Every visit was the same. And it was a visit, because once he was in her small yet tidy apartment, he always found himself agreeing to hearing just one more of Mrs. Beauman's stories. He would eat at least a half dozen cookies, a few glasses of lemonade, and nearly forget everything but her soft, slightly raspy voice. He always felt a little disappointed when, at precisely 10 minutes to five, she would kindly ask him to leave so she could start making dinner.

Mrs. Beauman hadn't come in today, which was odd for her because she always came in at precisely 2:20 PM every Tuesday afternoon.  It was almost five when Mr. Willard found him sweeping the front of the store and gave him an order. Mrs. Beauman was under the weather and had promised to give Gary a large tip if he would pick up a few things for her and deliver them after his shift. Another oddity, because his shift ended at six - wouldn't she still be having dinner at that time?

Gary decided that Mrs. Beauman must be quite sick to abandon her timetable. He considered asking his manager if he could leave early to make the delivery, since surely she would like some company sooner rather than later. He thought about her love of schedules and decided to wait until after work - she might be quite annoyed to have him arrive before she was ready for him. Instead he finished his work, collected and bagged her items, then grabbed his coat at exactly 6pm to make his delivery.

As Gary climbed the brownstone steps of her building, he was startled when the front door opened to reveal Mrs. Beauman already waiting for him.  He didn't know if he was more startled by the door opening on its own, or by the sight of Mrs. Beauman.  Instead of one of her impeccably pressed pant suits, she wore a silky, floor-length black kimono. Even more striking were the luxurious gray waves cascading down her shoulders. Not once had he seen Mrs. Beauman let even a single strand escape her customary French knot.

He stared for a moment, caught with the compulsion to reach out and see if her silky curls would feel as soft as they looked. Feeling his cheeks flush, he visibly shook himself to clear his head. Mrs. Beauman was at least 70 years old. Yes, he could see now what a beautiful woman she must have been long ago, but today he just had no business appreciating her femininity with such thoughts.

"Gary, dear, are you quite alright?" she asked him, reaching out to wrap her hand around his elbow.

He felt a flash of heat rush from her touch to his groin and his head. He was suddenly unsteady on his feet and, despite an exciting buzzing along his entire body, everything went a little gray as his head swam.

He could not tell if it was a moment, a minute, or an hour later. He simply found himself sitting in Mrs. Beauman's living room, comfortably ensconced in the over-stuffed settee she had always insisted he occupy during each of his visits.  The customary platter of ginger cookies was on the little coffee table in front of him, next to a slightly-sweaty glass of mouth-watering lemonade.  Finding his mouth dry and all other thoughts emptied from his head, he instinctively reached for the glass.

The noise of Mrs. Beauman settling into the space next to him broke him from his mental emptiness, and he paused mid-reach for his glass, turning instead to look at the woman suddenly sitting next to him.

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked at him with a smile. Actually, it was more like a grin. A mischevious but quite merry grin.  "Have your drink, dear," she admonished him. "You almost took a spill on the stairway!"

He very much wanted to obey and quench his thirst, but his body stubbornly stayed put, his eyes, roving over her.  Was that?  Now how had he missed the shocks of golden luster amid her graying curls? Her hair seemed to gleam in the light a little too vibrantly, the way her eyes had seemed to twinkle too brightly. As if she were... dusted in diamonds.  Even her skin -

He almost moaned. Her kimono had slipped to reveal one bare shoulder, as smooth as a baby's cheek, and as white as milk. Her skin dazzled him even more than her hair. How had he failed to notice such beauty before today? His already parched throat became impossibly drier.

"Gary, dear Gary," she murmured to him, leaning closer.  "I know it's difficult to concentrate right now, but you need to keep up your strength."

Her face moving nearer to his, he noticed how smooth her forehead was, how less conspicous her crow's feet, how much plumper her lips. Never before had she worn make-up, and he realized she did not now - her lips were just suddenly, naturally shaded a ruddy pink. He prepared to receive the kiss she seemed intent on giving him, and he held his breath.

He was disappointed when she leaned back and held out his glass of lemonade for him. She had merely been reaching for his drink. He was losing his mind. This woman had always been nothing but kind to him, and he was turning into a pervert right her on her preciously preserved antique settee. He lowered his eyes and took a large drink of his lemonade.

