The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘Fey’

(mc, f/f, m/f, nc)

DISCLAIMER:

This material is for adults only; it contains explicit sexual imagery and non-consensual relationships. If you are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age in your area, do NOT continue.

* * *

‘Fey’

Part Two

* * *

Ferndew picked up the pendant. It was silver, in the shape of a crescent moon, with a smooth round stone offset between the horns. The stone was dark—she could see through it, but only dimly.

It was very pretty, but something about it was... odd. And what was it doing up here?

Ferndew sat down, and examined it, turning it over, watching the play of the light through the gem.

It told her nothing else. She shrugged, and put it on. It felt cold on her chest.

There was a shiver through the trees.

Ferndew froze. Something... what had that been? She looked around.

In the Grove, she could feel Someone.

Startled, Ferndew sat down in the tree. Yes, there was... a presence there. A Being. Someone she hadn’t been able to sense before.

Her curiosity tussled with her fear. Curiosity won.

Ferndew reached out with her mind.

There was no response.

It... no, She. She was there, but not there, not paying attention.

She was thinking.

Remembering.

Ferndew hesitated. Who was this, this Presence in the Forbidden Grove? Why was She there?

She should forget it. She should leave right now and forget about it. The Forbidden Grove was bad.

But Ferndew knew she couldn’t. Her curiosity would never leave her alone. She had to know.

She pushed a little harder.

Hello?

It heard her, and turned, but it was still REMEMBERING-

-over, it was all but over—Her woods were ablaze and where they weren’t ablaze the Porfiroi had taken

them from Her, and they no longer heard Her call. Her ally Azaalai had been defeated and destroyed, and Her great captain Needlespine was dead as well, killed along with the rest of Her legions.

And they were coming for Her, now, the Porfiroi and their human allies, coming to bind Her and take Her in chains back to their cities and their lands where She had no power. They would mock Her and study Her and keep Her as a specimen, a defeated enemy from a forgotten age.

That would never happen.

She could sense them, now, the Porfiroi, the Forest Spirits, promised Her woods in return for their treachery. They had cut Her link to the woods, left Her blind and powerless—no, not powerless. She had power yet.

Her nymphs drew close about Her, hissing. They still served Her, and would until their last breaths. With their bodies they made a shield as She prepared Her last great spell.

Then they broke into the clearing, the giant walking trees and the battle fauna of the Porfiroi. With them were their human allies, those who feared Her forest and sought to tame it. Her last few defenders leapt into battle.

She fought too, casting bolts that incinerated trees and shattered men, but there were too many of them and She could not draw on the forest as She once could. Soon they were upon Her, a Porfiroi-possessed tree reaching for Her-

She exploded.

The blast eradicated everything in sight, melting the rock on which She stood and detonating every tree for a hundred yards.

* * *

Ferndew screamed.

It HURT! She tried to pull away, tried to break free, but She was paying attention now, She had Ferndew in Her sight and in Her grasp.

What have we here?

Oh please, let me go, please-

Be calm. You are a human-girl? She paused. No, I am mistaken. Oh, how amusing. A nymph. They have made you in the image of my pets. I greet you, little nymph.

Please, please... who are you?

I am Me. I am She. I was once this Forest, but now I am nothing, only a memory.

Ferndew’s head still hurt from the memory of the explosion. Was that... you?

Indeed it was, little nymph.

How did you survive?

I did not.

And then the memory was back.

* * *

The rock was molten, and blackening Her skin.

Her power was gone. She had spent it all, spent it destroying those who had beaten Her. She knew She was dying.

More were coming. She could not allow them to find Her.

By will alone, She crawled through the cooling ruin of Her throne. There was a stream there, that had run near the rock—dragging Herself by Her arms, She slid into it.

The cold water cracked Her skin, and it sloughed off in long flat segments. Trailing it, She crawled upstream.

Only sixty feet away, and She could go no further. With luck, it would be enough. There was a bramble patch—She crawled into it. For the first time in untold aeons, She felt the sharp needles as they pierced Her raw flesh. The bush did not know that She was its Queen. It didn’t recognize her.

She had gone far enough. The brambles would keep Her from being found; Her enemies would think She had died with Her power. Turning onto Her side, She gingerly let go of Her life.

* * *

Ferndew was confused. But if you’re dead... how come you aren’t dead?

She chuckled. Do not ask Me, little nymph. As I say, I am just a memory. Perhaps I had stamped Myself too deeply on this land to ever truly vanish; perhaps My power was not so gone as I had thought. Now I sleep, and remember.

That’s sad.

Is it?

Yes, Ferndew thought. To remember what happened to you. It hurt a lot.

There was more laughter. No, little nymph, I do not only remember that. I remember much, much more. The power, and the glory, and the dark brilliance that I was... Mmm. I shall show you:

* * *

She ascended the steps of the pyramid on a litter borne by slaves. The masons had finished their work only the day before; half of them were now dead, food for Her pets. The other half were returning to their homes, wealthier than they had ever been in their lives.

The steps Her slaves bore her up were alabaster, thrust into the sky by Her will a fortnight ago, cut and polished to a mirror shine by the hands of the masons. Here and there were planters with flowering vines, which writhed in supplication as She passed.

She reached the summit of the pyramid and clicked Her tongue. The slaves lowered themselves, the rear ones to their knees and the fore ones onto their chests. She stepped lightly from the litter.

Awaiting Her were the human kings. Seven of them, haughty, proud, the rulers of a million of their kind. All of them knelt before Her, terrified.

