Better to Light a Candle: Lythalia's Hope

Better to Light a Candle:  Lythalia's Hope

Well, at least she lets me know that it's coming.

I found a babe tract slid under my door again.  So named for how ridiculously pornographic they are, they basically summarize how the Church of the Fallen God sees all men who haven't joined already: hopelessly lost individuals who clearly have no idea what it is that the church offers.  Each one retells the story of some gormless schmuck who meets a beautiful mamono, learns that the Fallen God exists, immediately decides to join the church and randomly marry the girl, and then spends eternity in sexual bliss.

This one, at least, has a different plot.  It tells the story of some paladin of the old orders who lives a life of bitter, miserably chastity, ruining the lives of all the beautiful women around him, and then dying alone and unloved.  He then spends eternity without having sex (an idea so hellish that it's effectively eternal damnation).  Each and every minor claim is cited to some scriptural passage, as though to show how utterly legitimate and inarguable the claims are.

I don't know why she bothers leaving these things here.  I figure she wants the proselytizing visits to feel different from the usual ones.  Or at least be different in that I'll let her into my room.  It's not like they even bear any similarity to the things we discuss; the guys are always completely ignorant of any religion and readily accept the first deity they're told about the instant it's offered.  I know that it's probably just used as a conveyor of porn, since seduction probably works better than logical argument, but still.

Oh man, I'm actually critiquing the plot of one of these things.  I clearly need at least fifty different things to distract myself with.

---

I don't remember what was being discussed, but it stopped when Evette walked into the dining room.  There is just something different about her now.  It's not any one thing, but like she's just somehow different than the person who walked in here yesterday.  Maybe her hair's silkier now, or her skin has something akin to a flush now, or just that delighted smile she's wearing.

Tera's the first to remark on it.  "Wow, Evee, you're pretty!"  The rest of the table is soon chiming in that she looks better now.  All except me, but that's just the gnawing sense that she's going to turn this to some sort of dramatic, unpleasant advantage.

"Well you see," she explains, "I'm not doing anything different.  It's just that Val was so kind to give me," she pauses for emphasis and turns to cast her half-lidded gaze toward me, "so much of his spirit energy."

Mom clasps her hands to her mouth.
Dad furrows his brow in preparation for the sternest possible disapproval.
Tera tilts her head to the side.
Safiya just stares wide-eyed at the two of us.
Vinata seems to slump back into her chair.
Lythalia flushes bright red and smiles like it's her birthday.
Cara wonders, "Then shouldn't you smell like each other?"

Oh Cara, what would I do without you?  It takes a moment for the table to deduce what that means, and then everything settles back into sighs of released stress.  Lythalia, oddly, seems to take the realization the hardest.  As though she's the injured party here.  Evette, for whatever credit I'll grant her, just seems amused that she got everyone so worked up with so simple and honest a statement.  I give her a look that says that she's going hungry if she does that again.

"Can I have scsome scspirit energy, too?"
I look at Tera, who is staring hopefully at me.  "Tera, spirit energy is something you get when you're married.  Evee only gets it earlier because she'd get sick without it."  She nods slowly, filing away the information.  Catastrophe averted.
"Well," I hear to my left.  I turn to look at Sister, smiling a broad, peaceful smile.  She claps her hands together, smiling nervously, "Right!  Yes, that's basically it.  What Val said."

I don't expect any resistance.  She remembers what happened to the last person to try corrupting my perfect little Tera.

---

The knock on my door comes in the middle of my game, as is usual for any and all interruptions.  Still, I always feel like I owe her.  Like this, if nothing else, is something that she deserves.  A simple conversation.  The attempt, at least, to change my mind.  I open the door and find her standing there, book in hand, smiling at me.
"I would like to tell you about the Kingdom of the Fallen."
"I know."  I wave her in.

I sit at my chair, leaving the only space for her either to stand or to sit at my bed.  It's not just to keep her away physically.  It also makes things easier to deal with if she knows that this is, effectively, business.

"Val, do you know why I do this?"
Well, that's an opening.  "To get in my pants?"
She shakes her head, "No, that's why I keep leaning forward when we talk."
I knew that much.
"Val, I keep coming in here and having these same conversations with you, trying to get you to see what I see.  Do you know why?"