"Mrs. Beaman," he began to stutter. "I'm not sure what happened to me earlier, but -"

"Gary, dear," she quickly interjected, her mouth forming a little pout.  "I've told you to call me Lucinda a thousand times. Won't you humor an old woman when she's so sick and dependant on your kindness?"

He was looking at her lips for too long. Her perfect, pouting lips.  "Of course," he said quickly. "You know I would do anything for you, Mrs. Beauman."

"Ah-" she said, raising her hand to admonish.

"Lucinda," he quickly corrected.  He murmured her name again as the twinkle of her eye caught his attention once more.  Hadn't her eyes always been a little... milky? A little yellowed?  Now her cornflower blue eyes gleamed, the whites of her eyes flawless.  He felt the oddest sensation of falling into her eyes, while simultaneously feeling as if her eyes were growing larger to envelope him.

She turned and the spell was broken. He blinked a few times to clear his vision as she reached for a cookie.

"Anything, my dear Gary?" she was asking, taking a dainty bite. Then she held out the treat to him. "Would you really do anything?"

She had not handed him the cookie, but instead had pressed it herself against his lips. He took a bite, and the spices exploded in his mouth. Ginger, cinnamon, sugar, and... something else even more delicious. Even more exotic.  "Anything," he found himself whispering.  "I would do anything if you were in need, Lucinda."

She smiled and brought the cookie back to her own lips, taking another dainty bite.  "But I am in need, Dear Gary," she said, and her eyes had snared him again.  "I'm so sick you see, and you can help me get better. Only you."  She reached out to place the last bit of cookie against his lips.

He took the cookie into his mouth, but as the flavors exploded there again, his lips inadvertantly caught the tips of her fingers. His lips suddenly exploded in heat and electricity, a current that quickly slid along his entire body, raising his hairs, yet caressing his most sensitive secrets.

When his vision cleared - Had he been out of it again? - Lucinda was standing in front of him with her hand outstretched. He could no longer think of calling her Mrs. Beuman. Almost all of her hair was golden now, flowing over milky white shoulders that dazzled his eyes. Her kimono had disappeared, and now she stood in front of him in a silky gown that showcased her beautiful shoulders, her slender arms, her perfect bosom, and her feet - the cutest, most adorable toes he had ever seen.

When she giggled, he stopped staring at her toes and looked up at her again. Her smile was large and glorious, her eyes and arms so inviting.

"I need you, Gary," she said, beckoning with her fingers for him to join her. "I need you to dance with me."

He began to stand to meet her embrace, but she seemed to float from him before he could reach her.  Fully standing, he looked at her quizzically as she finally stopped to stand in the middle of the living room, her arms once again outstretched.

"What happened to the coffee table?" he asked, his eyes momentarily taking in his surroundings instead of her. The coffee table was pushed far across the room, the rest of the furniture pushed to make as much space for dancing as possible. And the record player was playing some old 40s tune. How long had he been spaced out?

"Gary, dear Gary," she called for him again.  "We're going to dance, remember? Let's talk about it all later. Just come dance with me."

She twittered her fingers anxiously, as if she were a little girl begging for a treat. He could not resist those pretty little fingers, the way her hair shined as if under daylight instead of a little reading lamp, the way her eyes sparked like fire as she looked at him.

He quickly took the steps necessary to cross what suddenly seemed a torturous gap between them, sliding his arms around her and she around him.

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As he reached for wakefulness and fought the grayness in his head, sticky like sweet honey that wanted to suck him back again, he knew he had been asleep for quite some time. As hazy memories slid into his mind, he could gauge the passage of time as many hours, perhaps a day or so. Memories of his sweet Lucinda, her arms and hair swallowing him whole, until he wanted to cry or shout or simply dissolve into that sweetness. He recalled strange visions of kissing her as stars erupted from all around them, until it seemed that they themselves became stars, and then stardust, and then... nothing.  He remembered lying in this bed alone for quite sometime, only occasionally catching her talking or singing from far away. There was the vision of her leaning over him, wiping his brow, pressing some liquid to his parched lips that tasted like nectar.

He realized this was not a vision or a memory, but instead reality.  Lucinda sat on the edge of the bed beside him in all of her recaptured glory, spooning something sweet into his mouth and making soft noises of assurance to him.  At first he was content to drink and stare, marveling at the young vision beside him.

