of her and it drives him mad. He leverages an army to attack it because the energy of the place keeps him out, and an army defends it. Then Star enters the scene. The two greatest "gods" -- or at least catalysts in the creation of the universe we're talking about -- in this picture are on the playing field. Star masks Warren, who is somewhat hobbled by the protection of living in an elven body -- ironically now obsoleted by being on a non-poisonous world. Xaron is riding in another body as the Dark Lord, willing to level the entire mystical elven stronghold to find where Dreal is hiding. I don't know whether his host was still alive or sentient, if they shared awareness or if Xaron held the body's owner a prisoner -- or even if he reanimated a dead shell to have a physical presence on the world.

I think a missing piece of the "god" puzzle here is that these gods are aliens. Oh, they gave birth to a universe, and the planets, and even gave the spark of life to the beings therein -- but this birthing both diminished them, and their lack of a physical presence sets them apart from the other sentient races. They don't understand the strife -- depletion of the environment, toxins, war. They understand love, creation -- and in Xaron's case the poisonous flip-side of love that is hatred. That physical beings diminish and die is beyond their understanding -- and in fact it's true that those other beings do not die, only their flesh dies, their essence (soul) returns to the Higher Self for contemplation and reincarnation. It is just part of the life lessons that consciousness has set out to experience. There's no sin in experiencing distress-- it "builds character".

It was extreme culture shock to their people -- and the cause of a great deal of distress -- when some started dying on the poison world. They had never died before. The essence of the universe can transform, but how can it die? The race subjugated their power to gain the protections of living in the elves' bodies. They're not motivated by power -- perhaps with the exception of Xaron.

I know the king of Kerri is a demigod. He is trying to stop Xaron.

Nonfictional, autobiographical accounts by our residents. Of course, they read more like fiction.

Elven Ensemble by Drendel, Dreal, Star, and Elvair

This is a multiform story written for Digital Storytelling classes.

Long Gone Past by Star

• Intro
  A vague background of Star's homeworld and the paradigm shifts needed to comprehend the story.
• Ch. 1: An Awakening
  From Star's birth to the experiment.
• Ch. 2: The Experiment
  How the experiment turned out (unfinished).
• Ep.: A Problem With Callings
  How Star& were exiled.

The Time Being by Dreal

Chapter 1: The Time Being Dreal's youth, watching the Belekim, through her first exile. Chapter 2: The Time Warriors Dreal's adventures after exile (unfinished).

Telré A'stirafal by Telré

Story of Telré, Some about his childhood through his death.

Story of the Death of Drendel by Elvair & Star

Elvair's Pain - Story of the Death of Drendel (Warning: intense, graphic) by Elvair

Both of these are recounts of the experience of Drendel's death from different points of view, and with varying violent/gory content.

Synopsis of Dreal, Star, Warren & Xaron's story

Tale of Two Kitties by Aliessa about Taelee -- Warning, sexually explicit, graphic, hard-core.

Aliessa's Gargoyle Memories by Aliessa - Warning: erotic content.

Both of these are Aliessa's stylized accounts of otherkin sexual experience, in the first case they are actual this-life (while in human body) sexual activities, and in the second case they are an illustration of her past-life-memories indented to illustrate her feelings when making love with a current life lover.

The White Sorceress by Almerissa

Version 1 - Version 2

Two versions of the same tale, one more stylistic, the other more factual.

by Almerissa White

The cool gray mist rose apon the twilit sea, shading the rocky cliffs, obscuring visability. It searched the curretns of air in lazy drifts, billowing about, forming puffs and streaks. I breathed in the brine, filling my nostrils with its overwealming acidity.

My hair tried to escape me, like streamers on a kite or flag, lifting and falling in sad attempts to follow the wind like a tired nudge or beconing to return to my chamber, tugging at my scalp.

Alas, these were but thoughts in passing, for I no longer lingered on my own state of being, but my mindfulness turned to follow the wind, tripping about, backward, through my recent past.

