My senses were suddenly torn. I could feel the pressure building behind my eyes, that which always accompanies my return to my solitary confinement. The weakling was not so weak this time, hammering at the wall that I had thrown up in my mind, clamoring to regain control. Desperately, I clung to my power, my desire for the stallion a heady weapon against my weaker-minded half, something so foreign to her that she could not possibly break through it. The feeling subsided, and I smiled lustily. I had won, for the time being. She would be back, this I knew; but I would have a bit longer to toy with the steed, who was unknowingly furthering my plans. The weakling would be confused by this new side of the stallion, the side that I now longed for.

His words were cold, but the heat between us grew, and I knew that I was very close to getting my way. He had iron control, I would give him that, and I was impressed. But he had presented me with a challenge, and should it be today or next year, I would win. His arousal matched my own, and our feelings played off each other with each step, each breath, each teasing little touch. Ah, why could I not own this body? If I did, if it were solely I who reigned supreme, the stag would be mine! As it were, he would remain interested enough - he made that> perfectly clear - and so that would have to be enough. Tick, tock, the clock continued, growing ever louder in my mind.

"You are indeed blessed," I purred, the rough nip sending shivers down my spine. A smirk plastered itself on my face - the weakling would be bemused for days after this - and continued our circling dance. That touch had further awakened my senses, and I again approached, again aiming to brush my body against his, again aiming to set our senses on fire. If it was even possible to make the tension worse, I would find a way. But the pressure in my cranium had returned, and I understood that I would not get my way this time. Next time, love, next time, I will win. Myriad. The name rang through my body and I shivered again, a response to what I was sure he would call me forevermore. How fitting for the weakling and I, a myriad of personalities in the same body.

"Unworthy, I am not, my dear," I informed him sweetly, "and you know that as well as I. I would be just perfect for you, darling, if only I could stay..." My orbs met his in a fiery challenge, desire pooling there in the most obvious way. I could feel it fade from my mind before it began to fade from my body, and I knew that I had only a moment to speak again before I was imprisoned once more. "Next time, dearest, you shall be mine." There was something almost feral in the words, and I knew that he would remember it, and me, for many days. And so my world faded once more.

The familiar feeling rushed through the fae. First, she regained her sense of touch. She seemed aware of the new proximity of the stallion, though her confusion did not prompt her to move away. Next came her sense of hearing: yes, there he was, or at least, she presumed it was him. With her sense of smell, she became sure of it, though she was perplexed by their mixed lust. Her sight returned at last, and she was pleasantly surprised to see that he had remained.

I blinked groggily, as though waking from a long sleep. Thor had remained, and for that I was grateful, though there was something about him that had not been there before. What had I done? Would he flee now, angered or afraid of whatever I had become? I did not see him as one to be afraid, and I feared that should be become angry, I would not be in the unharmed state that I appeared to be in. So what was it, then, that I saw in his eyes? What was this tension in his body and, I realized, in mine? What in the world had transpired here? "You're still here," I stated stupidly, still staring at him. I couldn't even amend the stupidity of the statement, so entranced was I by the stallion. What have I done?

[W/C | 756]