Jarlath woke in the dark depths of his cove to the sound of low, roaring thunder. His violet-maroon eyes opened wide. They flickered around the dark burrow if his cave scouring the area in a slowly-rising daze. A long, pitched wave of thunder sprawled across the air, mingling with the sounds of night flies and pattering, distant rain. He hesitated in his position to find nearly his whole body drenched in water. Jarlath twitched his long, pointed ears, adjusting to the noises around him.
A stream of rainwater dribbled into the cavern from the mouth of the cove. The beads of condensation on Jarlath’s forehead and the heavy, stagnant air suggested a large thunderstorm was nearing, or among him. Jarl knew he must escape his cavern home so as to avoid the possibility of being flooded out. But where to go?
Yet another boom of thunder stung Jarlath’s ears. It came in a high cackle and then mellowed out into a never-ending, strident cry. Jarlath exited him home after dressing; his heavy feet splashing in forming pools of black rainwater. A flash of lightening lit up the dark sky with a split-second of navy blue and forest green. Even in the dusk of the night, Jarlath knew the forest better than any creature in Shea. He headed south, ignoring the intimidating luminosity of skylight and stammer of thunder as if rippled across the heavy air. He felt cool in the rain, yet preferred the dry. Jarlath dodged trees that grew wide like the belly of the moon, and tall liked the depth of Jarl’s cave.
Unexpectedly, a blinding flicker of lighting exploded into Jarlath’s purple eyes; immediately followed by the angry bellow of thunder. The excitement sent the elf to his belly; his heart beating in his mouth. Jarl felt his arm scrape the nearest tree that held a rough, outer bark.
“No one should be out here in such vicious lightening.” said a smooth, shrill voice. The tone was a woman’s, and its softness sliced through the dowsing of rain on the old-growth trees. Jarlath peered up to see a figure before him. The figure wore a red cape that covered her body except a small ring around her nose and mouth. The being’s skin was porcelain white, and on her swollen, rounded lips was a deep red lipstick; like blood that mirrored the colour of the cloak.
“Please, come. I have a cottage up the hill.” she offered. Jarlath was apprehensive of the stranger who obviously refuses to reveal her full face. Even so, Jarlath accepted. I mean, he knew how to fight if needed. The elf took her milky-white hand and allowed her to help him to his feet. As soon as he was standing, the strange woman turned swiftly and began to walk towards her home. Jarlath was alarmed at her speed. She dashed between the trees like an apparition lurking in the shadows or a wisp of smoke dancing off a fire. He struggled to keep up, but in time they neared a dimly-lit cottage. It looked old and was far from inviting. ‘I don’t recall a cottage here.’ pondered Jarlath.
They entered the cottage, and the elf was reluctant to find it comfortably warm unlike the ravish weather beyond the wooden door. The elusive woman exterminated her cloak from her, revealing her body. She mimicked the figure of a porcelain doll. Her skin was dangerously fair; her hair a deep, autumn orange colour; her eyes black like night, carrying a particular twinkle.
“I’m Norva.” she announced with her oval lips. Norva’s body was clenched by a black, long dress that contained lace and silk of red and purple. It cut low on her neck, showing a generous amount of cleavage from her sizeable breasts. Jarlath found it difficult to look away from her hourglass body.
Norva retreated to the kitchen portion of the single-roomed cottage and began mixing herbal tea; herbs Jarlath were familiar with in Shea forest.
“You haven’t yet spoken of your name or where you came from . . .” Norva mentioned, glancing towards the elf.
“My apologies,” said the elf, “I’m Jarlath. I live up north.” Norva grinned with her back to the creature.
“I see,” she murmured with her glassy voice, “please sit in the chair.” Jarl peered around the cluttered cottage and quickly found the chair she was speaking of. It was a large chair of silky, sky blue and of older age. He sat nervously in the comfortable seat, waiting for whatever came next.
“You should probably stay ‘till morning, that storm is vicious.” Norva commented; giving two separate tea cups a final stir. She turned with a cup in each hand, and walked towards Jarlath. He smiled weakly as he was handed a cup.
“I’m sorry if I make your chair wet . . .” Jarlath said, remembering his dampness.
“Not an issue, my friend.” She replied coolly, eyeing him from her shadowed, inky orbs.