Icy hands of remembering gripped my shoulders forcefully, tore at my chest with talons of detail, choked my throat with the force of a flood of thoughts. I stared, shocked, dazed, into the wisps of cloud, still being attacked by the flashback. I saw but a face, then blood, then shrouded in the waves of the sea, a terror, as deep as a soul. As fathomless as the water. Borne in blood, condoned by kings, unholy yet unhelpable. It was recurring, the deadly and sinful trap, the curse was coursing through my veins, renewing the wickedness of its heredity.

Demonic profiles, grinning malevolent faces, emerged from the fog as it thickened to an evil shroud. Then their bodies joined them, and they began to move. Dancing, singing, eroticism at its worst. I clenched my teeth, and I tried to force my mind to distraction, but the twisted faces persisted, shifting as though they were alive, from one expression of malice to another of jest. Among them was one face even slightly humanoid, but even more evil than the rest.

"Join us," mouthed it. I turned from the enchantments in fear, tensing to run.

"Sorceress....Join us." This time the voice was but a whisper on the wind. A chill tightened my spine and I bolted inside, for the shelter of my symbol in my laboratory.

I huddled inside it, evoking the powers within my mind, and its connection to the symbol. A wall of strength arose at my invocation, and I found myself safe enough to cry. Choked with sobs I did not call for more aid, nor did it come from god or angel of its own accord.

I slept in my symbol and my bubble of safety that night, for terror did not allow me to leave it. My rape of the night just past caused a deep fear in me of the one to come. My sleep in my protective triangle was uneasy at first, then I thought I had naught to fear, and fell into a deeper slumber.

Later that night, dreams haunted me, reliving the rape. My brother entered my sleeping chamber, he being also my husband. We were recently married, and he was much kinder in the consummation of our marriage then in the followup. I protested his intrusion, and he forced his way in. I clawed at him, and he grew more insistant. In a fear of panic, I realized that his strength was demon-borne. My thoughts and dreams shattered, and I awoke within my bubble of fear, my symbol of helplessness.

A scream tore itself from my sob-parched throat. I stared down at the triangle of my power on the floor. I reviewed each stroke of paint and its meaning. Too much healing, too little protection.

In a fervor, I broke the seals and stepped forth. The face within the clouds which knew my name haunted me. I pulled a bottle of mineral-spirits from the shelf of paints. My people mostly worshipped demon-gods, and I had taken the path of my mothers, following the more peaceful and aloof gods. I was a healer, using potions and inner energy to chase ills and hurts. I had to change the purpose of the symbol, thus showing the change within me.

My rag wiped the spirits onto certain lines, changing the runes within the triangle. I then wiped off the spirits, and went to the shelf. I chose colors of paint I had never used before. I opened the tome of magic my mothers had always used. I looked for powerful protections, and found very few. I stroked one into my symbol delicately, carefully, and very true to my art. Then I looked for one of strength. Fortitude. Yet I found none. I turned to another book. Perhaps within one more neutral I could find one.

Unfortunately, I was unable to find any suitable symbol in any of my volumes. I stepped carefully into the triangle, avoiding the new paint, and meditated on it.

There was a strangeness to my symbol now, a drastic difference. The difference between confidence and fear. I meditated upon how to bring the confidence back, and the spell fell apart at the seams. Daylight began to spill into the room. Again, I broke the spell, and stepped out of my symbol. I closed it behind me, and I stood beside it, gazing at it, and called out with my magic to my gods, asking for aid.

No reply.

I turned in anger from my gods' silence, and strode to my ladder, and decended into my room.

There, upon my bed, sat my brother. I stared in shocked silence at him, and the rune on his arm. A demon-mark.

"White, I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

"Son of a demon pig!" I cursed. I turned from him, and strode to my vanity. I carefully painted white facepaint over the bruise on my cheek and arm, blending it with my fair skin around the edges, and applying black mascara to my white lashes, to make my black-as-coal irises stand out.

