Previously…
A shiver traced Lori's spine. She turned to go back inside. She pressed the blindfold to her face. Pressed the clicker once more. The silken straps tightened, a seamless embrace that stole her breath. The world vanished into absolute, smothering black.
A clumsy movement and her hand bumped the edge of the door. “Fuck!” The clicker fell from her fingers.
She heard the faint, echoing tink as the clicker bounced, a slow, deliberate roll towards the deck's edge. Then…nothing. No further sound. Just the crushing silence of the black void against her face.
<>--+-
The deck’s wood bit cold against her knees. She lowered herself, a slow, deliberate motion, fighting the tremor in her limbs. The blindfold pressed against her skull, a velvet weight, stealing what little sense of orientation she had. The night air, crisp and scented with pine, felt thick, suffocating.
She knelt, extending her hands, fingers splayed, sweeping the deck’s surface in slow arcs. The rough-hewn planks scraped against her skin. A low growl rumbled in her chest - frustration, not fear. Not yet.
Find it.
Another sweep. Nothing.
She slowly made her way towards the edge of the deck - the direction where she last heard the clicker roll.
Her hands found the railing, cold steel biting into her palms. She traced its length, inch by agonizing inch - the unseen abyss beside her. The clicker had to be somewhere along here, she hoped.
She pressed her cheek against the railing, taking a shaky breath. The wind, a sudden, sharp gust, tugged at her skin.
It had fallen.
The realization hit her with a physical force, a tightening in her chest. The clicker was gone, lost to the darkness below.
Her fingers curled into fists. A wave of defiance rose within her. She could go down. Feel her way, hand over hand, feel along the pine needles carpeting the ground below the fire tower. It would be slow, arduous, but it was an option.
Predators. They hunted under the cloak of this darkness. Bears, mountain lions...
The thought of those eyes, watching from the shadows, waiting…
No.
She pushed herself up, her muscles straining against the unfamiliar chill. She’s not going to be prey tonight. She’s not going to risk it.
She would wait. She would blindly search for the clicker in the morning light, when the shadows held less threat.
She’s locked in this prison of darkness, and all she could do was wait.
<>--+-
The wood scraped against her knees as she dragged herself, blindly, back into the room. Each movement was a careful assessment of space, a slow negotiation with the unfamiliar angles of the fire tower. The deck’s chill was a sudden absence, replaced by the close, musty smell of the wooden room. A grunt escaped her lips as she bumped her hip against something solid. Another inch, another scrape.
She found the bed. The blessed warmth radiating from the sleeping bag was a promise of comfort. She shuffled, feeling the edges of the pad beneath her, then slid into the sleeping bag, the layers engulfing her in a cocoon of heat. The blindfold remained, a constant, smooth pressure against her skin.
The sleeping bag offered meager comfort. Lori shivered, the mountain air a sharp intrusion even through the layers of down. She pressed her face into the pad, inhaling the faint scent of pine and dust – familiar, grounding. But the solidity of the bed did nothing to ease the knot of anxiety twisting in her gut.
She ran a hand over the smooth, cool surface of the blindfold. It clung to her scalp, a silent, unsettling embrace. Click. She imagined the small, flat disc – the clicker – lost somewhere in the tangle of trees and rocks far below. A wave of helplessness crashed over her.
The trail back to the road was twenty miles. Twenty miles of unforgiving terrain, a path she had walked once, yet couldn't navigate blind. The thought sent another tremor through her. What if she stumbled, broke an ankle? What if…
She fought back the spiraling dread. Focus. She had to. Panic wouldn’t find the clicker. She’s strong. She was resourceful. She’s always been able to handle things.
“Okay,” she murmured, her voice thin and reedy in the small room. “Okay, Lori. Just… think. It fell. It had to fall somewhere.” She pictured the tower, the rough stone of the foundation, the soft needles of the piney earth. Somewhere on that slope.
The thought of making the descent, utterly and completely blind, was ludicrous. A slow, agonizing shuffle through the undergrowth, guided only by touch and a desperate hope. The potential for disaster was terrifying.
“Just breathe,” she repeated, a mantra against the rising tide of fear. “I’ll find it. I will find it.”
She lay rigid, straining to hear any sound besides the pounding of her own heart, any clue to guide her. But the night was deep, swallowing all but the rustle of leaves – a constant, mocking presence.