“So, what brings you down to these parts of Shea?” Norva inquired after taking a light sip of herbal tea. Jarl stared at his quivering reflection in dark liquid before replying.
“I live in a cave that slopes slightly downwards, and I feared that I would be flooded. No need to stick around and wait.” Jarlath said finally, looking upwards to lock stares with Norva. She lowered her lids, and grinned almost with tomfoolery. Jarlath felt an odd quake erupt in his spine from that look, that look of seduction.
“Well, you’re welcome to stay, and how is the tea?” Norva questioned noticing that he hadn’t laid his lips on it whatsoever.
“I’m not really fond of herbal tea; my cave is near lots of herb plants. When it mists in the morning, it makes everything smell of strong herbs.” Jarlath said in lie. He knew the dangers of eating or drinking anything from a stranger, especially from a gorgeous woman like Norva. It could be a trick.
“I see, I see.” Norva murmured quietly. She nestled down in the chair opposite of Jarlath; her eyes never leaving his picture.
“Are you an elf? You seem to have that muscular . . . build like elfin do.” Norva probed, glazing Jarl’s body with her steady sights.
“Yes, I suppose, but I’m not really like other elfin.” Jarlath replied nonchalantly.
“Really, how so? Are you a loner?” Norva asked, resting her tea cup on an end table.
“Well, I’m taller than most elfin, and yes, how did you know I was a loner?” Jarlath eyed Norva suspiciously, fixing his violet eyes on the woman.
“I assumed, from your story you told, that is.” Norva glanced sharply away, taking a few moments to study the cottage walls vacantly. Between tattered curtains that shielded the dusty, cracked windows of the cottage, came the washing of rain drops against the glass, and the sleepy sound it brought to their ears. Soon, Norva’s oil eyes returned to Jarlath, where she continued to survey his trapping frame.
“Oh silly me,” she mentioned, “you must be cold in your wet garments.” Norva stood slowly. Jarl looked towards her only to view her breast line that teemed out of her dress as she bent upwards. He’s eyes widened cautiously, but he couldn’t turn himself away from the beautiful woman. The whitish doll opened a dark, wooden closet and brought out a white blouse with silk buttons and a pair of black trousers that were frayed and tattered at the ends of the legs.
“You can wear these, they seem about your size, but first, you may want to clean up. The wash closet is through that door.” Norva motioned towards a door that seemed to disappear in the clutter of the room. Jarlath had completely missed the door ever being there. Yet again, he felt anxious about being nude in such a small home with a seductive stranger.
“I think I’ll pass.” He said politely.
“No really, the water’s warm and very soothing.” Norva insisted. The elf felt unnerved by her blindness. The temperature of the water was the least of his worries. But not even Jarlath could resist the pressure that those black eyes exerted. He stood and grabbed the red towel Norva offered and disappeared into the w.c.
He kept his eyes on the door through the extension of his shower. Jarlath soon turned the faucet off and let the remains of the water dribble into the tub before stepping out. Taking the towel, he wrapped the cloth around his nude, lower half and creaked open the door slightly, walking out a few feet. Norva sat in the blue chair Jarlath had been sitting in, nose deep into a thick book. She peered up, taking in the view of Jarlath’s muscular upper half.
“Do you need another towel?” She asked, but didn’t except an answer. Norva stood and grabbed another towel from the closet. She approached him, and said smoothly, “Please, allow me assist.” Norva wrapped the fuzzy towel around Jarlath’s shoulders slowly, bending forwards so that her body gently grazed the back of his. Jarlath hesitated feeling Norva’s warmth against his nearly sky-clad body. The woman pressed the towel to Jarl’s shoulders, letting the tips of her fingers to rest on his downy skin. They felt icy and intimidating against his nerves. Jarlath grabbed the towel and quickly used it to dry himself. He rustled the cloth through his short, purple hair, letting it flop and smash against his face. He unknowingly forgot that Norva was still behind him.
The slid her delicate, ashen hand across the back of Jarlath’s neck, directly behind his protruding ears. The elf froze, unaware of how to react.
“You have beautiful skin.” Norva said with a deep, slow tone. She let her fingertips explore upwards until it entwined with his heavy, wet hair. “And wonderful hair as well!” Jarlath took in a sharp breath, two different sides telling him what to do. It was obvious what Norva was after; there was no doubt about that. The elf stood silent, his face burning with vacillation. Jarl hadn’t so much as kissed anyone else except for . . .