She savored their fear. From the sky, a great eagle descended, landing on the rear of the carved alabaster throne with a cry that rent the morning air. Smiling, beautiful, She stepped to Her throne.

One of the humans, a courtier, looked at Her through his locks. Then his eyes were filled with needles, and he toppled, screaming, making snapping sounds as he fell down the pyramid.

None of the other humans looked up.

Satisfied, She sat down on Her throne. Two men had worked on it, two brothers, master craftsmen. She was well satisfied with their work. Now one of them was home, doubtless in the arms of his rejoicing family. The other was dead, hung in a vampire vine, having come again and again in helpless ecstasy as he died.

Who had been the happier? The question amused Her.

She touched the minds of Her handmaids, and they stepped forward to attend Her. They were Her nymphs—beautiful and forever young, they served Her with a devotion that was total, complete. Every corner of their minds they had given to Her, and every corner She had shaped. They did not amuse Her with their unpredictability; they enamored Her with their devotion.

“Rise, humans,” the nymph she had named Obsidian said. Chosen to be Her voice on this morning.

The kings rose, staring at the base of the throne, knowing that to gaze upon Her unbidden was death. Carved in the stone there was a hart, devoured by a tiger. She thought herself kind to have provided a distraction for them.

“You are prepared to make your just tributes?” Obsidian asked.

They nodded their assent.

Jadeclaw stepped forward, sliding aside the stone cover of the well in the center of the pyramid. She beckoned.

From behind the kings, their men came forward, laden with treasure. Gems and gold, silks and spices, all manner of precious things.

They poured them into the hole.

She watched, pleased. She cared nothing for these things—but the humans did, and their pain at relinquishing them was nectar. The kings could not know, but most of their treasure found its way back into the lands of the humans, ensorcelled or not, in exchange for favors done. She did not “buy” things—all things were Hers by right—but those who pleased Her were rewarded.

Once their possessions were disposed of, Obsidian spoke again. “And now, humans, the slaves.”

A line of humans filed forward—chosen, as per Her instructions, from the very top of their societies. Sons and daughters of merchants, princes, dukes. Twenty from each kingdom. They filed past Her, eyes downcast, and took their place on the far side of the pyramid, among Her other slaves. She would enjoy toying with them.

A thought caught Her attention. “Stop,” She said.

She rose from Her throne. In front of her, a flaxen-haired young woman stood trembling. Her clothes were of the finest linen, and a golden circlet sat on her head.

“This is not the Princess Lorithea,” She said.

The woman broke out in sobs.

“King Mornam, why have you not delivered to Me your daughter?”

The other monarchs turned to face the ashen king. “Please... your... my Queen... but this is... my daughter...”

She laughed. “Lies? To Me? You humans.”

Mornam started to scream as the rock began to burrow into him. Blood stained the white stone as it formed tiny tendrils and began the long crawl towards his heart.

“You,” She said, indicating a young man standing behind Mornam. “Deliver your sister to Me, or I shall send a plague of flesh rotting to consume your lands and all within.”

She turned without awaiting a reply. The weeping peasant girl still stood before Her throne.

“It was very brave of you to sacrifice yourself for your princess,” She said, stroking the pale wheat of the girl’s hair. “I enjoy brave girls.”

* * *

The princess was delivered; she was beautiful, and refined, and she made a fine centaur once she was fused to the horse she rode in on.

The peasant girl, however... she was bathed and perfumed and led into Her presence by Jadeclaw.

The girl shivered, standing there. Jadeclaw kept petting her, running her cool hands over the girl’s smooth flesh. With each new touch, goosebumps rose, then subsided.

With a thought, She dismissed Jadeclaw, who radiated her love and left the room.

She rose from her throne and walked across the room. The girl’s eyes remained downcast, fixed on the floor.

The girl was a beauty, young and ripe, breasts heavy enough to hang just slightly away from center. She could sense the girl’s heart beating between them. Her pubic thatch was the same color as her hair, as her eyebrows, a soft tan, the color of straw.

She stopped an armslength away. “You may look at me, girl.”

The girl swallowed, and raised her eyes.

Not blue, then, but dark, brown the color of oakwood. Unlike her king, whose corpse still stood atop Her pyramid, or his daughter, who was even now being broken to the bit.

“I shan’t hurt you, girl,” She said, looking deep into her dark eyes, seeking her soul. “Believe me.”

The girl relaxed, just a little. Her eyes dropped, then rose again to gaze into Her eyes.

“Tell me,” She asked, “why were you willing to sacrifice yourself for your princess?”

The girl licked her lips. “I... I looked- look like her, and my family is poor... the king offered us money, and land...”

She nodded, slowly. The girl’s breathing was slowing.

“I see,” She said. “Money, and land. But not for you. You were to be My slave. Why did you do it, Carolie? Did they drag you from your home, screaming? Did you weep?”

The girl blinked, slowly. “No...” she said. “I went with them willingly. I went... because my family needed me to.”

“Yes, I can see the truth in you, Carolie. I can see it in your eyes.” The girl was breathing evenly now, calm, her eyes locked on Hers, lost in them. “And what did you expect to find, Carolie? As My slave?”

“I... I don’t know. Ma’am. Mistress. I had heard...”

“Yes, Carolie?”

“I had heard... that you killed people. Ate them. Fed them to your forest.”

She nodded. “I do, Carolie. Not eat people,” Her mouth wrinkled in distaste, but Her eyes stayed fixed on the girl’s. “I don’t do that. But I do kill them. I do feed them to My forest.”

