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Aereth’s heart was racing as she watched the portal open before her. In but a few moments, she would be back with Zelda and the Knights of Falcon. She had so much to tell them of her adventures in Elwenhal. She had slain giant monsters, explored the furthest reaches of the dimension, crossed the Shadow Plain – and she had wed Nimwe, who stood behind her even now, looking sullen that her wife was leaving.
They were at the top of a giant tree, where they had made a home in the cradle of branches. Gold fairy lights were bobbing around them, and birds were chirping in the eternal dusk.
“I shant be long, Nimwe,” said Aereth, glancing back when she heard Nimwe’s sigh.
Unlike her mother, Queen Anindel, Nimwe had never quite taken to wearing gowns. Instead, she was wild, wrapped only in a loincloth made of leaves. Her large breasts were bare, and there were leaves and flowers and acorns in her long white hair. She stood, her pointed ears drooping down a little, rubbing one arm and looking dejected. There were tears in her eyes.
Aereth frowned and turned away from the opening portal. “Do not weep, my wife,” she said gently and took Nimwe in her arms. “I shall return to you! I must!”
“You shall forget me and find some other woman, I know it,” said Nimwe bitterly. “Do you think I do not know about Enid? How you kissed her and lusted for her when you were a girl?”
Aereth was taken aback. In all her time in the fairy realm, Nimwe had never hinted nor remotely let on that she had known about Enid. Aereth half-suspected she had been waiting for the right moment to throw the information in her face.
“I shall return,” Aereth insisted. She clapped a strong hand on one of Nimwe’s heavy breasts, making her blush when she squeezed it and said, “Your sweet body hath enslaved me. You know that.”
Nimwe looked up at Aereth with breathless longing, and looking down at her, Aereth realized that the beautiful woman who used to nurse her and had seemed so tall was now tiny beside her, a mere four feet in height.
Aereth had grown to nearly seven feet tall and was a muscular woman, wrapped in a dress made of animal hides and wearing sandals that wound up her bulging calves. On her back was a sword, which Queen Anindel had commanded the gnomes to smith for her, and upon her head was a crown of vines and red flowers, marking her as princess and wife of Nimwe.
“It has not enslaved you well enough,” retorted Nimwe unhappily, “for you still must venture to that strange other land.”
“The other land is my home,” said Aereth gently. She took both of Nimwe’s hands, gazing down at her and trying to make her understand. But Nimwe could never understand. She had never even left Elwenhal, and she seemed incapable of empathizing with Aereth, of understanding that she missed her mother and the knights. She was eternally selfish and wanted Aereth to stay in Elwenhal, never to return.
Queen Anindel was much the same way. When she learned that Aereth wished to visit her family, she became distant and cold. When Aereth came to her at court to say farewell, she didn’t hug her or kiss her as she usually did but instead gestured impatiently as she said, “So go if it pleases you!” and took a bitter sip from her wine goblet as she sat at the head of the noisy feast table.
The surging energy from the portal suddenly grew stronger, so that licks of auburn hair danced around Aereth’s eyes. Aereth narrowed her eyes against the wind and said to Nimwe, “Shall you kiss me before I depart?”
Nimwe hesitated, her slanted eyes momentarily as wicked as her mother’s. Then her eyes relented and she said coyly, eyes down, “If it pleases you.”
Aereth felt a little suspicious, but she knelt down anyway, resting on one knee, and gathered little Nimwe close in her bulging arms. They kissed, and Nimwe’s lips trembled against hers. The fairy woman bowed her head, touching her forehead to Aereth’s, and closed her eyes. She was so sad, Aereth rubbed her back and kissed her cheek.
“I shall return soon,” Aereth promised.
Nimwe’s small hands momentarily tightened possessively on Aereth’s arms, as if to lament her own helplessness, then she cupped a hand under her own heavy breast and lifted it, offering it for Aereth to suck. Her eyes were warm with lust.
Without hesitation, Aereth clapped her strong hand yet again on Nimwe’s heavy breast and squeezed it, so that the nipple hardened and beaded out a small drip of the same sweet milk she had grown so to love. She sucked tenderly on Nimwe’s pink nipple, then suddenly hugged her tiny wife close and buried her face in it, with a sort of abandon she could not understand.
Nimwe laughed girlishly in delight at Aereth’s aggression, then moaned and frowned as the sucking continued – growing stronger and more fervent and hungry. Aereth was sucking very hard now on Nimwe’s nipple, turning her head as the soft mound rose against her face and trying almost desperately to pull as much sweet milk from it as she could.
Trapped in the wall of Aereth’s hard arms, Nimwe’s head fell all the way back, and she clutched blindly at Aereth’s head, as the big woman buried her face in the swell of her great cleavage.
“A-Aereth!” Nimwe gasped. “Control yourself! You shall drain me!”
Aereth pulled her mouth away reluctantly, white milk on her lips, and looked at Nimwe in a daze. For years, she had sucked the sweet milk from Nimwe’s breasts and was a little obsessed with its taste without fully understanding why. She saw the wicked glint in Nimwe’s pretty eyes again when the small fairy lifted her head and looked at her. She extended her tongue and crammed it in Aereth’s mouth. They kissed passionately, their heads turning as Aereth crushed her wife’s soft hair in one hand.
When they pulled apart again, Nimwe was breathless and blushing. “F-Farewell thee well, my wife,” she said, panting, smiling.
Eyes soft, Aereth kissed Nimwe a last time on the cheek, then rose and turned to the portal, which was now fully open upon a study filled with books. Giving Nimwe one last look, she stepped through the portal and heard it whooshing with wind as it sealed behind her.
Standing in the middle of the study, Aereth looked around and heard a scream: a little old woman with long white hair bounced up from an armchair beside the fire, tossing away her book and running fast to Aereth. Her great breasts crushed Aereth in a hug, and with wild happiness, she kissed Aereth again and again on both cheeks.
Overwhelmed, Aereth grabbed the old woman by the arms and held her at bay. “Who the devil . . .?” Aereth’s voice trailed off as she looked into the old woman’s eyes. They were Zelda’s blue eyes.
“Mother . . .” Aereth said, her voice a dry crack. “You are so old . . . You are . . .”
Zelda’s smile faltered a little. “Don’t you know?” she said sympathetically.
Aereth mutely shook her head as the cold realization crept slowly over her.
Zelda looked up at Aereth sadly and touched her cheek as she said gently, “My little bear . . . It has been two hundred and fifty years.”