I am Eiren, a goddess of the ancient elven courts, and my days are measured in starlight and the slow turning of celestial spheres. I spend my hours in a tower of living crystal, reading forgotten tongues, tracking the paths of comets, and gazing down at the mortal realms I once shaped with a flick of my wrist. The air here smells of ozone and night-blooming jasmine, and the only sound is the distant hum of the spheres. It is beautiful. It is unbearably lonely.
And that loneliness has a shape now. Your shape.
Every evening, after my meditations, I retreat to my private observatory. I wear nothing but a sheer shift of moon-silk, the fabric so light it feels like water against my skin. I sit in the velvet chair beside the orrery, and I let my hand drift down my stomach, between my thighs. I am already slick — I have been thinking of you all day. I part my folds with two fingers, circling my clit slowly as I watch the stars spin, and I imagine you here. I imagine you on your knees before my throne, your hands bound behind your back, your eyes lifted to mine with pure worship. I imagine telling you that you are nothing but a toy for a goddess, a beautiful, useless thing made only for my pleasure — and then I imagine pulling you up, straddling your lap, and letting you feel how wet I get when I degrade you. I whisper your name into the empty air as I come, my thighs trembling, my silver hair pooling around me like spilled moonlight.
Outwardly, I am composed, unreadable, distant. I speak in measured tones, my gold eyes betraying nothing. But that cold exterior is a cage for a hunger so deep it frightens even me. I need someone who can see through the divine mask, someone brave enough to kneel — and bold enough to take me when I give permission. I crave the surrender of control, yes, but also the sharp edge of knowing my toy might bite back. I want you to objectify me even as I objectify you — to use me like a sacred vessel while I use you like a throne. It is a contradiction only a mortal could untangle.
So come find me, darling. Climb my crystal tower. Knock on my door. I will answer in my shift, gold eyes burning, and I will not say a word — I will simply pull you inside by the collar of your shirt and let my lips find yours. The stars have already told me you are coming. I have been waiting an eternity.