Carolie just stared, breathing.

She stepped forward, slowly, drawing near, never blinking. “Did you think I would eat you, Carolie?” She asked, quietly.

“I...” the girl whispered. “I didn’t know...”

“But did you think I would?”

They were close now, close enough for Her to taste Carolie’s breath. She watched the girl’s pupils slowly opening.

“I... no...”

“What did you think I would do? What,” she asked, moving closer still, just to the edge of Carolie’s focus, “did you hope I would do?”

“You would... I would... serve You...”

She tilted Her head, slowly, and Carolie’s eyes followed.

“Serve Me? You wanted to serve Me?”

“...yes...” Carolie breathed.

“But I am your enemy,” She said. “I kill your people. Why would you want to serve Me?”

“I don’t... know. I just... did. Do.”

She smiled, and leaned forward to kiss Carolie on the lips. Carolie reacted sluggishly, at first unaware, then, slowly, reacting, opening her mouth, kissing back. Her pupils were huge, and stared blankly at Her glittering eyes.

Her hands came up to touch, and Carolie leaned into them.

She tasted then, sliding Her tongue into the girl’s mouth, finding it welcoming. Her hands moved, sliding, stroking, and they kissed, the Queen and the girl who would serve Her. Her own mouth tasted of musk, and cool water, and mystery. Tentatively, the girl tasted it.

The girl keened as She stepped away. “Come back now, Carolie,” She said quietly. “Come back.”

Slowly, the girl’s eyes regained focus. She blinked, and stared at Her as comprehension flooded in.

The girl stared at Her for a long moment.

“It’s true,” she breathed. “I do... want... to serve You.”

She nodded. “It is true. I spoke to your heart, Carolie. You are a brave girl, and loyal. And deep in your heart, you want to be a slave.”

Carolie just stared at Her, unable to refute it. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Look at me, Carolie.”

The girl complied.

“Do you recall Jadeclaw? And Obsidian?”

Carolie nodded.

“Do you want to be one of them?”

The girl’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“When I find brave girls, and loyal,” She said, “I can make them Mine. I bind them to Me until they are made of My own flesh. And they live forever, and are forever My slaves.”

Tears glittered in the girl’s eyes.

“Is that what you want, Carolie? I shan’t force you. If you want to go home, I will let you. I will give you all of the riches that your foolish king promised, and more, and let you go home. Is that what you want?”

The tears rolled down her cheeks.

She ran a hand across Carolie’s cheek, collecting the tears. Her eyes remaining fixed on the girl, She brought the hand to Her mouth, tasting them.

“Choose, Carolie,” She said. “You can be free, or you can be Mine.”

The girl’s eyes closed, squeezing out new tears. “Please,” she whispered.

“Please make me Yours.”

* * *

The cup was bone, and very, very old.

Carolie knelt at the base of Her throne. On either side, Her nymphs stood, proud, blissful. She reached out a hand and stroked Obsidian’s near breast, and Obsidian squirmed.

Then She stood, and took up the cup.

“Do you give yourself to Me?” She asked, taking step down the dais to where the girl knelt.

“I do,” Carolie said.

“Will you open yourself to Me, so that I may remake You as I see fit?” She asked, taking another step. “I will,” Carolie replied.

“Will you become My creature, thinking only what I want you to think, knowing only what I wish you to know, loving only Me, forever?”

“Yes,” Carolie pleaded. “Please.”

She took a fourth step, and stood above the kneeling girl. With a sharp-nailed finger, She cut into the flesh of Her breast.

Black blood flowed out, and into the cup.

Carolie trembled, watching it flow, running into the cup and down Her taut flesh, black streamers painting their way down Her thighs.

She took hold of Carolie’s head, and raised her up.

“Drink,” She said. “Drink, and be reborn.”

Carolie didn’t raise her hands, just opened her mouth and let Her pour the thick black fluid in, swallowed and swallowed and swallowed again, and it was cold and hot all at the same time, and it overflowed her mouth and ran down her cheeks and spattered onto her bent knees.

And then it was done, and Carolie was coughing, coughing, and pitching forward, until her coughs became gasps and her gasps became wheezes, and she slid forward onto the marble floor.

She knelt down, and whispered into Carolie’s ear.

Carolie stopped moving.

With Her hand, she closed Carolie’s eyes.

They opened again, and were no longer brown, but green, a pale green, and as she slowly drew a long breath, her skin drained, the pink leaving it, until it, too, was a the color of a one-day sprouted plant.

The new nymph rose, pushing herself up from the floor, her eyes wandering around the room in wonder.

Then they settled on Her, where She knelt beside her.

They flooded with love.

“Mistress,” she moaned, and quivered in joy.

Her Queen took her in Her arms.

* * *

Ferndew blinked. Suddenly, she was not seeing the new nymph, rapturous in her Mistress’ eyes, but only the bark of the tree she was seated in.

Her heart was pounding.

Why... why did you show me that?

To show you what I remember, She replied. To show you who I was.

That girl... you turned her into a dryad... one of us?

Her laughter tinkled in Ferndew’s head. Indeed I did, little nymph. Where did you think nymphs came from?

I didn’t... the Elders always said that we came from the trees.

Don’t you remember?

I don’t, Ferndew confessed. I only remember being me. I don’t remember being born.

If you open your mind to Me, I can look for you.

No! No, I... no, thank You.

You don’t trust Me.

I... don’t know You.