He came up behind me, and I could see his face, more tanned than mine by far, and his black hair down to his shoulders. Three scratches across his face from my left hand, and that was all.

"I hope you're satisfied. I hope you're happy," I spat.

"I've never seen you angry, White! What can I do for you to forgive me?"

"Return to me my innocence! I thought maybe this time it could be different, I thought maybe we could work together to break the curse, you bastard! Let those demons mark you, come to rape and beat me, even if I lay beneath you lifeless and allow you to–"

He reached out to touched me, and I clawed at his hand. He pulled out of my reach. I laughed, cold and angry. "I should worship your gods with your blood, as you do with mine!"

I had never seen my brother shocked, or sorry, but he began to get a tearful glaze in his eyes.

"Will you continue to beat and rape me until I've given you your two children, then beat me until you tire of me and finally throw me from the balcony?"

The lash of my words stung him, for it was what had happened between our parents. They were siblings, also, and ruled by the family curse as we were.

"Never, White, not ever."

"You lie. Begone. Take your reeks-of-demon-conjuring body from my chambers." He figited with the black cote-hardie he wore, until I screamed at him. Then he fled my chamber, through the white door.

I stripped down in front of the full-length polished-platinum mirror. Probably demon-forged, I thought. I looked at my very thin, long body, with its white pubic hair, white skin, and pink nipples. My hair cascaded to the floor, white as clouds. My eyebrows were also white. None of my ancestors looked as I did. The product of too much inbreeding. Next generations might be retarded, or sickly. Maybe they would be albinos. I couldn't tell. I couldn't let it happen. Naked, I walked up the ladder to my laboratory. Exitless, except for the balcony and the ladder, I closed and locked the trapdoor. I stepped to the balcony, and the wind ripped at my hair. It was warm on my skin, but cooler than I was used to, living right over the boiling sea. I watched the water foll and boil, on the edge of chaos, but so regularly chaotic to be almost lawful.

The clouds, however, were much as before. Faces smiled, and winked at me.

I shut the door to the outside, closed the white curtains.

I opened the symbol, and stepped into it, closing it behind me, and sitting cross-legged within it, I used my most powerful spell to call upon my gods.

"The White Sorceress," I announced, "calls upon you to witness. I have been wronged. I have been born into a curse not of my making, and trapped in a circle. In the terms of the curse, I must bear two children for my brother-husband, a boy and a girl, they also much bear two like children. The children are to be borne of rape, not love. My brother was demon-bound last night and took me unwillingly, in the terms of the curse.

"I propose by oath, here by your witness, to break the pattern, to stop the curse. I call apon your wisdom, I must know any and all ways to do this. I beg to be filled with this purpose."

A single white rose appeared before me, and I knew I had been heard, and was thus sealed. I picked it up.

A single thorn pricked my thumb, and grew within me. Pain tore its way through my hand and wrist. It traveled to my head and heart, and I felt an awful wrenching, as though my brain was being torn from me. Slowly it occured to me, what to do. I must leave my old ways. I must begin to like, I shuddered, being raped, since the children could only be concieved if I was unwilling. If I were willing to be raped, I would not concieve.

But the first child could be within me, I reasoned. The pain remained in my head. I could divine if it was though, and act upon it.

© 1996 The Crisses. All rights reserved.

Editor's Note: This story remains unfinished, obviously. Hopefully our body (carpal tunnel syndrome) will allow her to finish it one day.

Almerissa's Page

The White Sorceress (Version 1)

by Almerissa White

It once had held a symbolic meaning, the opaque bodice and lace upper flowing down into a floor-length gown. Modest at the least, for the upper covered even the neck, and the hands to the elbow were covered in white gloves. The entire dress was the whitest it could be. Whiter than snow as if falls from cottony clouds on a cool Winter day.

It had once belonged to her mother, but White wore it now, sitting before the mirror and allowing the handmaiden to brush her hair into a silky cloak. She gazed deeply into her own eyes, black onyx, as the suntanned servant slaved over her strands of hair, whiter than ivory.

