Free Got MILF? by Laura Lovecraft

sagging, useless udders even more, incapable of even the most rudimentary pleasure. She bit her lip, forcing back her fury.
    He is here, and his spirit is strong, to lay down his life for his friends, without even blood ties to bind him. If he can accept what is now before him, perhaps...
    Her thoughts were cut off as she heard the quick sound of bootsteps coming from the corridor. The sacrifice appeared, dressed in the clothes she had laid out for him.
    He looked well, she thought. He looked very well indeed, especially without the mat of beard covering half of his face. His hair was a dark brown, matching the color of his eyes, which were the color of fertile earth. His skin was clear, though somewhat red and chapped from cold, wind, and exposure. His steps were light and quick, and he moved with an athlete's grace, matching his broad shoulders and narrow hips. She smiled slightly as she took in the clean lines of his face. Too thin with hunger now, but the high cheekbones and firm chin were attractive enough.
    Not too tall, either, thank the High One, she thought. She had grown everlastingly weary of huge, bearded tribesmen who loomed over her as if she was a child. Too many had thought to dominate her with their strength in order to show their superiority to her.
    Convincing them that violence upon her person was a bad idea was tiresome. And often messy.
    She ladled porridge into a bowl and set it in front of him as he sat down. The platter of fried potatoes and bacon followed. She sat down across from him and filled her own plate as well, and for a short time they ate in companionable silence.
    “So,” the sacrifice said slowly, “I am not quite sure what is going on here. The last thing I clearly remember was sitting down by a tall stone, preparing to die. Then I woke up here, with my injuries magically healed. Who are you? What are you?”
    “It would help,” Snegurochka said, forking in a mouthful of potatoes, “if you told me your name, child.”
    The young man gaped, then laughed softly. Her breast grew warm as she took in the rueful humor of the sound.
    “OK then,” he said. “My name is William Carter. My friends call me Bill.”
    “And how did you come to this place, Bill?”
    He explained the circumstances which led him to try to kill himself. Polina's eyes narrowed angrily as he told the story.
    “Fools,” she said when he had wound down to the death of three of his comrades on the brutal trip to the islands, and why he had decided that he would be wiser to die in service to his friends than to try to carry on a hopeless struggle. “To try to come to these islands at this time of the year, flying through the air like birds.”
    Bill nodded. “I tried to convince our leader otherwise. But he was greedy and saw money slipping away.
    “Well,” he sighed. “He paid. It's just sad that so many others paid for his mistake as well. Mark, Bridget, Harold, Jaroslav...” he trailed off, then a wild hope flared in his heart. He looked at Polina. “You can't...”
    She shook her head sadly, knowing what he had been thinking. She leaned over and touched his hand gently.
    “I'm sorry, child. I have power here. Sometimes, even great power. But that power has never been mine. Mine, or any of my kin. The dark gate only opens in one direction.”
    “But seven lived,” Bill said. “That seems to be a pretty good return on my death.” He smiled crookedly.
    “But now, if you can tell me about you, about this place where we are...” he gestured at the kitchen, but seemed to take in the entirety of the World Below.
    Mother Snegurochka nodded. She gathered her thoughts. This had not happened often. Usually the sacrifices knew the tales, and had some expectation of what lay on the other side of the stone.
    “My name, as I told you, is Polina. I am sometimes called Mother or Grandmother Snegurochka.”
    Bill teased the meaning of the word apart in his rudimentary Russian.
    “Snow Maid?”
    She nodded. “I am