A soft dreamy subtle ripple flowing through my slumbering essence awakens me. I don't know how long I have been asleep, maybe decades to centuries. Dormant but alert, time is of no relevance. My existence is as ageless as the setting sun. I have lost track over the centuries as to how old I am. I live and die over and over. Birth, life and death have mingled together like an eternal kaleidoscope.
The sensual entity that I am is wrapped intimately within every fiber of a dignified ancient magnolia tree. We are one. I feel its leaves waxen and breathe, absorbing sunlight. I gather strength from the steadfastness of it bark. The delicate aroma of its slow blossoming buds teases my senses with fresh magnolia perfume. It is this perfume that has provoked the awakening of me, a wild wood sprite prone to mischief during my awakening state. I thirst for it now.
My aura recognizes femininity in war with the formidable magnolia over its fragrant blossom. My curiosity is alive. I do not fight the urge to investigate. I inhale my essence within all that I am until I become a tightly wound ball. I rush through the magnolia tree's intricate pathway of limbs towards the fighting flower. It absorbs me, just as it is captured from the tree. My escape pod's fragrance is heady and intoxicating.
In the dainty soft hands of a shapely fair blue-eyed slender maiden with hair of pure golden silk, I rest for I am gorged inside the floral petals. With every dainty step, she breathes in the magnolia perfume. Her pure innocent pleasure stimulates my sensual essence, leaving me dizzy and desiring more. Wisps of me escape from the severed end of the blossom to caress her soft palm. The warmth of her skin is addictive. She takes me inside a building. Then places the vibrant flower in a vase of water. The coldness of the water sends shivers through me, as I pulsate and patiently wait.
As nighttime arrives, I am ready. I can feel the aura of the maiden as she prepares for sleep. She flirts around the room, occasionally stopping to smell the flower's scent. I listen with the alertness of a night creature to the sounds from the bed, as my genteel lady finally retires. Shortly, the maiden's steady breath of slumber tells me she is in dreamland. My vaporous form leaves the comfort of the magnolia blossom. Insatiable will be my passion. It has slept for an extremely long time and needs sating.