Hmm.  She's never actually just gotten started like this.  Usually it's pleasantries first, then some call to moral or ethical duty.  She knows I feel good about the few chances I get to actually help people, and uses that against me.  You know, like good, honest people do.  "You're a masochist?"
She shakes her head again, "No, that's what the leather's for."
I knew that, too.
"It's because there's something inherent to these teachings, these commandments which has filled my heart and comforted me, even in my greatest frustrations.  Do you know what that is?"

I lean back in my chair.  I was expecting the usual false dichotomy of whether I support the Fallen or I'm somehow serving the dead Chief God.  Or, barring that, the old nugget that I'm inherently hypocritical for saying that I support mamono rights while simultaneously denying them the right to marriage, children, and happiness with my actions.  The truth is, I don't know.  Their doctrine, insofar as I've bothered trying to understand it, is some mix of revisionist history, a list of things to do and not to do, and a weird statement of morality centered around pleasure.  "It has detailed instructions for how to masturbate?"
She shakes her head a third time, "No, I could figure out how to do that on my own."
I just sort of assumed that.
"It's because I know that I'll be loved, Val.  Not just by my god, but by a husband whom I will receive with joy and devotion.  With him, I shall be granted a life of eternal comfort in his arms, and in the blessed land of His Indulgence."

She takes a seat on the closest edge of the bed to me, looking me straight in the eyes.  Those same brilliant, violet eyes that I always thought of as pretty, but simultaneously hated for what they tried to do to me once.  "Val, I don't know if you'll believe me when I say this - though I desperately want you to - but I want you know that happiness, too."
"By having sex with you."  I wasn't trying to sound so bored or frustrated.  I didn't even know before I spoke that I would sound that way.
"Well," she does a sort of diagonal, tilted nod, "I'd prefer that, yes."

There's an answer that keeps coming up in these discussions we have.  It's the simplest answer, as we call it, because it can't really be broken down or gotten around.  It's flat, unambiguous, and so straightforward that it's basically unavoidable.  It's like taking a hammer to the conversation.  It also counters almost everything that the church so much as mentions.  Everything that they would ask of me and everything that they would offer me.
"I don't want to."

She reaches forward and grabs my hand.  There's a look of such sweetness and understanding in her eyes, as well as some terrible sorrow.  "Oh Val, I know that now.  I thought you'd always been lying before - to me or to yourself, but I understand now.  We can work through this thing, together."
Oh hells, not this again.  Before I can answer she reaches her other hand down into her cleavage.  "And that's why I brought this tonight."

She's holding a sock.  A small, straight, white sock, with a string around the neck and a weird symbol on the end.
"No."
She pauses for a second before her expression collapses into a frown.  "You know what this is?"
"No, but the answer's still no."
"Val, listen, this will help you.  It's part of the treatment plan that the church has been organizing to help young men with Westermarck's to overcome their problem."
"The only problem I have here is you, and quite possibly that thing."

She steps away, back toward the center of my room, obviously trying to clear her head.  "If you're mad you can always leave."
She stares at the opposite wall for a moment before shaking her head.  "I'm not mad at you, Val.  I'm mad at this disease that's making you into something you're not."
"Reasonable?  Sane?"
"Cruel."  She turns around again, "At least let me explain the process to you?  At the very worst it's harmless."
"Is it at all possible that you could just slowly pull out each of my nails instead?"
She takes a long, deep breath that she releases in a protracted sigh.  She shakes her head as she stares at the ground, before finally saying "I know that you don't trust me.  I know that you think I'm on some sick mission to try and make you," she shakes her head again, "I don't know, be happy?  I don't know what you think I'm hiding, or why you resent me for it.  But please, just for once, hear me out."

