* His condition worsens * Strength in a tear * A living blanket * We become lovers

* I awaken and leave the room * Another rude awakening * A plea from the servants

By the eve of Candlemas, the Count's health had become quite grave. He had barely the strength to sit up in bed, and such exertions would so exhaust him, that he would fall into a deep sleep for the hours following even the mildest effort. As the sun set in the sky and the housemaids began lighting the candles and stoking the fire, I sat with him, his head on my shoulder, his frail form, wracked by pains beyond my knowing. To have found love in this hateful place, to have felt freedom from the routine of daily living while in captivity, to have found Springtime in the midst of Winter, to find my rational mind accepting the impossibilities all about me: I felt helpless and responsible for our plight and I could not stanch the tears which flooded my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.

One of those salty drops must have landed on Cambel's own tortured brow, and its effect was that of a rainstorm on the parched floor of the high desert. A modicum of colour came to his face, and he turned to look up at me, reaching his palsied hand over to my face to wipe away the remaining tears. When he had brushed them off of my cheeks, he placed his finger in his mouth and licked away the salty tear as if it were the most incredible delicacy.

"I am failing," I said. "Failing you. You do not see yourself and how fragile you have become. I am watching the life draining away from you and despite all my efforts, all my science, I cannot solve the infernal puzzle which binds us in this deathly embrace. And I cry because I fear that we shall never know embrace of any gentler sort."

He kissed my hand then and said, "I love you so, My Lady Maureen. I pledge my eternal and undying love to you. And if my love be undying, then so must I be."

"I wish it were so," I said. "I wish that you were hale and strong and as we declare our love to one another we could be joined as one. But wishing never made anything so, I am afraid."

"Wishing can do unaccountable things. It can free one's fancy and let open doors in the mind. And if doors can be opened in one's heart and one's soul, then why should not doors be opened in the world as well?" He shivered then, the chill of the February night, creeping up on him.

"Shall I fetch you another blanket?" I asked.

"No," he replied, "a blanket is not a living thing. It has no heat of its own, and what meagre heat I exude is no longer enough. Perhaps if you were to lay down beside me..."

"I can think of nowhere else I would rather be," I said, kicking off my shoes and climbing into the bed. I pressed my body tight against his, feeling his frail form sinking into my voluptuousness. His arms encircled me and our faces found one another, our lips yearning to join together, our mouths hungering for the taste of each other's soul. My tongue caressed his teeth and his tongue and his breath, while he returned my caresses with his mouth and with his hands. I felt the yielding of his thin yet soft rear while his hands sunk into the depths of my own posterior, squeezing, kneading and pressing our groins together with an ardent fierceness that threatened to overpower us.

He took strength from my passion, fuelling his own dim fires and found the stamina to raise himself up on the bed that he might remove my dress. I assisted him, impatient with the hooks and eyes and laces, tearing through some of the more stubborn ones, until I was garbed in only my undergarments, which I quickly shucked. Standing unblushingly in the candlelight, clad in nothing but the flesh which I was born with, I was the focus of all my lover's attentions. By his admiring gaze, I could see myself as if I were looking through his eyes. My red hair glimmered and glinted in the flickering yellow glow of the candles, my eyes sparkled with moments-passed tears. My breasts were full and plump, pulled by their weight to rest on the swell of my round stomach. I raised my arms above my head, and still I could see the soft folds of flesh that girdled my thick waist, and the drooping pouch of my swollen stomach, folding over the wiry fur of my nether parts. My thighs were sturdy and smooth, tapering quickly to shapely calves, tiny ankles and small feet.

I could feel him drinking in my appearance, committing every inch of my ample form to his memory, before bestirring himself to rise from the bed he had not left in many weeks. With no less appreciation than he had bestowed upon my figure, I took in his. Ravaged though it may have been by his long illness, there was no mistaking the strength of his lithe form. His dark hair brushed his broad shoulders and his eyes were alive with a dark intensity. His waist was narrow, his hips slim, and his manhood, thick and long, pointed heavenwards, its tip gleaming with wet anticipation. Strong arms stretched toward me and I could not have stopped myself from rushing towards him had I wanted to. I felt the heat of his member against my soft stomach, and I knew that it needed to be inside me, as a sword, hot from the forge, needs to be tempered in water.

He kissed me again, and then still embracing me, he sat down on the edge of the bed, while I remained standing, my thighs pressed against the inside of his spread legs. We broke from our kiss and he began to nibble at my throat and nuzzle my breasts, while I pressed myself against him, feeling my abundance moulding itself to his shape. His hands slid from my back to my sides to my hips, then, with some unexpected reserves of strength arising from the depths of his being, he found it in himself to grip my hips and lift my not inconsiderable bulk off the ground. Thus suspended, I felt as if I were a balloon, floating above the landscape, naked to the world. I gloried in the sensation and let my head hang back as I felt myself descending slowly, secure in his grasp, until ever-so-gently, the wet tip of his thick shaft brushed that part of my body no man had ever before touched. Still, he lowered me and I felt the portals of my womanhood opening wide to admit him and to admit a pleasure I had only ever imagined.

