[b][u]My Little Lamia (Sequence: Prologue)
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A lot can happen in ten years, yet so little can happen at the same time. The world passed me by and dad was gone before I knew it. The little I was talking about is my own life. I never worked my way up a corporate chain, completed college, or finished anything - no marketable skills, even one of my only skills, gaming, is severely lacking. Ever since father passed I have not booted up a game since. My basement dwelling life was enabled by his belief in my YouTube career and professional gaming career. He had no idea what it actually took to make it in those fields and subsequently simply lived his days believing in me. He wanted me to be happy, but by making me happy - I only rotted.

So ten years began right after the cancer took him. On the day he died a boon was given to me. All of his years slaving away in the petroleum industry paid off without him ever seeing the advocacy of his work. I inherited a large chunk of his fortune while a small amount went to his estranged leech of a wife. I mean her amount was nothing to scoff at, but it was hardly fuck all compared to my share. I was set with a sizable home all paid in full. His passing assured that I would never work a day in my life. I never wanted to feel any joy in his passing. However, for a time I felt relief. I always feared the day that he came to his senses and gave me the boot and that day would never come.

The first two years were easy. I became well acquainted with the nearby convenience store and all of its patrons. I was far more thrift than I ever had to be, only buying very little to sustain myself. I grew gaunt, pale, and full of shambling sickness. Yet, it was this very sickness that kept me suppressed. It made everything so much easier when my brain was not fully functioning. Year two ended with a surprise visit from my co-inheritor, and the thing claiming to be my mother, but only in physical form - nothing spiritual.

This is when things changed. She gave me a gift that improved my life, but also it would be the thing that gave me a lasting scar - an itty-bitty Lamia. Now, if you are confused, then I cannot blame you. You see, wherever I may exist in relation to you experienced an odd fad. I never have been one to pay attention to current events, after-all, what really matters when your world begins and ends in-front of the same computer? Now, this is not to say I am completely ignorant of this matter. Some scientist discovered a way to harness a sort of "energy" from an external dimension, which created these little living female caricatures. These things took many forms: fairies, human-dragon hybrids, cat girls, and so on - it seemed the variety was endless and the connecting quality is that most of them could fit in the palm of your hand. I believe, despite all the ethical questions, they became popular little pets for lonely men. The theory was that the companionship would improve the quality of a young-mans life, thus fulfilling one of his core needs which brought him a step closer to self-actualization.

Now, I took in the Lamia (Think snake from below the waist and human upper-half) not expecting anything to change. I had not even bothered to give it a name for a week. Really, all I did was keep it in spare glass-cage, which was totally not ethical, but what else was I going to do? It is not like I wanted it in the first place. This is not to say I did not have some of the proper items in place for it. I had a sun-lamp I would turn on every morning so she could warm up and relax beneath it. To the side, I kept a water dish, and would be sure to change it out for fresh water before bed. I would give her three meals a day, which usually was scraps of whatever was left over, but dietary alterations had to be made. By the third day the amount of sodium in the scraps of Chinese-convenience store food saw the little Lamia soundly bloated. She was refusing food because it was far too painful to move about, so I began to get anything labeled as low-sodium, and that is what I ate - what was left went to her. So, other amenities were provided, such as a little container full of toilet paper that she could do her "business" in. I even positioned her cage with a clear view of the television, which was purely by coincidence, but I soon found that she would watch whatever I was absently staring at. Once I found that she had an interest in television I began to move the cage on the coffee-table when I decided it was time to just rot my brain consuming day-time television.

So, that first week came and went, and I have to admit caring for the little thing (despite my care not being top rate) had my heart feeling more - active? I began to feel more aware of the world around me. Television was not just a meaningless amalgamation of lights to stare at. Through the little thing, I became interested because I was curious in what interested her. She seemed to enjoy just about anything, but it was obvious some forms of television were too much for her. War and horror flicks caused her to begin to sweat profusely and I am pretty sure that was not too healthy in large doses. I determined that sit-coms were the optimal thing to show her. Now, I was not too thrilled with her choice of television, but watching her watching the cheesy lame-ass drool given form was entertaining enough. It seemed, that despite her lack of language, she could understand jokes. She would laugh without noise and slither about happily at just about any joke. So, through a flash of intuition while she was watching I Love Lucy, I gave her the name of Lucy the Lamia.