A pain in his heart tangled in his lungs as he remembered. ‘This is a trick.’ he thought. ‘She’s trying to seduce me, and then she’ll take my soul or whatever she’s really after.’ Yes, Norva was gorgeous. She had a perfect body, and soft face, baby fine hair. The stage was set right for her trickery. Yet again, the cottage was very hidden, so hidden that the master of Shea forest didn’t even know of it’s existence; Norva had to have been lonely . . . just as lonely as you could be stuck in a cave. Even as Jarlath fought within himself, it was apparent Norva’s mind was clear from worries.
Softly, Norva brought her cold lips to the elf’s long, pointed left ear. She stood for a few more steady moments, breathing acutely. Her gentle breaths flushed over the far side of Jarl’s cheek. Suddenly, there was an odd sensation that hit the elf’s ear: the feeling of melting ice on his skin. It didn’t take long to realize what Norva was doing. She cupped the elf’s lower ear with her cherry lips, and ran her pink tongue over Jarl’s ear lobe leisurely. Her body nuzzled ever closer to Jarlath’s. He could now feel her voluptuous curves press against his nude back.
What to do was the biggest question twisting his mind. Poor, beautiful Norva must be ever so lonely stuck in a little cottage, would it be so costly to heed to her desires? Jarlath couldn’t resist his true thoughts. He wanted to seduce her, how could he not? Norva let a heavy sound escape her throat with such comfort. The noise was so soft, so simplistic that it could have only been developed in her deep, thudding heart; born through her relaxed gullet on a silver thread of thoughtlessness. Jarl shook himself to reality. His body’s attraction came second, his wellbeing first.
“Where is that outfit located in which you showed me earlier?” Jarlath suddenly solicited, shattering the crystallizing silence within the lather of ease. He broke the physical connection between Norva and him by stepping forward. Norva nearly toppled over, but luckily caught her body before it could trip. She had become much too unperturbed resting on Jarlath’s lean body. The elf glanced unnoticeably in Norva’s direction. Her wondrous, cascading hair coloured of autumn leaves stood grasping her face as if she was nothing greater than a savage animal, caved in from want . . . need. Countless strands of adequate hair glued themselves to her crimson, oval lips witlessly. Her eyes, suddenly teeming with other, pastel colours, spiraled out of control in a mix of nothing but pure aspiration, yet her desolate pupils rested calmly, dreamily in the center of vivacious, animated flush.
“Why, yes . . . of course.” Norva said, drifted from her daze. Jarlath watched her from the corner of his narrow eyes as she fixed and gussied her face into a better, more civilized condition. “Here you are.” Jarl took the clothing in which she held in her extended hands. His lips split into an enervated smile as he took it warmly.
“Thank you for your kindness.” He mentioned before slipping into the wash closet. The shirt was more of a blouse created for the male species, with lace loops that traveled from the base—a silk button—and then made a ‘U’ so that it could be easily looped into a mirroring silk button on the other side of the shirt. The shirt was of fine texture, soft and cozy. It was a bit large when finally fitted over Jarlath’s bulky muscles, yet the tattered, black trousers installed tightly. Jarlath studied his figure in a golden-tinted, aged-with-time, mirror hanging on a wall in the w.c. He meddled with the fraying slits of tousled trousers near the bottom. They were probably once full-length pants, but now lingered around his shins. Either or, he looked strappingly handsome in the formal wardrobe.
When Jarlath emerged from within the small wash closet, he found Norva sitting in the fading, light blue arm chair, her face veiled by that same book as she had been previously reading. Her form seemed to have changed, though. Instead of the conspicuous, black n’ lacey gown she had been wearing earlier that evening, she was now dressed in a shape-less, silk-white gown that cut low in a ‘V’ on her neck. The dress cut at her ankles, and what was shown of her feet were white, fishnet stockings. Yet, the fishnet almost appeared like camouflaged next to her whitish skin. Norva’s hair was pulled into an almost perfect bun in the rear of her skull with two, long bangs lingering like mahogany branches near her face. They curved half a foot below her chin, framing her soft appearance perfectly. Next to her was an old futon bed, one Jarlath had never noticed even though it was directly next to the arm chair. The futon was pulled out and toppled with hand-made blankets and pillows. It looked ever so inviting.
