The Mossy Shack

Not gonna lie, I started this as a favor to a friend.... an erotic favor....
It was started as an attempt at a, erm, romance narrative. I will not name names, nor will I allude to the original context of the story.
I'm so so sorry..... 

Rain dripped from the leaves of the trees outside. It was letting up, but it didn't matter. Mags was completely lost. She had found this half-rotted shack by happy accident. She had decided to take a walk when the storm had blown up. Lightning flashed and the rain had poured down on her from every side. Her cloak hardly kept off the rain. Had the wind and rain not nearly blinded her, she would be safe and warm at home right now. Her knee stung where she had tripped, skinning it a bit, and her dress was muddy and damp. She had literally stumbled into the shack, tripping and fumbling her way through the wind and rain. She picked at a splinter in her finger she had gotten prying open the ancient mossy door. It was getting colder. She shivered and wondered how she was going to find the road. Mags tucked her feet in closer and wrapped her arms around them to her to try to stay warm. Maybe I could get a fire started, she thought to herself. If I can get dry, I could sleep here if I had to. She looked around for dry wood, or anything else she could build a fire with.

  ~~~

  Celeidan should never have left the road. He thought he could easily pick his way through the forest as a shortcut. He had wanted to make it to Heraldt by nightfall, but didn’t seem likely now. The sky had been threatening all day, but he had hoped it would hold off until he had made it to that blasted town, Heraldt. He was soaked,head to toe, all the way through his usually sleek and well kept jacket to the skin. He shivered. The sun was setting. He needed to get warm before he caught his death of cold. He hiked his pack up and tugged his sodden cloak closer to shield his sword from the rain. Through the trees he caught the flickering light of a fire and the soft scent of distant smoke caught his nostrils. It might have been a will-o-wisp, but he decided to follow it anyway. Shortly, he came upon a rotting shack. It looked like it may tumble in on itself at any time. From the rusted long forgotten tools scattered about the overgrown area around the hut, it seemed to have been a woodcutter’s lodge at one time. It made little difference. Someone was inside, and they had a small but cheery fire dancing merrily within. He approached the door. Whoever was inside was humming softly to themselves. He knocked on the door. The humming stopped, abruptly.