Once she had a name, that was when things took off. I actually would speak to her, "Good morning Lucy" and "Good night Lucy" always at their respective times. I would always ask, "How did you like that meal?" after she finished eating whatever I drummed up. When watching television I would even ask, "Is the volume too loud? Or do you want it louder?" At-first, Lucy could only respond with basic gestures, but she understood me to an uncanny degree. Once a month had passed, Lucy could vocalize little chirps of approval or dismay. I became attuned to her language of little blips and knew exactly what she wanted. This was when I understood her desire to be free of her cage. Initially, I had avoided letting her roam free out of fear of accidentally stepping on her, or some random predatory bird feasting on her. I might have been a shambling walking dead pale fuck, but I still had some level of decency prior to connecting with her.

So, again, Lucy the Lamia had inadvertently spurred me to pay attention to the world around me. I assured her that she would get to roam freely soon after I made adequate modifications to the house. So, for the first time in over two years, I got into my dads blue 97' Chevy pick-up truck and drove a few miles to the hardware store. I expected my social-skills to be a mess, yet having the purpose to fulfill Lucy's need for freedom bolstered my social-skills. I compiled a list of all the things I would need to make my dream reality: nail-gun, a saw, a sander, wood, and a fuck-ton of other little necessities. It began as one trip and then I would realize that I needed something else, so I would drive right on back, and every-time I would stop by somewhere else to get Lucy a treat: ice-cream, whipped cream, soda, beef, and other things. Of-course, she only got mini-portions, which was awfully thrifty considering a tub of ice-cream would last for months if she kept her appetite in check.

Finally, after three days of being in and out of the house, I got together everything for my project. I was going to make pathways, akin to shelves, all throughout my house for Lucy to traverse. This was done so she would never have to touch the floor, thus making premature death via squishing unlikely. Additionally, another portion of this project was to make all rooms accessible to her by carving out holes in doors to run her pathways through. Construction began that October and continued right up until Christmas day. Every day was dedicated to construction and also caring for Lucy. Frequent visits to the hardware store became common as I made errors and the balding-man who always helped me move lumber out to my truck became curious in what I was doing: "Building a shed" always was my go-to answer - It was obvious that I was not building a shed, but he seemed to always pretend to believe me.

Mid-November, one morning when turning on Lucy's sunlamp, I noted two things. One: my little Lamia was in desperate need of grooming. Her hair was long and her hygiene was sub-par to say the least. I had been busy with construction, so the sponge bathes I use to administer had become less frequent. Two: Lucy, speaking with a squeaky tone stated, "Good morning." I could not believe it - she was talking! Of-course, I had to double check and I asked for her to say it again and she obliged with another, "Good morning!" Louder this time with enthusiasm.

It was then our connection transcended beyond her being a pet and more akin to a close companion. I vividly recall ceasing construction that day just so I could spend time with her. Previously, I saw her cage as a necessary measure, but now that she was speaking my language - it seemed far more cruel. I put my hand down into the cage and told her to climb on. She obliged and wrapped up around my wrist. The serpentine portion of her body, despite not being used to ever strangle prey, had a strong muscular quality about it. It immediately donned on me that this was after Lucy being sedentary for her entire stay with me, so I could assume that she could probably snap a finger if given some time to gain some strength.

We showered together for the first time - well sort of. I put her in the sink while I showered. It did not feel awkward at-all shedding my clothes around her. After-all, she always was bare-chested, so nudity was not a taboo between us. Lucy spent a long-time enjoying a fully body bathe in warm water. I think she spent upwards of two hours in the sink just soaking, and I spent every moment with her. She only knew how to say "Good morning" and presumably its variant "Good night" but her eyes, those little violet orbs, suddenly seem to have a new level of awareness. It has gone beyond simply knowing things and it seems she was actively considering things. I stared on and on at her - she smiled back, seeming happy enough, but deep down I felt a tinge of nervousness. Would she ever understand that the glass cage was merely a cage within a cage?

From Mid-November up until Christmas day I had compromised with Lucy and restricted her to the living room and the adjacent bathroom for dwelling. I kept strict rules and did not allow her to move about on the floor for her own safety, if she wanted to go to another surface, she would have to wait until she could hitch a ride on my hand. Additionally, during this time-span Lucy learned several new phrases, "Bring me to the table" and "I want food" were the most common ones. The coffee-table had become her main point of dwelling and was where she slept. I went out and bought a cushy cat-bed for her to rest on and even went the extra mile to put her sun-lamp above it. She would commonly request for the lamp to be turned on in the morning, but once she was wide awake, she usually wanted it turned off. I feel the biggest accomplishment Lucy learned in that span of time was not her impressive phrases and instead her use of the television's remote. Lucy, with ease, skimmed channels and found new forms of entertainment. She became particularly interested in game-shows, which happened to also air on a news channel. I could not have her watching the news because I did not want her questioning her situation.