I swallow.  I'm just going to have to hear about this thing, and then deal with the fact that it's probably not going away.  That's just five minutes of acute discomfort, and then the dim echoes of that for a few years to come.
I hate myself.
"Fine."
She lights up immediately.  "That's great!  It's actually really simple.  You see, it's sort of like a sleeve; you just slip it on over your penis and tie the string, and then it's set."
I really hate myself.
"Set to what?"
"It's sort of a learning tool, really.  Once you've slipped it on, then whenever you think about doing something dirty with one of your sisters it'll give you a little reinforcement."  Her entire face is turning red and her smile is steadily growing.  "Now, it'll start at the highest settings, so even a little stray thought will give you a lot of reinforcement.  Don't worry, though, it magically cleans itself afterward, so it won't get uncomfortable."

I hate myself so much.
She happily continues, slipping the sleeve over a finger.  "As you get better, it'll steadily reduce the stimulation you get, so you'll need to think even more dirty things, or progressively lewder things, in order to get your 'reward.'  Then, after a few months, once you're thinking filthy, shameful things about us all the time, it'll shut itself off."  At this point I'm honestly surprised she's not masturbating in my room.
It wouldn't be the first time.
She leans in, trying to contain her breathing.  "Of course, at that point you're expected to use one of us.  And then, presto!  You're completely recovered."

I hate everyone and everything.
"So, what do you think?"
She's smiling so much, like she thinks she just solved every last problem I've ever even considered having.  I don't know if that makes this worse, or more satisfying.
"I'd rather elope with Tish."

All of the excitement seems to slowly drain out of her as her arms fall and her expression slowly turns dour.  "I heard about what happened there."
I shrug.  "It's just how she is.  The only thing I don't understand is how you're friends with her."
Her brow pulls inward in a thoughtful frown.  "Because she's a good person."  She answers my expression before I can open my mouth to expand upon my thoughts.  "Really, she is.  You don't understand what it's like for young girls trying to find a husband.  She's already tried marrying three other men, but all of them left her."

"Gee, I wonder why."
The look of pained frustration is so deep that I almost regret what I said.  "It's her nature to be forceful, to - how should I say it - try and force men to understand what they want by giving them so much of it that they're overwhelmed.  It's her entire species' way of finding mates."
I lift a hand up in a gesture of surrender, "Yeah, and as we all know it's impossible to go against your basic nature.  That's just impossible."
She steps closer to me, waving an arm in dismissal.  "She's lonely, Val.  She's lonely, and her instincts are screaming at her to find a husband, and she's doing it the only way she knows how.  With the Feral laws in place she can't capture a man, and without being able to hold onto them for any length of time they all just turn around and leave.  She's doing the only thing she knows how to do, and it just isn't working."  She takes another deep breath to fill her lungs, "Because what man wants to marry a Manticore, right?  They're all cruel, right?"

There's a pause as she tries to gather her thoughts, before she finally gives up.  "She's my oldest friend, and she's a sweet girl."  She gives me a sharp glance before I can even change my expression, "She is.  She just wants a guy to dote on and be close to.  But who would stay with some cruel, hateful, sadistic, evil Manticore?  Every guy in school hates her because she keeps trying to get them to fall in love with her."

She steps closer again, "You just don't understand what it's like for us.  You can't.  You go around, living your life all comfortable and content.  You don't worry about the future because you don't have any reason to."  Another step.  "And we're left to watch you, knowing that at any moment - with only a single word - you could let us have the same comfort and security with our lives.  We wouldn't worry about how we'll spend our days, or if we'll find the right person, or if we'll be happy.  We wouldn't fear a life alone.  We wouldn't," she swallows hard.  "We wouldn't be alone."  With one more step her face is inches away from mine.  "Just one word," she says pleadingly.  "Just one."  Her breathing is slow and deep, like a long, warm fog on my cheek.  "You could take away all of this uncertainty."

I decide to finish her thought.  "And I'm cruel because I won't."
She immediately whirls around, talking to the room.  "You're cruel because you won't even consider it!"  She takes a few steps toward the center of my room as she says "You lock yourself away instead.  You wait in your little room, and for what?"  She turns again, piercing me with those brilliant eyes.  "What's going to be different tomorrow?  The day after?  What do you think is going to change if you wait a day or a year?  Or twenty?"

