The Sunspire a poetic retelling of an unfortunate seduction

oh would you look at that, Olive is in heat… how quite convenient, @Dakarai

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The scene was same as she remembered it, but at the same time vastly different than the picture in her head. The Sunspire itself had not changed and would not change for millions of years except imperceptibly, microscopically, gently shaped by the hands of time. Nor had the earthen behemoth’s radiating energy changed, am it continued to call to her and caress her body and soul. The difference lay in the environment. Where the Sunspire was once warmed by the sun it was now cold and hidden by ice. The winter had been colder than normal and though Olive longed for spring and summer, she was able to appreciate a snowy sunspire just as much one covered in soft autumn grasses. This was where she had met and feel in love with her mate and that quality of the Sunspire would never, ever change

Perhaps one of the biggest differences was the season — and not just the fact that it was winter. Olive had come upon her own season with a force and ferocity never before experienced by the lamb. Perhaps it had been the fact that she was wiser now when it came to matters of love and sexuality, or the fact that she had already experienced animalistic lust at the hands and tongue of her dark king; her husband; her mate. Only he could slake her insatiable thirst… but that day her thirst was different. She no longer craved him for his simple pleasures but she kindled a visceral need to be with him. The flame was stoked by their almost constant nearness [during their travels] and she found herself unable to leave his side.

A rich energy emanated from her loins and made the fae antsy and unable to sit still. It felt like a tugging, low, deep in her belly.  Her legs tapped and kicked as she attempted to sleep next to Dakarai one night and she felt almost feverish and achey. She had been like this most of the night, her feminine vitality keeping her awake and alert as her lover slumbered peacefully beside her. Her inability to cultivate any semblance of stillness within her drove Olive to leave her king’s side, not wishing him to wake. He would need his rest.

Olive left their spot underneath a large, sugar-dusted fir tree into clearing. The land gently sloped due to their elevation and Olive could see quite far, though the entire landscape was a pristine land of white. It delighted the woman, who saw the colors of her own pale pelt reflected in her whitewashed surroundings. She sashayed away from Dakarai in a slow, feline fashion — enjoying the feminine sensations that came alongside her condition and displaying herself for no one other than her current audience of one [herself]. Olive was feelin’ it. 

She had heard that some women dreaded their season due to the crazed sensations it caused it others, but Olive could not yet see how this was a bad thing. Her aroma would drive her lover crazy, she knew, and wished to see him lose control. So she held her tail proudly [as if she was the Queen of the mountain and Dakarai were her dominion] and allowed the winds to carry her spiced scent. Perhaps she should have exercised caution, but Olive had long since ceased to think clearly and instead sought to create a veritable opium den where the two kindred spirits could get drunk upon one another’s scent and love.