The chill deepened. The fight drained from her. Her limbs grew heavy, leaden. She curled tighter in the sleeping bag, the blindfold a constant pressure against her skin.
The warmth of the sleeping bag was a heavy weight, pulling her down. Her thoughts began to slow, the edges blurring. She ran through her routine again in her mind.
“I’ll find it," she whispered, the words slurring, fading into the stillness of the night.
Find the clicker.
Find the clicker.
And then, slowly, relentlessly, she succumbed.
Her grip on the sleeping bag loosened. The tension in her body eased, and her thoughts drifted, a slow, silent descent into the heavy darkness.
<>--+-
The warmth of the sleeping bag pressed against her skin, a comforting weight against the chill of the mountain night. Lori drifted in a space between sleep and awareness, the vastness of the starry sky a silent, watchful presence beyond the small room's array of windows.
Lori stirred beneath her sleeping bag, the warmth of another's touch rousing her from sleep. Soft, tentative at first, it traced a path along her arm, a gentle exploration of skin. Lori’s breath hitched, a ripple through the stillness. Soft hands tracing patterns that sent shivers down her spine. She felt a comfort in these hands, a silent assurance that everything was alright. The touch lingered, then deepened, becoming a slow, deliberate stroking of her ribs, her stomach, the curve of her hip. It wasn't intrusive; it was a soothing balm, a silent reassurance.
Everything will be okay. The feeling resonated within her, a profound sense of peace radiating from the touch. She didn't need words; the reassurance was etched into the silk-smooth contact. Her muscles, habitually tense, began to yield, responding to the comfort.
The touch moved lower, a slow, languid descent. Lori’s breath grew shallow, her body responding with a quiet eagerness. The exploration became more intimate, a deliberate mapping of her form. She tightened her grip on the sleeping bag, a subconscious anchoring to the familiar. The feeling wasn’t demanding, but a shared dance of pleasure and trust. No need to ask permission.
The hands explored her body with a delicious intimacy, and Lori welcomed it like a lover's embrace. They glided over the curves of her hips, the planes of her stomach, the swell of her breasts. Her breath hitched as they climbed higher, brushing against her nipples, making them harden.
Lori's body responded eagerly to these tactile whispers, arching into each touch. A warm breath ghosted across her cheek, followed by the soft press of lips. A taste of something sweet, something earthy, lingered on her skin. The kisses deepened, moving down her face, tracing the line of her jaw, the delicate hollow of her throat. The sensation was exquisite, each kiss sending electric shocks of pleasure through her. Fingers trailed down her breasts, teasing the nipples, a slow, deliberate torture of pleasure. A guttural sound escaped her throat, a release of pent-up tension.
The pressure intensified, the kisses now possessive, claiming her with a quiet intensity. Her hands clenched the sleeping bag, her body arching into the touch, welcoming the exquisite torment. She gasped as the hands found their way between her legs, stroking her with a familiarity that suggested they knew her body better than she did herself. She felt a building pressure inside her, like a wave gathering force. A tremor ran through her, building, cresting. She bucked against the silk restraints of the blindfold, the room spinning with the burgeoning pleasure. A sharp, shuddering release ripped through her, leaving her breathless and trembling in the aftermath.
<>--+- O -+--<>
The warmth was the first thing. A deep, pervasive heat that seeped into her bones and bloomed across her skin. A lingering echo of pleasure, a phantom ache that resonated within her. Lori’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy and slow, and she stretched, a languid, instinctive movement that rippled across her naked flesh. It felt…wonderful. Alive.
Right.
This was it. This was her place.
A slow awareness settled, the familiar recognition of the dreamscape. The vibrant, almost overwhelming beauty of the valley unfolding below. The riot of color in the wildflowers, the deep emerald of the trees clinging to the gorge walls. The sun was a benevolent weight on her shoulders.
“Dream.” She murmured the word, a breath of sound lost to the gentle breeze. It was always an exhilarating act, awakening into this place. But tonight…tonight felt different. Deeper.
Her gaze drifted upwards, tracing the thick metal cable that disappeared into the sky. Then, the cage. A massive construct of sturdy metal bars, suspended impossibly high. A transparent resin floor offered a dizzying view of the valley floor, perhaps one hundred feet below.
A surge of playful curiosity pulsed through her. She was dreaming! She could do anything here. Shape the landscape, conjure creatures, unravel the very fabric of this reality with a thought.