When she was born, the midwife took a look at her opening eyes and shrieked. Her mother took her and cradled her gently, crooning, and not at all believing that the eyes were blind. They were not. As her mother later divined they gave her an added insight. White was special, to say the least, and she gazed at her glowing reflection and knew it herself.

She thought back to the first day she had seen her mother wearing this dress. It was the anniversary of a day she now knew her mother had hated. White's mother had sat before this very mirror and had brushed her long auburn hair which had fallen down to the floor then as White's did now. After it had cascaded down in silky waves, she had carefully applied her makeup to cover the new bruises that White now knew were given by her father the night before.

White had sat quietly in a corner, using one of her mother's old discarded combs to brush out the hair which then only fell to her knees. She had been a bare five years old at that time. Her brother had been eight.

When they were dressed and ready, her mother in the beautiful white gown and White in one that nearly matched, they had both waited at the head of the stairs for the two gentlemen.

First came White's father, who had worn an amazing cloak of sable, and an outfit fit for a king's coronation. It had been a regal red with silver thread trim. Then came White's brother, whose eyes had belied his true feelings about this boring ritual they had celebrated each year. Their eyes had met. At this time they had been friends, and they had sighed as they had taken up their mother's and father's trains. White's mother's had been mostly of her hair, and her father's had been mostly of his cloak.

They each had shared secret laughter and smirks behind their parents' backs, and in the dining hall where the celebration had taken place, they had sat together and had made fun of the guests' outfits. One lady had called attention to herself by having worn a stuffed bird upon her head, surrounded by large pheasant feathers. Another man's sleeves had been cut in large bulbs and stuffed with spare cloth and feathers, so that the children had teased that he would drink until drunk then sleep on the pillows thus conveniently carried. The food had been elaborately prepared and set into beautiful patterns which the children had been the first to destroy by taking out the strategically placed carrot or beet.

White smiled into the mirror at the memory. She turned her head and watched the servant girl wrestle with the last knots in her hair. looking back into the mirror she saw the stain of purple under one eye, oh, so barely. She began to apply more powder in the hopes of covering it up.

Fate had chosen to take her mother's life that night. White could still remember having stared over the balcony, and having seen her mother's naked form in a pool of blood, laying still on the rocky shore below the tower. Then she had thought her mother had simply fallen, by chance. Perhaps she had drunk too much and sat upon the wall around the terrace. Maybe she had dropped something, or a bird had flown too close to her face, and she had been startled.

Now, upon a deeper reflection, she knew that it hadn't been only chance that had taken her mother away that day. That her father had beaten her mother, and that her father had been her mother's brother, these she had known. That White had also been fated, or cursed, to have married her brother, she had found out later on. That she would wish to end her own life...this she knew as she looked at her pale reflection and painted over her bruises.

Brother, dearest brother, she thought. How befitting would it be if I would end my life tonight? Did father kill mother before she could warn me? Did mother kill herself because she couldn't bear to tell me? There must be another way to end this curse, but I know one that will work for certain.

She noted somewhere in the back of her mind that the handmaiden was now braiding her hair in the traditional way. She pulled at the sleeve on her right arm absentmindedly to cover another bruise, and looked through the mirror at the rest of the room. Now there was very little left that she found dear. She no longer respected herself, she even laughed at the gown she wore of virgin white.

Once she had been a very good person. Everyone had come to her for the fairest of judgements. Although very few now knew of it, she had become quite the opposite of her old self. Beneath the white, white skin there was a core of deepest black. Just as her gown hid the black and blues on her pale flesh, and her eyes were black centered in white.

She did find one thing that she could respect. The memory of her having seen her mother beaten and bruised. She would not bring up her children to be witnesses of that. She would not bear this male child that rested in her womb, nor bear the second, the female child, who would follow. She would certainly not see them marry, and the cycle begin again. She would not make the same mistake as her mother did. Her mother waited too long to jump, if jump she did. She should have jumped before White was born. So planned the White Sorceress to jump this night as her mother had sixteen years before.

