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Her Suicide
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: STORY: Her Suicide
This story is a joint effort between two very different people who
have co-existed -- on one level or another -- for a very long time.
Because of their special relationship, they have chosen to write
this story from one point of view. That point of view is Lorendil's,
but a good deal of the perception and imagery belongs to Lothie.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real persons, living
or dead, is a paranoid delusion on the part of the reader.
HER SUICIDE, by Lothiriel and Lorendil. Please reproduce this file
intact with foreword and copyright. Copyright 1993.
"My Prince," she said, "I can't take it anymore."
She stood before me, the woman I had loved -- hopelessly, I now realized
-- for years, her long red hair cascading in waves over her shoulders,
her grey eyes dark with pain. She had been crying for a long time, but
now her face was pale and unmarked. As I watched, however, two tears
made wet tracks down her cheeks.
"What can't you take?" I asked her. But I knew it didn't matter. I had
seen this woman slide to the end of her rope before, and I had seen her
crawl back up, hand over hand. In the end, gravity would always win. So
it is with her kind.
"I want to die," she whispered. "I can't go on like this."
I had been leaning forward, doing paperwork; now I sat back, giving her
my full attention. A voice in my mind spoke softly: how I love this
woman. How little it matters. She continued to look at me, her gaze
unwavering, and I realized that she was very close to the end of that
rope -- and the end was greasy.
I would do anything for her.
"You want to kill yourself," I said.
She looked down at the floor, then back at me. The she sighed and sat
down on the couch across from me, taking her time, sensing the fabric
and upholstery with her whole body as though memorizing it.
"No," she said at last, heavily. "That's the problem. I can't do it."
My eyes widened. "If you cannot kill yourself, then I don't think you
want to die," I told her. "Your continued existence is your decision,
but the implementation of that decision is your responsibility."
"I can't, Lorendil," she said, covering her face with one hand. "I
haven't the strength. But I can't go on living either. It's too much.
You must help me."
I have loved this woman my whole life long. She is an integral part of
me. Her needs and desires are inextricably bound together with mine. If
she needs to die, and needs me to do the killing, so be it.
I rose from my chair and crossed to the desk she uses. From a chain
around my neck I took a key and unlocked a hidden drawer. Inside was the
gun I had given her a while ago, small, lovely, deadly. It was unloaded,
as per my instructions to her, but she had been keeping it clean. I
cradled it in my hands for a moment and then began to load it.
"We will dance together one last time," I said, not turning to look at
her. "At the end, I will kill you."
"How can you kill me, if you are tied up?" she asked me, sounding tired
and a little bitter.
I turned to look at her then. "I will not be tied up," I answered. "You
will never top me again, Lothiriel."
As we walked down the hallway toward the steps leading to the dungeon, I
paused and turned to her. "I will need some assistance with this, our
last scene," I said to her, knocking on a door. Lothiriel hissed
angrily, and the door opened to reveal my lover, Lalaith, all smiles. I
left Lothiriel standing in the hallway while I apprised Lalaith of the
situation. She agreed to my request, although she did not like her role
in my scenario.
When we returned to Lothiriel, she drew me aside. "Not her, Lorendil,"
she whispered. "Why are you humiliating me?"
I looked at her levelly. "Any humiliation is in your own mind,
lissinya," I replied. "And you are not in a position suitable for giving
orders."
Lothiriel turned very pale, and then she tightened her lips and turned
away. I caught her wrist and pulled her back to me. I admit I was
enjoying the power I had over her, power I had longed to wield, power
she had never let me use even for a moment. I reached for the dagger at
her hip, unsheathed it, and handed it to Lalaith.
"No!" cried Lothiriel.
"Lalaith has need of it," I told her, "and you do not, anymore. Let us
proceed."
The air in the dungeon was cold and stale, and I thought to myself that
it was perfect for the scene I had in mind. I led Lothiriel to the
central room, the one that contained the rack. Lalaith went straight to
the cupboard to get the other things she would need, while I stood
facing Lothiriel.
