Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens

He came to me in shadow and mist, wrapped in the scent of earth and musk. His body was a fortress of sinew and power, yet his touch was as gentle as a pebble in the wind that swept over my untouched skin. I had called for healing, grounding, some union between fragments of myself, the rupture in my heart, wanting to be whole again, a call to the women within suppressed by illusion.

This beast, this god, something primal yet tender, stood at the threshold of my soul and offered his hand. I wanted to hold my breath, but I knew him at once. He was strength wrapped in sorrow, rage bound by tenderness, a creature shaped by rejection, misunderstood, still longing for connection. He is the distorted masculine in me, but also the guardian of my boundaries, the fierce protector I had abandoned in my exhaustion. And so I reached for him, but he had not abandoned me.
He enveloped me in his arms.

It wasn’t lust but a primal need, though desire for life at the edges of the cliff. It was a deeper communion of opposites. I felt his breath fluttering against my skin, hot and steady. His heartbeat thrummed like a drum against my chest, an ancient rhythm echoing down stone corridors. His fingers traced the curve of my back, the map of every scar and ache I’d carried for too long. At that moment in his embrace, I felt whole, as if the woman in me had returned home to herself, no longer torn between softness and strength, nurture and fire, just a woman, just me.

The memories came of past lovers, heartaches that had twisted my spirit, rejections that had hollowed me out, where I abandoned myself. I saw each face rise and fade like smoke, each one carrying a lesson I had refused to learn. Love had neither been my enemy nor desire; my fear of both had built walls I couldn’t break through. The Minotaur held me through it all, and when the tears came, they didn’t burn. They washed me clean.

When I awoke, my skin still burend as if his hands had lingered there. My mind was quiet, my breath deep. I’m a woman once more, rooted again like I had found some forgotten thread of power and drawn it back into myself. The Minotaur had told me, “Don’t rush back to the fire before you’ve felt its warmth.” I knew he was right; through this, I had glimpsed something true: the power to hold myself, to claim my place in the world as both fierce and gentle, wild and grounded.

Today, I carry him with me not as a beast to be tamed but as a reminder of what it means to stand firm in who I am. He is my courage, my protector, my guide through the labyrinth of my past. And I will walk forward knowing that strength and tenderness can dwell in the same breath that I can be both the beast and the woman who loves him. As I learn to love myself, thanks to the beast.

Elke T.B. Stevens 15/03/2025