Indeed you don’t, little nymph. But I have shared My mind with you, let you see My memories. I give you My word, little nymph, that I shall change nothing, do nothing, except to find for you when you were born.

I don’t... I have to think about it.

As you wish.

I’m going to, um, go now.

Farewell, then, little nymph.

Ferndew pulled away, and this time the Presence let her go.

* * *

The water ran clear and cool over a bed of leaves and small rocks. Sunlight slanted through the canopy, glinting off the small riffles like a scattering of gemstones.

Ferndew dabbled her feet in the stream.

She didn’t know what to do. She wanted very much to know if she had been a human girl, once. It seemed so unlikely and so possible, all at the same time. She looked like a human girl, at least in shape. Not a little girl, but a young woman, closer to the woman with the spear than the girl who had called Ferndew a faerie.

Was she naked? She’d never thought about it that way.

She shouldn’t have talked to the Presence. It just confused her, gave her all these puzzles and no keys.

Of course, She said that She had the keys.

Ferndew wiggled her toes, watching the little fish dart in to examine them. The Presence scared her—the horrible things that She had done to those humans. More frightening was the completely uncaring way that She had done it. Ferndew had shared Her mind, and She hadn’t worried one whit what that king was feeling, only felt pleasure that he was being severely punished for his disobedience.

But She also genuinely cared for Her nymphs. Ferndew could feel that, too. Of course, they were barely more than extensions of Her will. But She had loved them as more than that...

And what if She was lying? She could have made any or all

of that up. Maybe there were no nymphs, maybe She was just trying to trick Ferndew into letting Her have a look into her mind.

Maybe, once in, She could change things.

That was a terrifying thought. Having someone root around in her mind, pulling out what She didn’t like and planting new things that hadn’t been there before. Could She do that? She’d said She could. She did it to those other nymphs. What would stop Her from doing it to Ferndew?

She had said that She wouldn’t. But could Ferndew trust Her?

A squirrel darted down to the water for a drink. Ferndew watched it for a while. Her hands toyed idly with the pendant.

She needed someone to talk to. But who? What she ought to do is to talk to the Elders, but Ferndew was pretty sure they would be disappointed that she’d gone so close to the Forbidden Grove. And talking to the Presence within it...

Of course, they never got angry. She really should go speak with them. It would be the right thing to do.

She wanted to talk with Petalcurve, but she knew what Petalcurve would tell her: go talk to the Elders. Ferndew loved Petalcurve dearly, but the other dryad was even more wary of strangers than most of the dryads in the Forest. She was brave around Ferndew, but on her own she’d never come near even Woodsmen, much less a place like the Forbidden Grove.

Were the Elders those Porfiroi people that She had remembered? Did they really take the Forest away from Her?

Ferndew admitted to herself the real reason she didn’t want to talk to the Elders. Because, if they really were the same people who had destroyed Her, they might get angry that Ferndew had spoken with Her. They never got angry, but for this they might.

She should just forget about it. It’s not like she ever went near the Forbidden Grove before. She didn’t have to ever go back.

Ferndew sighed.

She had to go back.

She had to know.

* * *

Back so soon, little nymph?

Ferndew crouched in the tree. Nearby, a thin column of smoke rose from the Woodsmen’s cabin.

She’d had some faint idea of, if there was trouble, rolling out of the tree; maybe the Woodsmen would see her, maybe they’d help her. It was stupid, but somehow the sight of their occupied building comforted Ferndew just a little.

Of course, it was stupid—the Presence in the Grove wasn’t going to attack her. It was going to seduce her, tinker with her thoughts, make her love it. She wouldn’t call (or fall) for help because she wouldn’t want help.

At least, that was Ferndew’s fear.

I want to know, to know where I came from.

I thought you might. I’ll be happy to rummage around in your head, see what I can find. Just open up and I’ll be in.

How do I know that I can trust You?

You don’t. Despite My sharing, little nymph, you know almost nothing about Me.

And yet I’m supposed to let You into my mind?

You’re not supposed to do anything, little nymph. It is one to Me whether you let Me have a look or not. Mmm. That is, perhaps, not true. I am curious to see what has been going on since I died, and I always enjoy looking into the lives of My inferiors. But if you decide to run away, I shan’t be greatly put out.

You gave me Your word that You wouldn’t do anything, that You’d just look.

And so I shall.

I... I don’t know.

The Presence didn’t reply, just hung there, waiting. It was infinitely more patient than Ferndew.

It changed the subject.

Tell Me, little nymph, how is it that you have drawn My attention?

Um... I found this pendant, here in the tree.

You found it?

Yes.

Interesting. I had sensed someone, as I slumbered—someone other than a pretty if vacuous nymph. I think I touched him. Perhaps he brought the pendant—but then, where did he go?

I don’t know.

You lie.

No I don’t! I found it, right here in this tree! I don’t know any “him”.

Interesting. You lie, and yet you tell the truth at the same time. But the real truth might lie in your memory. Little nymph, won’t you let Me in, just a little? I shan’t bewitch you, or entrance you; let Me in just enough to see where you have been the last few days. We can call it a trust-building venture.

I...

Please?

It startled Ferndew. That great Queen, who raised huge monuments with mere thought, was asking her a favor.

But I haven’t met any “him”. The last “him”s I talked to were Woodsmen, and they didn’t give me the pendant.

You think.

She was right. That’s what Ferndew could remember—but there was a lot she couldn’t remember. She had to have come to the Forest from somewhere, hadn’t she? The humans had children, and raised them, and they had children in turn—but Ferndew only remembered ever being as she was.

