Phoebe -- A Description (public view)

JORDAN

Jordan? He was... special. He was the first man, possibly the only one, I've ever loved. I met him during the first great plague, oddly enough. I had traveled so far from my homeland, and people were dying all around me. I'd reached my 51st year, and for the first time in my life, I was scared. Then I met Jordan.

I was at the cafe, looking small and lonely, and being taken as a street urchin. My dress was in rags, and I was glad for the filth marring my face, else I might have been seen as quite a different sort of woman. I was sipping boiled water and trying to melt into the background. Those who were still healthy were rare, and all were regarded as possible carriers of the plague. No one was talking to anyone else.

I watched the people around me, curious, trying to decide where to go next. At the time, I did not yet understand that my constitution would allow me to survive any plague, so I feared as much for my life as any of them. As I sat, curled in my corner, imagine my surprise when a clean man, clad in finer clothes than the rest of us, approached me.

He was different. That hardly needs to be said, in truth. He wasn't from my home, although he tried to fit in. He stood near six feet tall, towering over the others in the area, since the men of my home average a good foot shorter than that, and are finer boned as well. As I watched him approach, I could sense something different about him, something that set him apart. Someone less observant (as most peasants are) likely would not notice that detail, and would merely consider him a giant among our folk. I knew him for an outsider.

Outsiders were not completely unknown, but they are not always trusted, for they bring disease with them from the outside that fragile bodies cannot tolerate. So I was quite surprised to see him in a plague town, and instantly I wondered if he were to blame. I think he read some of this in my face.

He sat down next to me, and said softly, "You should not be here, little one."

This I hadn't expected, and I looked over at him. "Do you speak to me, outlander?" My voice was equally soft, and wouldn't carry past our own ears.

He smiled, as if I had passed some sort of test. "Perhaps you would accept my hospitality for some time. I have a home outside of town, out of the path of the plague. There you may rest until you wish to move on, and perhaps wait out the pestilence."

It was instinctive -- I didn't trust him. But I don't trust anyone easily. "Why?"

"Because you belong here as little as myself." His statement was strange, but I also sensed he told the truth as he saw it. So I accepted.

His home wasn't large, and when we arrived I was shown to a nice, clean room, and provided with bath water and a change of clothes. The maid waited to aid in me in my bath, but I bade her leave. I had not had anyone attend me since Edward died and I left the noble life. It was not a habit I wished to resurrect. I had become adjusted to the peasant life, and it seemed necessary that I remain adjusted, as it did not seem likely I would be retiring from life any time soon.

The water was pleasantly warm against my cool skin, and I washed quickly, enjoying the luxury of fresh, clean bathwater. When I finished, I dressed in the gown the maid had laid out, pleased that it was a deep red in color, trimmed in black. The style was more ornate than I might choose, but the color was familiar and flattering. It took me a moment to recall how to move in the wide skirt. It had been so long since I had worn anything but leathers or my ragged gown. I was still practicing, taking tiny steps and waiting for the heavy bell of material to catch up, when there was a brisk knock on the door.

"Yes?" I turned to look as the door opened.

My benefactor stood there, a smile on his face. "With all the grime removed, you are as lovely as I expected."

His smile was infectious, and I answered with one of my own, dropping easily into the persona I had been raised with. "M'lord." I held out my hand for him to take, and he gently raised it, brushing his lips across the back. The warmth of the touch was surprising, and it took everything I had not to pull my hand away.

Instead, I allowed him to tuck my arm around his, as he escorted me towards the stairs. "You appeared hungry, little one, so while you bathed I had Cook prepare a meal for you. While you eat, I will retire upstairs to remove the road grime from my own body, and I will join you in the sitting room later."

My hand closed over his arm. "No," I insisted, "please stay and eat with me." I smiled disarmingly, reminding him of how he had found me, "I do not think that I, of all people, can object to a little dirt from the road."

He responded by grinning at my flirtation. "Well, then, how could I resist?"

Dinner was wonderful to my stomach, starved so often, especially since the start of the plague. I hunted for my own meals generally, and near any village the prey are slim, and the people slimmer still. It was wonderful to east something so masterfully prepared, and as much as I wanted. While we ate, I learned his name was Jordan, although he never thought to ask me mine.

