ForevaXena's FanFic . . .
Mistress
of Dreams
by Samruskin
DISCLAIMERS: Not
many needed on this one. The characters are mine. They sprang forth, from my own
heart and mind, with more than a little help from my muse. Some of the dreams,
you might recognize as scenes from our favorite television show. There might
also be some shared characteristics between my characters and those on XENA:
Warrior Princess. For this, I make no apology. Imitation is the sincerest form
of flattery, after all. No copyright infringement is intended and no tangible
profit will be made by me. Hey! Would I be writing fan fiction if I were not
utterly and completely taken with this show? No. Since you are reading this,
obviously I do write it. I respect the creators far too much to outright steal
from them. Is it my fault if these two women are just too damn good to be
confined to the TV screen? I think not.
SEX or other
warnings: Not
really. Not this time around. Just be aware that a foundation is being built and
this IS an alt, uber and if women loving women bothers you...well, if that
bothers you this is not the story you should be reading. If it illegal where you
live or you are underage, move along.
THERE, I think that should cover all the bases. If I missed one, email me and I
will make the repair(s).
FEEDBACK: I
always welcome feedback. I will admit that negative feedback hurts, so if you
just plain hated it I probably don’t need to hear it. But, being who I am, I
would read it anyway...so, go ahead. If you found problems or errors, of course,
I welcome the alert. Actually, anything you care to share with me will be more
than welcome. I can be emailed at: Samruskin@AOL.COM
PART 2
.......The soft
chanting of the voices mingled with the stronger voice before me. She held a
long, curved dagger over his chest. Something was said about a sacrifice being
required. Then it happened. The woman with my face reached out to stop the
dagger only to find herself covered in the other woman’s blood. The intended
‘victim’ rose from the altar, bathed in victory. The scream shook the walls
of the temple and tore at my throat. "Nooooooo!"
Scenes shifted, as they always did, and suddenly flames were reaching out,
assaulting my senses. Hot, evil flames that threatened more than death. In the
pit of my very being, I knew this was evil personified. Just beyond the fire
that ripped at my very soul, I heard a voice. Within that angry voice lay my
hopes, my dreams, my very world. Her hand reached out for me more than once but
the demon surged onward. Tears stung my eyes as I cried out to her. The
dreamscape had been muted, I noted, because I could not hear the name as it
rushed from my lips.
Just when despair was about to overtake me, the scene shifted once again. The
demon had been vanquished and the tall warrior dove toward the flames...and me.
I felt strong arms surround me and pull me close. So close. The sound restored,
I heard that wonderful voice again: "I’ve gotcha. I’ve gotcha. I’ve
gotcha." Over and over I heard those words and felt her breath upon my neck.
It was then I realized I was clinging to this strong woman, my savior, my hero.
With all that had just happened, I had never felt so safe, so loved.
Gently she lifted my face to hers. Like always, things got very fuzzy at this
point. Never had I felt such a pull toward anyone as at that moment. Then it
happened. Peeking out from the fuzzy, dream-like vision, were the bluest eyes I
had ever seen. Something had changed. I had never been permitted to see her eyes
before. Nothing really. Just a kind of silhouette. The look in those eyes
captured my very soul.
"Would I ever know that kind of love while I was awake?" I sobbed the
same question I had been asking myself nearly all my adult life. The wracking
cries, as much as the dampness of the tears, woke me.
"Same time. Same channel. But with a new ending. I think I like this one
better." I smiled into the still dark room. "All right, Mistress of Dreams,
those baby blues get you off the hook this time." I sighed. "Hell. Who am I
kidding? I’d forgive you anything to get another look into those gorgeous
orbs!" Laughter filled the room.
Hours later, the rising sun bathed the eastern sky in muted shades of orange, pink and gold. Truthfully, this was NOT my favorite time of day. But today was different. Something had changed and the dream was only the beginning. At the time, I had no idea just how great that change would be...in every sense of the word.
The Women’s Support
Group was something I had joined shortly after my father’s death. A girl I
worked with had shyly suggested it when I kept losing weight I really couldn’t
afford to lose. She had also noted, with reddened cheeks, that I wasn’t
sleeping and it showed.
It was no secret that my father and I had been very close or that my mother had
died many years before. Most of the people I worked with had seen him on more
than one occasion. Everyone who knew him adored him. His death had been sudden,
for me. To say that it had jerked my world from beneath my feet would have been
a gross understatement. But, a support group? I really didn’t think so.
Not my style. Not at all. Or so I thought.
Being an incredibly ‘soft touch’, I hadn’t a clue how to get out of
attending at least one meeting. Annie, from advertising, had all but begged me
to accompany her that week.
"Oh well," I wondered aloud, "What harm could it do?"
"Actually, Gilly, it could do a lot of good." Annie gently touched my
nearest arm. I smiled, wishing she would drop the shortened version of my name.
She continued. "When my brother died last month, I was completely lost. He was
all the family I had left." She wiped a fresh supply of tears with her lilac
sleeve.
"I’m so sorry, Annie. I didn’t know...I mean, I knew about Archie but I
guess I thought your folks just lived out of town." Shit. Did I have my nose
THAT far into ‘my books’? Unacceptable, I chastised myself.
"It’s OK, really, Gilly. I don’t think anyone knows. But the group helps.