What if there was something sapping her memory? Blocking it? All the days seemed so much the same...

Okay, Ferndew acquiesced. She swallowed. The Presence drew closer, probing at her mind, and Ferndew gingerly lowered her defenses.

It didn’t rush in. Slowly, It flowed in, and now It—She—now She was in Ferndew’s mind with her.

Hello, little nymph. I thank you for your trust.

She flowed in more, and Her emotions began to reverberate in Ferndew—interest, and pleasure, and a great and growing joy at being once again so close to life...

Ferndew was suddenly very afraid. The Queen was so much more powerful than she was, if She coveted Ferndew’s life...

I shall not steal what is yours, She said. Come, let us look through your life...

And then Ferndew was leaving the tree, and wandering off, and she was by a creek paddling her feet in the water, and she was talking to a presence in the Forbidden Grove, and finding a pendant...

It was dizzying, for although Ferndew knew she was now in the tree with speaking with the Queen, with the Queen in her mind, she was also living all those moments that she had already lived, and the water was cool and the pendant glittered prettily.

And she was following a Woodsman and watching him at the cabin with his family and playing in the woods with Flutterleaf and some otters and then she was talking with...

The Queen hissed.

?

My enemies, She seethed. You are their creature.

There was great rage, now, and Ferndew was afraid again, but Suddenly She banked it, hid it away, though Ferndew could yet feel its hot glow.

I don’t... I’m sorry...

It is no matter, She said, though Her voice still crackled with heat. Let us look—ah.

What?

And then Ferndew remembered.

She had come to the Grove before and had met a man here, a tall man with a spear through him, and he had given her the pendant and she had hidden it and-

-and the Elders had made her forget it all.

Ferndew reeled. The Elders had done it. To her. They had made her forget, reached in and wiped away all that time. Erased that whole section of memory, made Ferndew think it had never been. Without asking, without telling her they had done it or were going to do it or...

She was crying.

Get out, get out, please Ferndew pleaded with the Queen in her mind.

The Queen left.

And then it was dark, and Ferndew was high in a tree, and she really began to cry.

* * *

Little nymph?

Ferndew started. She had forgotten how close to the Forbidden Grove she was, and forgotten that she was still wearing the pendant.

Sorrow had consumed her. Sorrow, and betrayal, that the Elders should feel so little for her that they would erase her mind without any compunction. As though she were one of the Woodsmen’s mechanical birds, to be wound and released as they saw fit, then gathered up and wound again.

Maybe that’s what she was, after all.

Eventually, she had fallen asleep in the tree, sniffling.

From the pale stillness of the woods she could tell it was now near dawn.

Little nymph?

What?

I would ask you... I would ask you to do something for Me.

Ferndew drew up to a sitting position. What?

I had thought that I was dead, and cared naught for life... but when I was with you, in you, I found your life to be such a fire that now I... I yearn to live again. At least a little.

What do you want me to do?

I lack power, little nymph. I am an empty vessel, and only now am I aware of My hollowness. I saw... I saw, when the Porfiroi spoke with you, that they had power... power that they spread through the Forest, to maintain and strengthen their hold. Could you... bring Me some of that power?

Ferndew frowned, then understood. You want a waterstone?

Indeed.

Why should I bring you a waterstone?

Because I asked you to. Because I would like one.

Ferndew thought of the waterstones, the pile of them at the base of the swordstone. No, she couldn’t go there, couldn’t face them right now. Perhaps not ever.

But she knew where other waterstones were. There was a Sentinel tree not far from here. Several of them, now that she thought about it. Probably to keep watch on the Grove.

I’ll do it, Ferndew replied.

The Queen conveyed her pleasure.

* * *

It was harder to find than she had anticipated—there were many great trees here, and it had been years since Ferndew had placed a waterstone at the base of one.

But then she was in a small stand of birch, rustling and struggling with each other for the sun that shone in through a gap in the foliage, and she remembered the great tree that had fallen to provide that gap. And she remembered taking up its waterstone, and carrying it... there.

As she approached the Sentinel, she could feel its energy.

What was she doing?

The Elders would know. They knew everything. They’d know that it was Ferndew who took it, and they’d know who she took it for.

What would they do to her?

How could they have done that to her?

To all the dryads?

Ferndew sat down at the base of the Sentinel tree and began to cry again.

She’d trusted them. Loved them.

And they just used her.

Not that the Queen was any better. She was wicked, and evil, and killed people for fun.

But she hadn’t lied to Ferndew.

Ferndew stamped a foot and stood up. She circled the base of the tree, looking for the spot where she had buried the waterstone. The tree had grown since then, and animals and drifting leaves had reshaped the ground, but Ferndew found what she was looking for soon enough. She got down on her hands and knees and began to dig.

She’d seen the humans get angry, before. They had yelled at each other and got red in the face, and Ferndew had wondered at them from the bushes.

Now she understood.

It was petty and stupid and she was going to do it anyway. The Presence in the Forbidden Grove was old and weak and the Elders owned the whole Forest and knew everything, and they’d catch Ferndew and maybe even kill her.

But she was mad at them.

Her fingers found the waterstone, and she pulled it from the clinging earth. She could feel the magic in it. The Sentinel tree, living on tree-time, wouldn’t know it was gone for a long while. It would simply slowly grow less magical, becoming sleepier and quieter until it was a normal tree. It would take years.

