So, fair warning, this one’s kinda fucked up. Not sure where it came from, but enjoy. (If there’s a sub more suited to this sort of thing, please let me know)
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She came every night. The one constant in this world. Everything else might be caught in the whirlwind of politics, violence, depravity… but not her. Shewas a broken creature. In that way we might have been the same. Maybe.
I had been a widower for ten years when I first saw her. Laying awake in my cold and empty bed, looking out the window, waiting. I couldn’t say for what. Maybe just for it to end. Lisa had meant everything to me… I just didn’t know what to do without her. Ten years in a haze.
We planted the tree outside our window on our wedding day. A few months after she passed, it finally grew tall enough for me to see it from our second floor window. It swayed in the night, and I would watch it when I couldn’t sleep. It almost seemed to wave, like a piece of her was there with it, telling me she was happy. Telling me to be happy. But I didn’t know how. Then I saw her.
That first night started like a nightmare. There’s no other way to describe it. I saw a hand reach over the windowsill. It was a human hand, but… not. The arm behind it was pale, a little dirty, but the skin faded to inky black as it closed in on the clawed hand. Another hand appeared next to the first, then the rest of her hauled itself over the windowsill, and slid into the bedroom.
At first I was terrified. This… thing… it was petrifying. She was almost a head taller than me, and had small shiny imperfections in patches across her skin, as if she were studded in onyx, or beetle shell. Shadows and inky mist seemed to cling to her like a silk robe, obscuring different parts of her as it drifted around her form. She had long dark hair that hung to her waste, and her face was bordered by small horns, or perhaps thorns would be a better description. Glittering rose thorns against her pale smoky grey face. But her eyes… empty sockets full of the same mist that wreathed her, but also filled with loneliness. Longing. A broken spark. As I looked on in horror, my horror turned to pity, then companionship. Whoever… whatever she was, she shared a feeling of loss that I knew too well.
As I looked on, I began to see the beauty in her deformity. The parts of her that were human were hauntingly beautiful, and the rest… was unknown. Mysterious. New. I felt a kinship with her, a feeling of companionship I hadn’t felt since Lisa passed. She knew my pain, and I knew hers.
I moved for the first time, and she shied towards the window, as if somehow I could frighten her. But as different as we were, maybe I did frighten her then. I held a hand up, then motioned for her to sit at the edge of the bed. She nervously sat down, and turned to look at me. It was clear she was just as surprised as I was that she had come to my window that night. She couldn’t speak to me that night, but later she told me she was drawn by some unknown force, our kindred spirits. Maybe it was fate.
She sighed, and sang; a mournful and lilting melody. Her language, once a joyous chorus, now reduced to a lone dirge. I couldn’t understand the words, but I felt the meaning. Wherever she had come from , she was alone. Completely and utterly alone. I told her my story, and while she couldn’t understand me, she understood what I felt. She leaned against me, as if hoping our broken pieces could somehow make a single whole again.
I wrapped my arm around her as she curled her legs in, shivering, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool air coming through the open window. She was cold, cold as ice against me. As if her loss had even leeched the warmth from her body. As she laid against me, she began to cry. Unsure what else to do, I ran my fingers through her hair, her mist dancing between my fingers as I did. Her hair smelled like summer, like sunshine and open fields. It wasn’t what I expected from her appearance, but it was nice. It reminded me of better times. After several minutes she quieted, and turned to look at me with her haunting eyes. She held my gaze, looking into me for almost a minute, then leaned closer and brushed her lips against mine.
I pulled back, startled, and she turned and hid her face. I gently guided her back to me with my hand, and this time I leaned to meet her. We kissed, and then we embraced. Then the mists fluttering around her parted, as did my nightgown, and we met. I pressed into her, and her empty eyes closed. For just a moment, we were both at peace. She guided me onto my back, and knelt over me, and took me into her again, riding me slowly, rhythmically, not rushing. She wanted to savor this, and I did too. As long as we were together, here, we were whole again, if just for a moment.
We finished as one, embracing and pulling each other as close as we could, doing everything in our power to become one in that blissful moment. We laid together, pressed against one another for an hour or more, before She lifted herself from me, and crossed the room without even a whisper. She slipped out of the room just as the first ray of dawn streamed in.
She comes back every single evening, when the night is at its darkest. Those hours are ours, and nobody can take them from us. We’re good for each other. Whenever she slips through my window now, I see the smallest glimmer in her empty eyes. A light that’s almost ready to flare to life. As for me, I finally feel alive again, youthful. After many long months I can understand when she speaks. I’m close to being able to speak to her in her own tongue.
Those aren’t the only changes, however. She says she is making something. At first I thought it was a child. She seemed to think there would be another like her soon. But it wasn’t a child. Not as we would see it. Her mists have been lingering in the room long after she leaves now, and I found the first obsidian specks on my now-youthful skin. But in truth this feels right. We’ll never be alone again. We’ll be together, we’ll be one.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/x18v62/love_in_the_night