I promise. Just try it once. Tonight. OK?" That silk sleeve was getting quite
a workout.Guilt alone would have assured her my company. As it was, there was a
healthy dose of curiosity thrown in for good measure.
That had been about three
months ago and I hadn’t missed a meeting since. I had dreaded it, to be
honest, fearing it would be one of those touchy-feely things where everyone
cried in their beer all night. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It wasn’t
like that at all. It wasn’t even a "grief" group, per se. It was, well, it
was exactly what Annie said it was: a Women’s Support Group. There were six
women, including Annie and the moderator. I made seven. Each of the women were
dealing with issues that had left them stumbling, groping for an anchor. Any
anchor. The one thing they had in common (which did not include me) was they had
been in private counseling prior to the forming of the group. I later learned
that Annie had made prior arrangements with Bev, the moderator, to bring me that
Wednesday.
After everyone had acquired their choice of beverage and a handful of pretzels,
Bev suggested they introduce themselves to me. She promised Annie would
introduce me afterward. I remember flashing my co-worker an embarrassed smile
and she responded by squeezing my cold, sweaty hand.
These were not the women I had expected at all. There was nothing "wrong"
with these women. Nothing a better world or good friend and a rich supply of
time wouldn’t cure. Mentally, I smacked myself for even thinking such rubbish.
"Wrong" indeed! What century was I living in?!
"I’ll start us
off," announced Bev. "Obviously, I am the moderator of the group. Most of
you have been in private therapy with me at one time or another. I am single,
have no children and get at least as much FROM this group as I give." She
nodded to the woman on her immediate right. "Joannie, why don’t you go next?
Just tell us your name and whatever you are comfortable with." Bev patted
Joannie’s leg and smiled.
The tall redhead shifted in her upholstered chair. "Well..um...I’m Joannie
Crenshaw. I’m divorced, have a ten year old son, Timmy....and...um...the ex
from hell. He..um...likes to...um...talk with his...um...fists." She looked to
Bev who gently closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded.
An older woman, with salt and pepper hair, spoke next. "Hi. I’m Pat Thomas.
I have three grown children. Two boys and a girl. They are 17, 19, and 22. John,
James and Linda, respectively. I am married, last I checked. Trouble is, my
husband seems to have forgotten that little fact. He’s been living with his 24
year old lover for eight months now. I found out seven months ago. That either
makes me incredibly stupid or too fucking trusting. Or both." She too, looked
to Bev and waited for the nod. A pattern was becoming clear.
Next to speak was Tammy, a painfully shy young woman with dirty blonde hair and
chestnut eyes. "Mmmy nname is Tttammy. I’m 22." She swallowed so hard, I
just knew it hurt. "I ggguess I’m here...." another gulp and a slow intake
of air. "...on account of my...ah..lifestyle." Her eyes pleaded with Bev,
who made big point with me by rising and moving to the young woman’s side. Bev
put her freckled arm around Tammy’s shoulders and nodded to the next woman.
There was only one woman remaining between me and my turn. Now, I gulped. A bit
less audibly, I hoped.
I shifted in my seat to turn toward the obviously tall woman in the chair next
to me. She had arrived only moments before we started. Much to my surprise the
other women had me nearly spellbound, with their brief auto-biographies. Now I
noticed the swinging midnight hair as she turned toward Bev, showing me her
profile.
"All right. My name is Maxine but I strongly advise calling me Max." A full
round of chuckles took me by surprise. " I am 29. Gonna hit the big 3-0 in
about a month. Cracks about that belong with the name Maxine." Another round
of chuckles burst forth from the previously quiet group. "Why am I here? Hey,
Bev, why the hell AM I here?" Max laughed out loud. The sound was almost
musical. Bev shook her finger and her head as she grinned at the stunning
beauty. "Yeah, yeah. All right. I have a bit of a problem with anger
management." She did something with her face that earned another chuckle but
from where I sat I couldn’t tell what that had been. "All right. More than a
bit. And my family has a problem with my being gay. That about cover it, Bev?".
Max turned to more fully face the moderator, which put us face to face for the
first time. As our eyes met, I gasped and shuddered. I was unaware, at first,
that Max had done the same.
The words were out of my mouth before I could edit them. "Holy shit!" At
least a million miles away, a husky voice whispered: "Oh my friggin God!".
Annie touched my leg, then squeezed, then squeezed again. I knew it was there
but I simply could not respond. I was caught in a snare. I dared not move a
muscle for fear I would wake and the vision would be gone. There they were. The
most incredible blue eyes I had ever NOT seen before. And they were locked on
me.
I felt Bev touch my arm. "Gillian? Max? Do you know each other?" There was
more than a hint of concern in that trembling voice.
Having never met before, we none-the-less answered in unison.
"No...Yes....No." Baby blues refused to stray from deep green.
"It....It’s.... complicated."
Over the fascinated hush that filled the room, I heard Annie’s small voice:
"I’ll just bet." How did I know she was smiling?
.........Hovering
silently in the corner near the blinds, was Mysti. The Dream Mistress few
believed existed floated over the two women.
A gentle breeze whispered but only two souls could hear the words. "Still want
that dream to go away? Eh, Gillian? Huh, Max? Now, what was that question
again?".
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