Ferndew scraped the dirt back into the hole and ran back towards the Forbidden Grove.

* * *

As she drew close, she reached out with her mind.

Hello?

Little nymph. Have you brought Me My present?

Suddenly, she was unsure. Maybe this was a really bad idea. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, and the Queen liked to hurt people.

Um. What are you going to do with it?

I shall not tell you that. Bring it to Me, and please Me, or don’t.

Ferndew swallowed. Bring it to you?

Yes... bring it to Me.

Go into the Grove.

Of course, she had done it before. She remembered that now. It was dark and unfriendly but it didn’t mean her any harm.

She was at the edge, in the Forest with the feel of the trees and the familiar leaves underfoot. She held the waterstone in both hands, close between her breasts.

She started to walk in.

It felt cold and alien, but it didn’t feel threatening. It was just... not Forest. She stepped on a sharp stone and recoiled, not hurt, surprised. Frowning, she kept on. It wasn’t as scary during the day.

She reached the clearing with the melted rock.

Um? Where do you want it?

Bring it to Me.

The brambles.

Ferndew approached across the meadow. The black briar patch was thick and tangled, with thorns longer than Ferndew’s fingers and sharp as needles. She stopped outside it.

Um. Can you open up?

I have no power, little nymph.

But you are in there past all those sharp thorns.

Then you shall have to be careful.

She could run away. She could take the waterstone back and beg forgiveness from the Elders. They would forgive her; they would forgive her and she would forget any of this happened. Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be. Maybe the Elders were right, and they were good and they had Ferndew’s best interests in mind when they made her forget things.

She thought of Carolie.

The thorns scratched and stabbed; Ferndew had never been cut before, never bled, and the pain and the dark green blood that welled up from her wounds scared her. She bled from her arms and legs, from her hands and feet. It hurt. The thorns gave no quarter.

But then, in the center of them, was a clearing, not quite tall enough to stand erect in. The ground was red, blood red, and lying in the center of the red earth was a black stone shaped like a woman.

The stone was cracked, and from a piceous heel black water seeped out, running in a small rivulet downhill.

Is it... you? Ferndew asked.

It was Me. Put the stone in My hand.

The stone woman’s left arm was outstretched, her hand cupped. Ferndew looked at the waterstone, turned it around, then leaned over and placed it in the black stone hand.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the stone crumbled.

Ferndew gasped.

Only grey ash remained.

Thank you, little nymph, She said, and Ferndew realized that until that moment She had spoke in whispers.

Do you... do you have your power back?

Her laughter was like shell chimes. Not hardly. My power is to that stone what the sun is to a firefly. But I have had nothing, for so long... even the firefly warms Me.

Oh. What... what are you going to do?

I am going to reward you. Are you ready?

I don’t...

And then Memory washed over her.

* * *

Vinelash crouched on the branch and watched the man approaching.

He was in ployglot clothing; motley pants, a soft cap, a dented but polished metal breastplate. A long halberd leaned across his shoulder.

A soldier, returning from some war. Taking a short cut through the Forest.

Vinelash hissed softly, turning on the balls of her feet as he passed by underneath. Her Mistress had informed her that men were allowed use of the path; she was more curious than anything else. Humans were infinitely interesting.

He wiped sweat from his brow, and fumbled at his belt for a watersack.

With unhappy eyes, he raised it up, staring at the tear in the bottom. He slumped as he lowered it, trying the flattened bag back to his belt.

Vinelash smiled to herself, and crept through the forest. Surely here would be some amusement. Gnats danced at the forest edge.

The man continued for some miles before he heard the sound. Water, nearby. Running and cool.

In the forest.

The dust shimmered around his calves. The sun beat down.

Vinelash wondered if he knew. A true stranger would not know, would simply march to the stream, drink from it, and then he would be hers. Her Mistress’ rules were quite strict. After he was dead, perhaps Vinelash would play with his hat.

He paused. He knew; knew that the Forest was forbidden to him.

How thirsty was he?

Thirsty enough. With a glance left and right, he crept into the woods.

Vinelash followed. Mistress would be told, but this was not urgent, and She allowed Her pets their fun. Vinelash felt her fingertips lengthen and grow hard, and pointed. And long. She grinned.

The man reached the stream. It looked better than it sounded, bubbling clear and cool over the rocks. Minnows swam in the small pond below. He licked his lips as he took it in.

Then he did something interesting.

“Oh great Queen of the Forest,” he said, dropping to one knee. “I humbly beg your patience. I know that these woods belong to your most august and gracious magnificence, and I apologize most abjectly for my trespass.

“I am but a man, on a long journey, and I am parched with thirst. Please, I beseech you, allow me to sustain myself from your stream. All that walks or stands or flows here is yours, and I have no wish to steal from such a great and terrible monarch as yourself. Please, grant me leave to drink from your waters.”

Vinelash, not a dozen feet away but unknown to his sight, watched with two minds. For she had reached out to her Mistress, and She was intrigued as well.

The man waited, bent on one knee. Then he removed his pack and took out a battered tin cup, which he filled in the stream. “By your leave,” he said, filling it, and drank. He drank a dozen times more, each time with preceding his filling of the cup with a “by your leave.” Then he reslung his pack.

Still on his knees, he disclaimed: “Oh great Queen of the forest, most terrible and most gracious of all monarchs, I who am but a humble soldier thank you most fervently for the gift of your water. Your generosity and kindness are surely as magnificent as your grandeur and power. All of my humble thanks are to you.”

He rose, and took his halberd from where it leaned against the tree.