The further I descended, the further within me he penetrated, the thickness of his member filling me with heat and ardour and the certainty that we were ever meant to be joined like this, he and I. My feet touched the ground, tip-toes first, then heels; by then he was so far inside me that I thought I could feel him in my heart. His mouth returned to my breasts and it was like an electric current arose within me, running from nipple to nipple to stomach to spine to the heat of his shaft burning inside me. I raised up on my toes once again and he lifted me further, his withdrawal leaving an emptiness within me that needed to be filled, and it was filled as he set me down again. He suckled at my swollen breasts, teasing my nipples with his teeth, raising me and lowering me again and again, the pleasure intensifying with each trip along his manhood, until suddenly, a burst of pure white light flooded my mind. It spread ever outward, flooding my eyes and my heart and my spine and my groin. At the same moment, a new sensation exploded in my womb as his fiery member released its cargo of white-hot fluid deep within the recesses of my being. My fingers trembled, my hairs stood on end, my muscles twitched and the great weight of my fleshy stomach quivered and shook with a life of its own. I let out a cry of pure pleasure and the sound of my voice in my own ears, stimulated something so that another flash of light travelled through me, piercing me to the core, tearing me apart, then assembling me once again, so that I was the same, yet subtly altered: a girl before, but a woman now.

For how long we continued our dance of ecstasy I do not recall. All that comes to mind is the ferocity of the pleasure that attacked me, the expression of sheer joy and release that wrote itself across Cambel's drawn countenance, the gentle strength of his unyielding embrace, the unprecedented exhaustion that took charge of me when finally, he brought me back to earth and we lay together, my softness moulded to his slender form, and let sleep take us away.

When I awoke late that night to a moonless sky, I discovered that my monthly flows had begun, stimulated, perhaps, by the passions of the evening. Without disturbing the Count who lay in a deep slumber, I wrapped myself in a bedsheet and made my way through the dark room and down the stairs and back to my chambers. I summoned my maids to bring me water and I cleansed myself, the nap of the towel bringing memories of the night's pleasures to my sore womanly parts. I crawled deep within the bedclothes, then fell into a sweet and dreamless slumber.

In the morning when I awoke in a blissful mood, I called for the maids; when they arrived however, I could sense immediately that something was amiss. "What is the matter?" I asked, watching as they valiantly fought to hold back their tears.

"It is the master," they told me, explaining that when his valet went to awaken him that morning, he discovered that the Count could not be aroused. His breath came so slowly and his pulse was so weak that it was only after several minutes of careful listening and observation that the valet could be sure that his master was even alive.

I could not wait to hear any more, and without even worrying about how I was attired, I rushed out of my chambers, down the hallway and up the staircase. When I came into his room, the doctor was there, along with several of the solemn-faced staff. I pushed past them, then kneeled at his bedside, stroking his cool cheek with my fingers. "What is wrong with him?" I asked. "How is it that he looks to be in final repose, yet I am told that he is still alive?"

"He has entered the Dark Sleep," the doctor answered. "It is a slumber so profound that no earthly measures may rouse him. He has retired inside his own soul, preserving what little energy remains to him, so that , should a cure for his illness be found, he will be still alive to take the treatments."

"How long will he stay like this? How long?"

The doctor put his hand on my shoulder, saying, "I do not know My Lady. There are some who have stayed in this state for years, some who last but a few days. He lives between the worlds now, and he needs, more than ever, your efforts -- for it is only you who can save him."

"This is absurd," I cried, absorbed in fury. "How should I save him? What more can I do? That door defies my every effort, yet you may all come and go as you please! Why can not you save him?"

"The door defies us, too, My Lady," the doctor said. "I have known the Count since first he emerged from his mother's womb, and were there anything I could do..." He held up his hands and displayed the tell-tale burn-marks of the two handles, scarred upon his palms. I looked around the room and saw that all of the staff in attendance were displaying their burned palms, too. "We have all tried, My Lady, and we all know of your valiant efforts. We have worked all our magicks and to no avail. We refuse to lose hope, and the Count himself has demonstrated his faith in you by guiding himself into this state, that he might preserve his chances whilst you continue your endeavours. So, please Lady Fairweather, do not give in to despair. Not now... not ever.!"

If you've got any comments or criticisms, you can post them on the WeightBoard or e-mail me at: melaniebel@aol.com.

And don't forget to visit my website at http://members.aol.com/melaniebel