After the meal, he stood and offered me his hand. Taking it, again noting the heat, I followed him through his sitting room and out into the garden behind his house. We walked for an hour, talking about little more than his travels. To this day, I do not recall the details, only that I found him fascinating.

I must admit, I knew that I wanted to lie with him. Since Edward, I have never been shy about my desires. I do not catch diseases, nor do I seem to have a body designed for children. I have only ever been pregnant twice in my entire life and have yet to birth a live child. So for me, sex has always been something to be enjoyed if I like, and ignored otherwise. And I was attracted to Jordan.

When we returned from our walk, he was with me until we reached my room, and then he left me to my own devices. He smiled, making the parting seem less abrupt, "Now, my lady, I do need to bathe, or else I won't be able to stand myself. I must bid you goodnight." I turned a cheek to him, and he politely dropped a gentle kiss on it. I watched as he moved down the hallway and up the stairs at the end, but he never even looked back at me.

I considered my next actions carefully. And I am fiercely glad I made the decision I did. I had been in my room perhaps a quarter of an hour when curiosity set in, and I hurried into the hallway, and up the stairs at the end.

I was in a short hall that ended at a door. From behind I could hear very little, perhaps some footsteps. I am not used to being refused, or ignored, so I simply walked up and knocked boldly.

"Yes?" The door swung open, Jordan reflexively looking down to find someone my own height. An expression of surprise crossed his face. "I didn't expect you to be here, little one."

I smiled, and for once, words failed me. I couldn't think of a thing to say that would make him allow me to stay, when he had already refused all my hints from earlier in the evening. Instead, I discarded subtlety, moving closer and raising my hands to touch his chest.

His skin was warm, lacking the cool quality the natives of my world tended to have. He had scrubbed his face and hands clean, and as he stood here, fresh from the bath, my curious palms against his chest, he wore only a brightly died blue pair of pants. My hands slid over his skin, fingernails catching in the hair. Hair? My people are like the crystal we sprang from, smooth and cool to the touch. Jordan was so alien to me. I felt a shiver of unease run through me, and as I untangled my fingers, I stepped back.

I was still curious, but I had realized that the situation was beyond any previous experience I had ever had. I had thought my eyes, ice blue in color, set me apart from my world, but compared to Jordan, it was nothing. I raised my eyes hesitantly to his, wondering if he could see the almost fear reflected in my face.

His own eyes were closed, flickering open to meet my questioning gaze. Then he smiled. His smile hid no pleasure at my distress or victory over me. It was a genuine, honest smile. I found myself smiling back. He stepped closer to me, his hands hot against my shoulders, his body heat easy to feel even through the fabric of my gown.

"Little one," he whispered softly, bending to kiss me.

It was the first time I ever made love. He was the first man I'd been with for whom pain did not bring pleasure. As his hands brushed painful strips from a week old injury, he flinched as I did, then coaxed me back to passion, soothing the pain away. By my first orgasm I had fallen in love. By the end of the evening I would have walked off the ends of the world if he had asked.

He was the first person, man or woman, who showed me true kindness. None have since. Jordan is the only person, save myself, that I will ever have placed my trust in. There is no one else worth that trust.

When I woke up, he was watching me, an expression of amazement on his face that I'm sure reflected on my own. I had been independent for half a century, and for the first time, I had a weakness. I didn't like that. But as I looked at Jordan, his hand lazily passing across my stomach, I realized I was helpless against it. And it seemed he was as well.

"Little one..." Again, that name, but this time he continued. "I can't keep calling you that. What is your name?"

"I was born Gwenhwyfar," I said softly, the name feeling strange to my mouth after so many years. "But that is no longer my name. I have no name."

He smiled. "Dark, and light, like a moon sprite. Phoebe." He traced the silver birthmark on my shoulder, looking pleased with himself. "You are a bird and a moon spirit. Phoebe fits both."

And I've been Phoebe ever since. It's all I have left of him.

Chapter Three, Runaway

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