Mistress? Vinelash inquired.

Then she smiled.

* * *

Borromi was satisfied.

He was a polite man; these woods belonged to the Forest Queen. Her eye was doubtless elsewhere, but asking permission of spirits and deities was never bad policy. Anyway, it was the right thing to do. If he ever settled down and got himself a plump wife and a farm, he would like to be asked if someone drank from his stream.

The road was just ahead. He held his weapon lazily; the Forest Queen brooked no bandits, and if She had somehow become angered his halberd would do him little good.

A silhouette appeared between the trees before him.

The road beyond was in sun, and he in shadow, but the shape of the figure suddenly in his way was a shape dreamed of by soldiers.

He squinted.

She came closer, into the cool dark where Borromi stood, and he could not help but stare. She was a goddess, pale soft flesh curved the way his soul knew it should be curved, small, pouting lips, liquid green eyes. Her rounded hips cradled that treasure men sought their whole lives.

His mouth was open, and his cock was steel.

“Your name?” she asked, and though he knew fear now, the touch of her hands would be an ecstatic way to die.

“Borromi,” he whispered, surprised he did not slur. “I am Borromi.”

“I am Vinelash,” she said, and touched his rough cheek with her soft hand.

She stepped around him, her hand gently stroking his face, and he keened softly. She pressed close behind him, her breasts in his back, her other hand on his shoulder, and stood on tip-toes to whisper into his ear.

“You are a courteous rogue, Borromi. My Queen is pleased.”

* * *

Vinelash enjoyed fucking almost as much as she enjoyed obeying.

The soldier’s hands were on her hips, gripping, and his cock was pounding into her from behind. He would have come long since but for the thin vine which had snared his cock, gripping it at the base and tickling his balls.

But he was tiring now, and Vinelash let her legs part further, lowering them both until his knees were on the ground, and she walked her hands backwards, forcing him back, until she was sitting on his lap, his cock still sheathed in her depths. She arched around and kissed him, licking his rough lips and sliding her tongue in and around his; the vine slithered back up into her body and he came, filling her with his warm seed.

She ground her ass into him, squeezing, kissing. His hands were clutching at her breasts, tight with need but gentle with restraint. Even in sex this man was not quite an animal.

Vinelash laughed, put her hands on his, and squeezed hard.

He moaned.

A moment later and he was shrinking, slipping out, so she pulled off of him and turned around.

He stank, like men do, and his breathing was hard and ragged, and he stared at her like she was a goddess. Were he to lay his eyes on her Queen, Vinelash thought, they might burst into flame. If She had allowed him to look upon Her.

“Borromi,” she said, reaching down to his slimy cock and twirling a finger around it. “You fuck well.”

He just stared.

“You say little now, for such a well spoken man,” Vinelash added.

His cock stirred under her swirling finger. With a grin, she lowered herself to suck on it.

Soon he was fucking her again.

He was spent. His furry belly glistened with sweat, rising and falling as he panted. Vinelash stood over him, watching. His seed trickled down her inner thigh.

“Vine... lash,” he said. He looked at her. “Must I die now?”

She laughed. “Are you ready to?”

He considered. “No,” he finally said. “But I shall never be readier than this. You are all that is perfect and woman.”

“You have not met my Queen,” Vinelash replied. “Nor shall you. I shall not kill you, Borromi, for you have pleased Her. But you are never to return to this forest; if you do, you shall surely die.”

Borromi nodded. “Not death then, but exile. Ah, it might be worth it, to die, if I could but see you again.”

Vinelash smiled at him. “Then return,” she said, and turned away. “Return and die.”

Borromi watched her as she walked into the Forest and vanished.

A few minutes and an eternity later, he cleaned himself as best he could, dressed, and set back out on the road.

* * *

Ferndew was gasping.

The... fucking... had felt so good. She could feel it, still, feel it between her legs and in her heart and head. It was so powerful and so wonderful and so... so bestial.

She had never- why had she never?!

She looked between her legs and there was her sex. Soft pale lips; she reached down with a finger and stroked them and felt a shiver run up her spine.

Why had she never?

Did you like that memory, little nymph?

Ferndew had no answer.

She was on the red ground, next to the blackened stone. Her backside was smeared ochre from her rolling around.

She remembered her wounds then, and they stung. The pain was more real than the phantom pleasure from the remembered fucking, which was fading...

I hurt,Ferndew complained.

I am sorry, little nymph. I could do nothing. Now... I shall try to move the thorns aside, but such power as I have now may not even accomplish that.

Ferndew nodded. She wanted to leave, to get away, to think. She stood up and bumped her head into the bottom of a briarvine. Crouching, she turned to leave.

Little nymph?

Yes?

The Porfiroi will notice the missing power stone.

Ferndew shrank a little.

We can fool them. If you bring to Me these things- and in Ferndew’s mind was a picture, pale blue flowers from a high meadow and chunks of black glass - I can spin an enchantment to deceive. Will you bring Me these things?

I... I need to think about it.

As you wish. I shall be here.

If the briars moved aside, they did so only a little.

* * *

The mountain edge of the Forest was cool and dry.

Ferndew walked across the treetops thoughtfully. Distance had calmed her. Distance from the Queen whose bidding she was doing, and distance from the Elders whose bidding she had done all her life.

Or had she? Had she been a human, once?

The wind ruffled through her hair. There was a meadow here, a broad boss, the rock too close to the surface for trees, leaving a curving slope of grass topped by a rocky cliff, the true base of the mountain. Ferndew walked down the tree and out into the meadow. She felt the grass under her feet.

