Every night for the past week, the same thing. Not that he was complaining; hell no was he complaining! For his entire adult life, Mike’s dreams had been pretty normal. He had a few nightmares and wet dreams, but not many. Only rarely was a dream worth remembering when he woke up, but this one eluded his memory in spite of how hard he attempted to recall it the next morning. He awoke feeling only that something indescribable had happened. Each night brought the dream closer to conclusion. He did not know it, but tonight would bring the culmination of the previous five evenings.
In this dream, Mike found himself drawn to the same dream-place over and over. It didn’t feel the same as a standard recurring dream, but the room he found himself at never changed, nor the Lady who danced for him. Where his dreaming brain came up with this location, or the woman, he couldn’t fathom given that he was a fairly unimaginative person. Until his first dream of her, the quiet, somber young man had never considered blue elven women to be attractive. Until that first dance, he had never even considered blue elves at all.
It was a Friday night, and Mike, fearless tax-accountant by day, had just finished washing up in preparation for bed. Clad in only the bottom half of his blue cotton pajamas, he made his way to bed, stopping to pat Max, his chocolate Labrador on the head as he passed the snoozing canine. Double-checking the alarm was in fact off, and not likely to wake him at six on a Saturday, he climbed into bed, carefully deposited his glasses on the bedside table, and snuggled down to sleep.
He knew nothing more until he was awoken by the sensation of delicate silk, coolly sliding down his bare chest. Sitting up with a start, the heretofore-unimagined woman gave forth a silver peal of laughter, seeming to glide across the bare stone floor, unshod feet making not a sound. At Mike’s mouth opening, about to speak, the exotically strange woman lifted one long finger to her slightly pouty bruise colored lips, bidding him to be silent. She gave a tiny dip and turn of her knees as she did, somehow seeming to look up at him through her soft black eyelashes.
The soft smolder in those lavender orbs quelled his voice more effectively than anything else in his life so far. Despite the fact that the confused man never pried his gaze from this most exquisite being before him, details of the room managed to trickle into his comprehension, noting now the marble floor, the onyx fireplace to his left and his own position, casually slouched in a high-backed, overstuffed leather chair. The dim glow from the burning fire somehow did not obliterate delicate colors, instead enhancing them almost magically.
The tantalizing woman spun slowly, putting her back to him, a move so understatedly graceful, it immediately snapped Mike’s attention away from the puzzling grey mists that seemed to swirl about, obscuring the rest of the place. She wore what appeared to be layers and layers of silk scarves of various hues wrapped about her tiny, curvy form, concealing and yet so thin and revealing. The mix of display and concealment was almost too perfect a blend; somehow managing to intoxicate without stupefying.
He was just about to clear his throat, once more with the intent of speaking, when the minute female delicately extended her left leg to the side, ankle and foot pointed just so. Keeping her back to the again hushed man, her right arm lifted, palm out, in slow mimicry to form an almost exact mirror of limbs. In spite of the gentleness of her arm’s raising, the motion dislodged a narrow band of oyster silk from around the upraised wrist, leaving it to dangle, an unfelt breeze setting it to the smallest fluttering motion.