"I am considering it."  I've fulfilled whatever it was mom asked of me by even having this conversation.
"Liar," she spits.  "I've been watching you, watching me.  Staring at my face, my eyes, looking away.  Do you ever look down, even once?"  She pauses the slightest fraction of a second, "No!  You're telling me you'll consider marrying a succubus, but you won't even look at me?"  She gestures at her chest, indicating the "her" that she apparently expects me to look at.  "Are you really saying that you're going to decide who to live your life with based on who can have an argument with you?"

"That's not what I'm basing it on and you know it.  I'm not looking for any one particular thing, and I'm not pretending that looks are completely irrelevant to me.  I've considered you, and the simplest damn answer still holds."  I take a breath for emphasis.  "I don't want to.  I can't see why I ever would."  I look away, indicating that this little discussion is over.  Usually this is where she finally gives up and stomps out.  Instead I hear a shuffling sound accompanied by chains rattling, as a weight hits the floor.

There's something new in her voice.  Something defeated.  "At least look at me first."  I don't think I've ever heard her like that before.  It's almost painful just to hear.
So I look at her.

Her feet are small and smooth, pressed a quarter of an inch into the carpet of my floor and surrounded by her crumpled clothes.  Her toenails are the same violet as her eyes.  A manacle is fastened to one of her calves, which are thin, but toned.  Her legs are completely smooth.  In fact, there doesn't seem to be any body hair on her at all.  Come to think of it, I don't know if succubi even grow hair other than on the scalp, eyebrows and eyelashes.  From her knees her legs seem to shift outward to the sides, heading up toward her hips.  Her tail is held tense around one side, turning around to be almost pointed toward the gap between her thighs.  From the hips her body suddenly pulls way inward, almost seeming to halve in width, with grey-black, feathered wings sticking out from behind.  Her hands are held slightly below her chest, as though she doesn't really know what to do with them.  Her chest is, unsurprisingly, larger than average.  I don't really know what that average size is, necessarily, but I guess they're D cups.  I think they're halfway between Safiya's and flat-chested.

I move on before I have to think about that comparison any further.  Her hair is the strangest color of slightly green-tinted silver, and hangs down to just below her hips.  It has that pleasant bouncy quality that I hear is actually really difficult for human women to get in their hair.  Her skin is also incredibly fair, but instead of being pale is flushed everywhere to be a somewhat peach-tinted pink.  A handful of leather straps are also on her left shoulder, though I've only ever seen the ones that seem to wrap around the top of each thigh before.  Her neck is thin and long, and-
There's a tear on her chin.

"You don't know what it's like," she whispers.  Her face is held in a tense, pained expression, turned away so that I can only see half of it.  "Being able to sense lust, and seeing you look at me like that: cold, uncomfortable, uninterested."  Her voice is starting to crack.  I look away.  After a moment I hear her pick up her clothes and start to put them back on.  I ignore the labored breaths, the occasional tapping sound of water hitting carpet.  "I thought I understood Westermarck's Disorder.  I'd read about it, you know?  I'd read a lot about it.  I thought I understood what it meant, but I didn't."  I could say I'm sorry, but I'm not.  If I was I'd be wearing that stupid sock-thing right now.

"All I have is sex, Val.  It's everything I am.  If you can't feel a thing when you look at me, what am I supposed to do?"  She takes one long, shuddering breath before she asks, "How in the hells could I ever get you to love me?"  She doesn't bother waiting for a response, instead making for my door.
No.  I can't let that sit.  Not something that painful.  Not something that nauseatingly horrible.
"You're more than just sex."  It sounds so hollow when I say it.  So meaningless.  What's it matter that I say that when I don't even like her?  I don't even know if I really believe it.  Just that I want to.
She stops for just a moment at the threshold.  Then she's gone.  The sound of her halting breaths hang in the air until she's back in her room.

Someone really needs to marry that girl.  I chew on that thought for a while.  It'll just have to be someone other than me.  Anyone other than me.

I'm just gonna watch her cry until that happens.  I don't even know if I care enough to feel bad about that.  In the end maybe I'm just upset because I think she's wrong.  Or is it that I won't care about her pain unless she apologizes to me first?  Hells take me, I really am a bastard, aren't I?

I tilt back in my chair and stare upwards.  It's just gonna be you and me tonight, ceiling.