© 1996 The Crisses. All rights reserved.

Almerissa's Page

The White Sorceress (Version 2)

by Aliessa

This is a sexually explicit story. If you're under the age of 18 please get the hell off this page. In addition, I didn't pull a lot of punches in this story. This accurately reflects my memories and my feelings when I'm in bed with one particular lover.

Thanks --Aliessa--

Dusk fell on the small valley, and the cottage exterior dimmed as he flexed his wings back to swoop down and land in the yard. He had been to this place so many times before, it was as familiar as his hands. Dusky blue like slate, muscle and sinew tipped with talons, one reached out to open the door.

He had to fold his wings flat to enter, dip his head slightly and fall back on his haunches to go inside, he was that large. He barely noticed that he led with one shoulder before his body went in, he had many a scrape with the frame as he had reached maturity.

She was not in the foyer. He Felt for her and knew she was in the root cellar, a place he no longer fit into, not for long long years. He unfurled himself slightly, more space inside for his height and bredth.

He grinned at himself a little self-consciously that he was already getting excited, after scanning for her and touching her even so briefly as to tell where she was.

She was in the root cellar, slender and wispy tall like a willow, a basket in hand to collect tubers for tonight's meal, when the door to the cottage opened and she Felt his probe into her mind. Her heart swelled and her hands trembled on the basket. Her knees weakened somewhat and she put up a mental wall and gathered her wits. She hurried to get more food into the basket so she could go back upstairs, trying not to drop anything, and failing.

She shoved the basket up the well-lit hole into the kitchen and slid it over to the side of the ladder, gathered her skirts in her teeth and climbed the rough rungs. Once in the kitchen she dumped the whole basket of tubers into a pot of boiling water haphazardly, and absently brushed aside the red gold wild locks this form possessed, as familiar to her as her birth form.

This form was smooth-skinned, alabaster-white, with hair of spun red-gold which had a life of its own. She was proud of her hair, vain about this form unlike her birth form. But he preferred her to be in her birth form when he saw her, so she untied her skirts and left them in a pile on the floor of the kitchen, and pulled her blouse over her head. Aside from being far too small, the clothes were too formal anyway, and eventually would just get in the way, but the chill of departing winter in the kitchen was too much for the unprotected hide of an elf, so she wore them to wear the form.

A thought and a twist of power, she reached deep inside herself and let her body resume its natural form, about a foot taller than her elven form, straight and wiry hair which flowed in a smooth cascade down her back where her wings re-grew, simple batlike leathery wings, but quite large. Her skin blended from alabaster to cream to tawny sand tones and roughened giving it a stone-like appearance. Talons grew from her fingertips, her eartips shortened, and her legs twisted nearly backwards.

She was still shorter than the archways and doorframes, and quite slender for her species, but needed to fold in her wings to navigate the halls and doorways to get to the foyer where he waited.

He turned when she reached the archway and her mind attempted to encompass the whole view of him, an impossibility for her because she kept parceling out her favorite parts and toying with memories of what each part had done to her, or she had done to it, and her knees weakened again, she leaned on the doorframe languidly and gave him a catty look, and met his gaze.

His eyes seized her, they always did, and wrestled her down roughly to insert his member in her rhythmically, and it went in as deep as her soul, which burned like fire. And that was just the effect of looking into his eyes.

She burned for him, and her pride wouldn't let her simply fall at his feet and beg him to take her, so she languidly reached up and put her hand through her hair, willing it to not tremble with desire.

"You're back..." she said, the barest hint of a question.

"Yes, I...realized that I was wrong." Her walls trembled as if attacked by siege engines. Every word a blast of a cannon. Their eyes locked again, she fought the tears.

"I forgive you...I can't not forgive you," she admitted. "But you got as far as flying away..."

"I know."

The silence ached.

"Dinner is cooking..." she invited softly.

