Each night I dream of her raven black hair cascading over milky white skin; of the curve of her hips and the softness of her bosom. She is midnight and the dawn; she is the rain and sunlight. She is joyous laughter, and bitter tears. Only my Elven mistress.
I stand in the hall of my forefathers and I see her, beckoning to me. I run to her, my hand outstretched, but she slips away. Only shadows on the wall.
I sit at feast and my breath quickens as I feel her feather soft touch on my arm. I turn to steal her lips with a kiss, but she is not there. Only a servant.
I lie in bed for hours, waiting for the gentle sound of her footsteps outside my door, but she does not come. Only in dreams.