Norva looked passed the skeleton of her novel and smiled with that same, mischievous smile, showing her perfect, pearl teeth, bordered by scarlet lips. He rested his eyelids low on his eyes as he watched her orbs raked his body now obscured by the warm clothing.
“You look charming in that, does everything fit alright?” Jarl nodded pleasingly. “Then you should keep it, I have no use for fine silk for males.” Jarlath’s smile weakened a fragment.
“I couldn’t, really.” Jarlath said calmly, “I live in a cave and there would be no use in keeping something so formal around. It would only get destroyed.” Norva felt scorn wash her sandy expression, and she forced her face behind the yellowing pages of the book.
“I’m quite exhausted; I think I’ll rest now.” The elf suddenly noticed that there was no other place for Norva to sleep. “Where will you sleep?” He asked with concern. “Don’t tell me this is you’re only bed.” Norva peeked her black eyes, and shivering smile from behind the book once more, and replied,
“Oh don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Jarlath nodded swiftly, taking her word. He was much to tired to protest that she sleep there instead. Jarl climbed onto the mountain of blankets that acted much more like a comforter than anything.
“Will you need a thin cover blanket?” Norva inquired. But before the elf could reply, she was already up, annexing another blanket from her closet. She walked over to Jarl, who was lying in a fetal-like position; his back was facing her. Norva slid the blanket over the muscular character slowly.
Passionately, she scrunched the blanket between his bent curves, letting her hand rest at his abdomen longer than needed. The second Norva realized that she had been touching his stomach for a second too long, she tore away from his lavish body and retreated to the closet to shut the door leaning ajar. Jarlath sigh quietly with his eyes shut. He really wanted her. The elf shifted over and watched as she walked back towards her seat, and picked up the book.
The woman’s dark eyes crossed his face, and their calm sights locked for only a few moments. With compassion, Norva leaned forwards, her silky, white dress bowing, again revealing a vision full of ample cleavage. Jarlath fought his urge to look at it, even for a moment for his sights were devoured by Norva’s. She slid her hand over the elf’s face, from his chin up, and leaned forwards further. Jarl felt her heated breath that smelled of herbs against his face before his lips met tenderly with Norva’s swollen ones. The woman fervently planted her lips onto his, leaving the tang of cherries and tainted herbs on his tongue. Norva ended her kiss and back away from his face slowly, licking her own lips for any remaining trace of his essence, knowing full well Jarlath doesn’t trust her enough to venture any further. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes slowly, her black lashes impaling the air.
“Good night.” She said, replicating her trademark smirk. Jarlath was speechless, and thought that sleep wasn’t going to come to his restless body. But oddly enough, the dimness of the cottage and the sounds of rustling night-forest engulfed Jarlath into easy sleep.
When Jarlath woke, he woke to confusion. All the memories of the night before stood hidden and absent of his thoughts, plus Norva was nowhere to be found. With only a few seconds of dizziness, all the memories swamped back, saturating his cranium. Still, it was odd how quiet the cottage was. Things were left the way they had been when Jarlath had last seen them. Norva’s old book sat calmly with a seemingly effervescent grin on it’s face. The book was on the arm of her chair that remained was cold and bodiless. Jarlath combed his hair with his fingers and continued searching for Norva. ‘Could she have been a figment of my imagination? A creature produced from my deep desires?’ Jarlath began wondering, ‘No, of course not. She was much too real.’ Jarlath opened the front door to the cottage to see the clothing in which he came in, pinned to a drying line. He grabbed them and retreated back into the cottage.
Without wasted time, he dressed back into his purple vest with yellow, crescent moons on each breast. They hung upside down to represent a waning moon. He buttoned the golden thread in the center of the vest—where they met. The elf felt the cold, golden chains hanging from the corners of the vest slap against his abdomen noisily. At the end of each chain was another crescent moon, hanging with it’s belly upward. The elf also slipped on his deep purple pants and gussied up his face to look more presentable to his wanting and not so . . . ‘just woke up’. Without another word, Jarlath left the cabin, making sure that not a single coal was left burning in the fireplace, just to make the cottage safe from a fire hazard. As he traveled farther and farther away from the small home, the more he was convinced that it couldn’t be real. The more it looked like something from a storybook. But his memories were much too vivid, and the feeling of Norva against his back, against his lips, was much, much too real . . .
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