So I put a block on her new favorite channel...

She remained sulky and upset until Christmas day, which was when I finally finished construction. Once she was able to roam freely along the pathways I built her upset nature turned to that of independence. I rarely saw her in the living room anymore and she refused to watch television anywhere but her bedroom, which I had put together with much care. It broke my heart seeing her use my efforts with such defiance. I did so much for her. I constructed a network of pathways along the walls that would bring her to any room in the house, including my own, and it also ran directly into her bed, which had a sunlamp installed into the re-purposed crib. I even went so far to learn some shoddy electrician-skills to make a small switch for her to toggle the lamp on and off by herself. I did all of this and I never got a thank you from her. Hell, after I blocked her favorite channel, I only heard a phrase or two every day: a demand for food, or a demand I start up her bathwater.

Maybe things would have been different if I knew how to talk, knew how to handle emotions, or just tolerated indifference. She might have gotten over it and came to realize on her own all I did for her. Unfortunately, she defied me in a way I could not tolerate. It started around February. Lucy, in-addition to using her pathways, began to slither about the home on the floor. I harshly scolded her the first few times, which promptly got her back to where she belonged. Eventually, she would not respond to scolding, so I would try to grab her. The little cunt had grown much fitter from all the activity, shedding her rounded belly in favor of a supple waist and lithe tail; therefore, she moved fast. Any attempt at grabbing her was met by a rattling hiss and her darting off under the fridge, behind the couch, or some other hard to reach crevice. I felt the attempts to get her out were not worth it and would potentially harm her, so I let this behavior go.

I never once truly tried to speak to her. Without her trust, dependence, and admiration all of my skills that had grown from caring for her withered. By the start of March I stopped using her name all together. If she could not obey me, I might as well treat her like a snake. I only kept her around hoping that she would come around on her own. Still, she never made an attempt to leave, presumably because she knew the outside world was not a place for her. Well, that and she knew food was readily available here. By this time in her life, she could draw bathwater on her own, use the toilet, and traverse the house with remarkable ease - all I existed to do in her life was give her food. Well, with my care fading, I began to skimp on good meals in favor of easy to prepare ones. I had taken up some light cooking before her defiance, but now we were back to shitty sodium riddled convenience store slop. For about a month she complied and ate with no problems, and she began to feel the consequences of such a diet. She became slower, pale, and lethargic - good.

I want you to rot.

Now, I would gladly have watched her wither into a sick husk from malnutrition, but her day came a lot sooner. See, Lucy had a habit every morning to do a few laps around the house. Typically, she ended up on the kitchen floor and would pace around the counters a few times. I knew her routine well enough to avoid her. However, somehow she ended up running into my foot, and I gave her a kick by accident. I let out a desperate apology to her. She was coiled up in the kitchen corner hissing at me. I reached to check if she was alright. The little lamia decided to dash off after attempting bite at me. I saw that she went under the fridge and I had enough. The bitch rejected my good will. I left the kitchen and turned on the living room television as a feign to get her to come out. She would think I had resigned to the living room couch and would head off into her room to spend another day away from the person who did so much for her.

What she did not know is that I hid myself in her room's closet. She would never expect me to be in their, nor could it even see me in there because I never made a passage into it. Once I heard the television turn on and the sunlamp flick on I promptly exited the closet and smashed the pathway leading out of the room - it was trapped with me. It knew that its last moments were near and became very fluent, "I'm sorry! I'll listen! I have disrespected you! I should have listened!" It cried and cried backed into the corner of its crib.

If I had words to begin with, the ability to process through issues, then maybe I would have mended my relationship with it. Instead, I grabbed it by the end of its tail and its neck with my other hand. Its surprisingly strong musculature put up some resistance but the sad fact is that my size as a fully-grown human made any efforts futile. I kicked the bedroom door down with it in hand, promptly walked into the bathroom, and flushed that piece of shit down the toilet.

Bye bye Lucy...​