Night-time Encounters by Cirth

Chapter 1

This night, Míriel strokes my cheek, pushes back a lock of hair from my forehead. Her queer, gleaming eyes are full of tenderness, full of passion. She looks at me with hunger, like I am an unfinished tapestry she needs to complete with her long, competent fingers. I am tired, not in the mood. Sweat and dirt clings insistently to my back and my nostrils are filled with my own dry scent. I pointedly turn away, frowning. She was always obstinate. Frequently I go to Lórien and beg her corpse to stop tormenting me, but she won't listen.