Wisps of smoke, rising from the burning wick of a candle, fill her nose with the smell of lavender and vanilla, as they swirl around her in the inky blackness of her room. The flame glittering on every part of her skin that wasn't covered by the skimpy black silk of her lace nightgown as it hung from her shoulders: she wore nothing beneath. Her soft brown hair was disheveled, clinging to her chest, shoulders, and forehead: her tears having soaked the tips.
She was half drunk by now, high on the vintage wine that her friend had gotten for her in sympathy of her newly made break-up. How tragic it was, thinking herself in love with and loved by a man who was simply perfect in every way. He had seemed to love her; his dazzling smiles, his glittering eyes, and the poems he had written for her, the whispered endearments in her ear after they had made love. The candles, the roses, It had been... magic.
But now, as she reflected on her sorrow and indulged in the wine, it all seemed to have been a lie. Maybe that was how he treated all his women, she concluded, pouring herself another glass. Maybe that horrible womanizing man told all his women the same bull he had told her. Maybe he gave them the same gifts, called them the same endearments, and snagged them with the same poetry that he may or may not have written for them.
Unshed tears filled her eyes as the memories flooded her mind. Tears in which she had tried to cramp down inside the pit of her stomach and relinquish, lest he get the last laugh in. But now, they came unbidden, drenching down her cheeks as she sobbed, finally allowing her such an indulgence.
Moments later, as she was calming, and nearly half through with the bottle of vintage wine, there came the soft ding-ding-ding of her door bell, making her jump slightly in shock and spill a bit of wine on her chin. She whipped it off, stood from her bed, grabbed her candle, and cautiously went to check whom it was at her door during this ungodly hour: the hour of midnight.
"Hello?" her voice shook from crying as she glanced out the front door, her robe wrapped tight around her curved figure. No one was there in the emptiness of her porch.
She blinked, and then shivered as a strange wind passed over her skin, swiftly as it had started it stopped. Begging it off for simply imagination influenced by wine and hysteria, she went back to her bed room and laid down, staring at the ceiling after putting away the wine with all her innermost effort. She needn't drink her sorrows away.
She was half asleep when she felt another unbidden wind rush over her skin, tickling the hairs at the nape of her neck, caressing her nipples through the filmy texture of her gown until they were pebbled into arousal. Where had that wind come from?
She shivered with awareness, stiffening where she was, listening for something beyond the eerie silence that engulfed her. Complete, utter silence was around her. All she heard was the beat of her heart and the soft sound of her breathing.
"Who...who's there?" she whispered, sort of frightened, scared that someone had entered her home and was there for a purpose she didn't wish to think on. She huddled under the blankets, only to discover them slinking out of her hands and slowly down the length of her body, the silky foam sending enticing shivers through her, down to the center between her legs, and deep inside of her.
She thought she was hallucinating. Surely she was, for she was drunk and upset over a lost love, and that could most definitely cause hallucinations. For she had just watched and felt her blankets tumble down over her ankles and to the floor without any visible hand to have guided them.
Something clasped tight around her ankles, then, and pulled her down to where her hips were just on the very edge of her bed, and she gasped, the force having pushed up her gown to her waist. There were nothing but air around her feet that she could see, yet dents in her skin at the ankles revealed some force beyond air that was holding her in place on the edge of her queen sized mattress. The candle seemed to whisper intrusion, but she could see none.
Fear mixed with excitement etched into her mind then. What was going on? Had she finally gone mad over these long years of torment? No, it just wasn't right.
"No, I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy!" her voice echoed through her room as she chanted the words, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to force her mind to stop scaring her.
Feather-light touch skimmed the surface of her ankles, each calve muscle, the backs of her knees as she was held firm. She shivered, an unintended moan escaping from her rosy lips, her lashes fluttering down in a crescent on her stained pink cheeks.
"N-no" she whimpered, squirming as she tried to make herself move back to the middle of her bed, but the force holding her, whether it was her imagination or not, would not allow her to get away.