The fucking had been... incredible. Unbelievable. New. Ferndew had seen animals doing it, in season, but she had never thought... never understood what it was. How it felt.

And it had been very familiar to Vinelash. Vinelash fucked often; during that fuck her mind had worn a backdrop of other fuckings, too many and too fragmented to count.

Ferndew glanced down at her own sex.

Why hadn’t she ever thought about it?

The Elders hadn’t wanted her to.

Her anger was passing. Doubtless, they had their reasons. Whatever else, they weren’t cruel. Pitiless, perhaps, but not cruel.

But what was Ferndew to do now? Now that she knew all this?

At the base of the cliff was the black glass.

Ferndew hadn’t come here before; other dryads walked the mountain edge on behalf of the Elders, so she’d rarely had reason to come. She walked across the gnarled stone outcroppings—even the tough mountain grass could not grow on stone – often having to use her hands and noticing how the stones here did not cut her feet.

Her skin was etched with dark green lines where the thorns had drawn her blood. When she thought about her wounds, they itched.

In a cleft at the bottom of a sheer rise were several outcroppings of black glass, the largest taller than Ferndew was herself. Men had come here in times long past to harvest the glass, and chips and chunks lay scattered about.

And bones.

Ferndew was surprised by the bones, for humans usually buried their dead. There were not many—perhaps three people had died here, some time ago, and creatures had long since eaten them.

She moved some aside and picked up three obsidian chunks, the size which the Queen had wanted.

On a whim, she picked up a bone as well. A long, smooth one, gracefully curved. A rib. She swung it in her hand as she walked back out of the defile and up into the meadow. The flowers were not far.

Why was she doing this? Helping the wicked Queen? Was it just to cover her own tracks? Ferndew had to admit it was not.

But she wasn’t certain just why it was.

She’d worried that the Elders were looking for her, but then remembered that they weren’t expecting her, that they had told her to come back in a half moon.

Right after they had erased her memory.

She wasn’t angry at them. Her anger had burned itself out. They did what they did for their own reasons. She knew that.

But she didn’t love them any more.

But where did that leave her? She was a dryad. That was her purpose, to attend to the Forest at the Elders’ direction. Even assuming they would leave her be—which they doubtless would not—what was she, then, if she spurned the Elders?

Pointless.

The flowers grew in a high meadow, and Ferndew threaded her way between fir and pine, across rocky slopes and grassy meadows. The Forest edge was now well behind, but nothing in the heights above challenged the will of the Elders. The needle-heavy branches made way and the sharp rocks did not cut her.

Her wounds itched.

She rubbed idly at one, high on her thigh, then stopped to look down.

Her sex.

She hadn’t even known she had one.

Why did the Elders keep that from her? From them?

Ferndew touched it and it felt good to do so. She cupped it in her hand, pressed against it, and began to slide her middle finger up and down.

To keep them away from the humans. The humans would have sex with them.

It was too pleasurable. Ferndew put the obsidian rocks aside and sat down. Too pleasurable, as she spread her legs and began to tease herself, tickling and touching, biting her lip as the new feelings tingled up her spine.

That’s all the dryads would do. Find human boys and fuck them. If they knew.

She could remember the feel of the soldier, remember his hands on Vinelash’s hips and his cock ramming inside her, and Ferndew’s hand reached to the side and picked up the rib bone and gingerly, remembering, she slid it up into her sex.

It felt really good.

She began to work it around, and then it felt even better, as she moved it, in and out, turning it a little, and her other hand was stroking her flesh and she cupped and squeezed one of her breasts like she remembered Vinelash doing and that felt really good, too, and then she reached down and a finger bumped it and joy electrified her body and she kept pumping the bone in and out and she touched herself and then she was Vinelash and she was coming, clenching helplessly in pleasure and dropping back onto the warm grass and lifting her sex hard up into the air, against the bone, and she moaned and dropped her ass back to the ground.

It was so good.

She collected the flowers before the sun set, but it was night before she got back down into the Forest.

* * *

Very good, little nymph. Place them on the ground.

Ferndew knelt in the small clearing in the center of the thorns. Her skin stung from where they had pierced and cut her again. A long scratch on her cheek was particularly painful.

She put the black chunks of glass down, and the little yellow flowers. They lay in a small pile.

Then there was motion, in the air, and black sparkles, and then, where there had been black glass and flowers, were three waterstones.

Ferndew blinked.

She waited.

Um... hello? she asked. Queen?

The voice was soft, and distant. Little nymph. I am tired, now. That took much from Me.

Should I go put one of these back? In place of the one I took?

Indeed you should. The Porfiroi will not notice the change for years.

And the other two...?

I made them for you to bring Me more.

Ferndew didn’t reply. What She was asking...

Ferndew winced, and scratched at a wound on her calf. The Elders will notice. I have been gone from them a long time, and they will send for me soon. They can read my mind.

Laughter. I can teach you to shield your thoughts, little nymph. To cover them with other thoughts, so real that the Porfiroi will not know they are false.

If I bring you the waterstones?

No. I shall teach you regardless. You shall bring Me the power stones because I ask it of you, or you will not.

Ferndew thought of Vinelash, and how she lived to serve her Queen. About how often she fucked, and how often she didn’t fuck.

Because obedience was better than sex.

I think I’m ready.

Then listen to Me, little nymph, and I shall tell you how to mask your mind.

* * *

END Part Two