Lucinda was now a girl of perhaps seventeen, her wild, golden curls a living mass all around her head and floating upon a breeze that wasn't there.  Her skin was perfectly smooth and unlined, all imperfections just a memory. Her eyes flashed with some internal fire, and her skin glowed like luminous milk. She appeared to have eaten the moon whole, and now the moon was shining through her translucent skin.  And she smiled down on him like a doting lover, his Lucinda, his alone.

"I think that's enough magic for today, yes?" she finally said, and the spoon disappeared. She smoothed the hair back from his forehead and finally her hands fluttered and nestled like doves into her lap.

"I know it's going to take you quite some time to get used to everything that's changed, but my time here is limited, so I want you to sit up and listen to me carefully." For the first time since his arrival - yesterday? - she seemed serious.

He started to lift himself from the bed, but found himself inexplicably weak. She leaned forward to help him, and seemed to expend almost no effort at all, as if he were merely a ragdoll in her arms. He watched her, mesmerized by the way her eyes glinted, her hair slipped around her shoulders, the way her hands rested against his when she was finished.

He finally became alarmed when he saw their hands together. Before, she had been old, wrinkled, frail. Now her hands were perfect, dainty yet strong, and completely unlined. But his hands were now wrinkled, too thin, and covered in liver spots.  He looked to her in panic, grabbing her arms.

"What's happened to me?" he asked, trying to shake her and failing. He didn't seem to have any strength left to him at all. In fact... as his arms came into view, he could see how thin they were, with no evidence of the muscular physique he had worn just yesterday.  He quickly touched his face, discovered dry, papery skin deeply lined. He began to moan.

Lucinda showed concern, and her hand came up to rest on his forehead. She made soothing sounds to him as her hand warmed his skin, and then he began to calm.  The situation was still quite unacceptable and strange but it somehow... didn't seem quite worth being upset about any more. He was content once again just to look upon her radiant face.

She sat back and smiled at him. "That's much better," she said. "Now we can have our talk."

She was wearing some sort of white lacy satin gown with many skirts, which she straightened before folding her hands into her lap.  "Everything you'll need in the coming days is in the kitchen. Everything is stocked for you there. Your new license is on the counter, as well as your bank cards and keys.  You'll be quite pleased with the savings I've set aside for you, and if the Volvo isn't to your liking, I'm sure you could trade it in somewhere for something more suitable."

She smiled at him again, then reached out to touch his face.  "Gary, my dear, sweet Gary, I owe you my life. You have saved me, and brought back my beauty and my life to me once again."

She stood and twirled in front of him, her skirts floating and shimmering around her.  "Isn't it wonderful?  Isn't it worth it?"

He was so happy looking at her. Her beauty radiated like energy to seep into his skin and into his soul, filling him with a kind of lightness akin to hers, if only for a moment. But he was still confused. He began to stammer too many questions at once.

She sat down again and hushed him with her fingers to his lips. "I know it's all a bit much to grasp right now, but I think you'll be fine in a few days. Why don't you get some more sleep? You must still be quite tired."  With that, she stood up to leave.

He was tired, but still.... "You're leaving?" he asked. "After all this, you're... moving on without me?"

She seemed confused by him.  "Well of course, dear.  Your gift is truly precious to me, something I will treasure for another 70 years, until it's time for me to find a new donor. But Gary, dear," she tipped her head and looked a little sad. "You know that Faeries cannot be tied to humans.  You do know that, don't you?"

She saw his further confusion and sat back down to pat his hand.  "My dear, sweet Gary. I have spent the past year grooming you for this very day. All of those wonderful cookies that helped you gain the strength to survive the transition. The lemonade that helped me gain sway over you. Remember all of our conversations, our wonderful afternoons together.  Remember me holding you, shining on you, coating you with my magic. And then think of me beautiful and young again, out there in the world, starting a new life and collecting more stories. I won't be able to share them with you, of course, but just hold to the knowledge that I will be happy, eventually finding another precious caretaker her hear my stories and restore my youth."

With that she stood, smiled at him tenderly, and turned to go. Almost as an afterthought, she turned back to give him the lightest of kisses to his forehead. Then she made her way to the bedroom door, where she turned and gave a little wave.

"Do remember to feed the cat, OK?"  And then she was gone.