"Thank you," he accepted, stepping forward with his taloned hand outstretched, she already met him halfway, nearly falling out of the doorway to touch him again. When their skin met, their minds did, the last of the walls falling away in disrepair, and neither resisted the pull like a magnetic force to wind up in each others arms, to kiss.

Her breath failed her, coming and going in sharp gasps and brief huffs, and he grew hard against her boggling her ability to think and crippling her further.

When she languidly leaned against the plaster and clay frame of the door he knew exactly why he'd come back. She had given in some, wearing her true form and stark naked to boot, a double whammy that brought his second brain to the decision that he would give some apology or it would kill him. Her gaze focused and pierced his eyes, an inviting soft orifice behind taloned hands which grasped his hips to guide him to it, enveloped him in soft sweet madness and musk perfume. But that was just her gaze meeting his own.

He said what his lips were compelled to say from his heart when she inquired softly after his presence. Perhaps it was the posturings of sentient beings inhibiting their animal urges, he brushed the thought aside, accepted the invitation to dinner such as it was, and found his hand reaching out for hers before he even gave it any consideration at all. Such were things between them. She was a fixture in his life, and as willful and stubborn as she was, he was simply unwilling to walk away.

She knew a time before him, however, a past that haunted her and frightened him. He knew it when she clung to him in the darkness or when she woke from a deep sleep and sat bolt upright in the bed. As she stepped to meet his hand he drew her to him, her softer skin against his igniting his desire and he wrapped his arms and wings carefully around her, warding off the memories lest he trigger them, and met her lips for a deep kiss which sucked his soul and merged his mind with hers, marveled at everything she'd seen and done.

The kiss ended and he clung to her, holding back from laying her on the floor and taking her right there, but only barely. Her claws dug into the small of his back, he caressed her longingly and arched his back slightly, his protrusion trying to find way into her soft belly, which extracted a gasping moan from the trembling woman in his arms. His mind flashed to various positions and places...the nest in the masters chamber? the roof? the table? hearthside? just here? He almost decided on the masters chamber when he felt her talons around his member, stroking it solidly. Why maneuver the halls with her in his arms when he could just take her here?

Her mind felt every thought of his as if it were her own, so she made up his mind for him, grasping his member in her hand and stroking it tightly. His mind now matched hers: Here. Now.

Who drew whom to lay on the earthen floor was of no concern and not discernable, they lay and her legs parted for him. She was ready when she stood in the doorway, there was no question of that, their minds met and merged, locked in a strange dual harmonic where one could not determine who began which thought and who ended it.

They placed his member in her, they writhed to the feel of fullness and they gasped and moaned in unison. They drew talons against flesh, threatening to dig out swaths of flesh with their claws. They kissed and merged somewhere in the dark ethers of their mindscape, out of their minds in each other.

They rolled so she was on top of him, so he would enter deeper, so her lack of height wouldn't matter as much, so he could grasp and maul her with his hands, so she could dig her talons into his chest. Her wings unfurled nearly upsetting an unlit brazier, but they didn't notice. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she gasped and moaned in unison with him. She reached back to dig her talons into his most tender portions and impaled herself harder and harder on him, her screeches rising in volume and urgency.

He dug his talons into her breasts, her thighs, he left long scratches on her arms and back, took her hips in his hands and helped her to move faster and harder, digging talons in, the pain burned like the fire in their loins as they tormented each other wildly, then she dropped horizontal to kiss him and stared deeply into his eyes, continuing to pound into each other.

Their souls made love more tenderly than their bodies, like for one earthy layer to make an impact on the passion of the other, they had to achieve more sensation than a placid encounter would provide. Every welt or clawmark stung and sang of life while pouring more energy into them, and their minds danced naked in wild ecstasy and their souls made passionate love to one another, and the rhythm increased, every jolt exacting a grunting growling toll on their bodies and their passion rose higher til their minds could not encompass the pressure any more and they gave in to each other, entirely one, no longer in a fleshy place, but somewhere else riding thermals to meet something, somewhere, one unearthly body perhaps on the journey to meet it's maker.