A door. She focused her will, a subtle tightening in her mind, and visualized it: a seamless aperture in the metal bars, just large enough for her to step through.
It shimmered into being, a rectangular void in the cage’s structure.
She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the edge of the opening. Beyond lay…what? How would she get down to the meadow below? She didn’t know. And that was the problem.
Hesitation seized her. A coldness that had nothing to do with the air. A paralyzing fear that constricted her chest. She braced herself to step through, her muscles coiled, ready to react.
Then, the sky fractured.
The vibrant blue was swallowed by churning, bruised purple clouds. A jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the heavens, illuminating the valley in a flash of blinding white. The wind picked up, a sudden, violent gust that sent the cage swaying.
The valley floor spun below her, a dizzying panorama of green and gold. The swaying increased, the metal groaning under the strain.
A strangled gasp escaped her lips. She stumbled back from the door, a panicked retreat.
With a fierce concentration, she reversed her creation. The door vanished, the metal bars solidifying once more. The roaring wind began to subside, and the cage seemed to stabilize.
She leaned against the resin floor, her breath ragged. A tremor ran through her limbs.
“No,” she whispered, the word sharp and firm. “Never again.”
-+--<>
The warmth seeped into her skin once again, a blissful release. Lori let her shoulders sink, the tension bleeding from her muscles as she luxuriated in the sensation of sun and breeze. Naked, suspended, she felt…at peace. This dream, hers, vibrant and alive around her, was a refuge. She tilted her head back, marveling at the sheer longevity of it. Hours? Days? Weeks? It felt like an eternity since she first entered, and a selfish hope bloomed within her - a wish for this sanctuary to never end.
Then, movement.
A flash of something bright, a disruption in the kaleidoscope of wildflowers and trees below. Lori’s breath hitched. She turned for a better view...
A woman ran through the field, a shimmer of gold rippling across her skin with each stride. It was impossible, breathtaking. Lori found her voice, a sharp, instinctive call.
“Hello!”
The golden woman paused, her head lifting. But her gaze slid over Lori’s cage, a ripple of dismissal crossing her features before she resumed her flight.
A tremor ran through the valley. Not an earthquake, but a deeper resonance, a shifting of the dream’s fabric. From the tall grass surged a swarm of women, their skin the color of jade. They moved with a disturbing uniformity, their arms raised, wielding nets and thick ropes.
Lori’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the gentle swaying of her cage. Her stomach twisted with a sudden, visceral dread. The green-skinned women surged toward the golden woman, a wave of silent purpose. They were swift, efficient. The golden woman ran, a desperate burst of speed, but the green-skinned women were relentless. They encircled her, driving her back, cornering her until she was a captive in their web.
Finally, the vibrant colors began to bleed, the pleasant fragrance diluted. The warmth receded. The dream world faded...
-+--<> O <>--+-
A jolt. Not unpleasant, but enough to pull her from the depths of sleep. Lori’s muscles tightened instinctively, a habit born of years spent navigating solitude and the potential for danger. She was lying in her sleeping bag. The cage, the golden woman, the ropes and nets, Lori's dream world lingered for a moment, then fell away.
Then, the memory crashed back – the blindfold, the inescapable pressure across her eyes. A wave of frustrated warmth flooded her cheeks.
She flexed her fingers, testing the material. Tight, secure, locked. The clicker. It had been in her hand just…where? Near the base of the tower, she recalled. A clumsy fumble in the dark.
The chirping started, a chorus rising from the wilderness below. Morning birds, she thought, though she had no way of confirming it. Has the sun risen? She strained, trying to detect a shift in the quality of the light, a subtle change in the temperature against her skin. Nothing. Absolute, impenetrable black.
A plan formed, a familiar anchor in a disorienting situation. First, clothes. She stretched, reaching for the small table beside her sleeping bag. The familiar rasp of fabric against her fingertips confirmed her assessment - her clothes, neatly folded. She slid them on, the fleece a comforting weight against her skin.
Next, sustenance. She located the MREs, ripping open the foil with a practiced ease. The artificial scent of the meal was almost comforting. She ate slowly, methodically, forcing herself to chew, to focus on the simple act of feeding herself.
"I will find it," she murmured, the sound swallowed by the small, enclosed space. “I will find the clicker." A low hum of determination resonated within her. It was a promise, not just to herself, but to the primal instinct that refused to be defeated by darkness.