"Change your mind," I said to her.
"You made sure I would not, by asking Lalaith to assist you," she
replied angrily.
"Lalaith loves you," I said. "You insist on seeing her as a rival, but
no one could rival my love for you."
"I have too much pride to shame myself in front of her."
"That is a stupid reason to die if you wish not to," I said to her,
putting my hands on her shoulders. "But I know that you would have come
up with some other reason, if I had not provided you with Lalaith. So I
tell you now that I am fully aware that you wish to pass me the blame
for your death; and I refuse that blame. I do this only because you wish
it."
Lothiriel looked angry but said nothing more. I grasped her blouse and
ripped it open to the waist, laying her breasts bare, and then I took
her by the hair and dragged her backwards. I tied her to the rack,
facing out, and then I slipped in behind her. I cupped her chin in one
hand and held the gun to her temple with the other. Just then, Lalaith,
ready, approached and knelt at our feet.
"Lalaith is going to cut you, and then set fire to the cut," I told
Lothiriel. "If you scream, I will kill you. Tell me you understand and
consent."
There was a pause while Lothiriel considered my terms.
"I understand, and I consent, my Prince," she replied, surprising me. I
had truly thought she would change her mind, especially knowing that I
would only kill her if she screamed. Lothiriel is afraid of fire; she
must have realized that I was counting on her to scream. On the other
hand, if she could keep from screaming, she would not die. The decision
was still her own.
"Proceed," I said to Lalaith. She came toward us, lifting the knife. She
looked up into Lothiriel's eyes once, and then she began to cut, slowly,
painstakingly, and somewhat deeply. When Lothiriel realized what was
being cut into her breast, she made an involuntary sound, and a tear
fell from her eye.
I had told Lalaith to cut an inverted pentagram in Lothiriel's breast,
and my lover, though afraid, was doing so. I myself am not terribly
concerned with imagery, nor is Lothiriel, but I meant her to understand
that I had no intention of changing my mind at the last minute, and I
knew that this was the sense she would get from the symbol. By her
reaction I saw that I had been right, and that she finally realized that
the decision was all her own. Lalaith, on the other hand, was terribly
frightened, and her upper lip was beaded with a cold sweat. I hoped
Lothiriel understood that I was scarcely favoring my lover by my
actions.
The cutting took a long time, and Lothiriel began to sweat from the pain
and from her emotional anguish. Once or twice the blade slipped in the
sweat, and I thought she would scream then with the sudden pain, but she
held firm. I thought to myself that she must not want to die anymore, or
she would have screamed, but I did not relax.
Finally the cutting was done, and Lalaith cleaned the knife and set it
aside. She took a container of alcohol and poured it carefully over the
cuts, and Lothiriel drew her breath in sharply. Then Lalaith lit a small
torch and passed it over Lothiriel's breast, setting the pentagram on
fire.
Lothiriel's eyes went very wide, and she tensed. Her mouth opened and
then closed again. I knew the fire did not hurt; she was merely afraid.
She began to shake, and I could feel her holding back her screams of
fear.
Lalaith stood back and let the fire burn. First the flames were very
cool, but then they began to get hot. Lothiriel's eyes became very wide,
and I could tell that she had stopped seeing anything. Lalaith and I
stood there, watching, while the flames began to burn hotter, blistering
her chest, scarring the pentagram into her flesh.
After quite a while I nodded to Lalaith, and she stepped forward once
more and doused the flames. The pentagram was blistered and permanently
scarred between Lothiriel's breasts, but Lothiriel had not made a sound
all during the painful, frightening ordeal. Lalaith quietly disinfected
the burn and then stroked Lothiriel's cheeks gently with her fingertips.
"Come back, my Lady," Lalaith said softly.
Lothiriel's eyes, blank for so long, focused again slowly. She looked
into Lalaith's eyes, and then, as my lover moved back, she looked down
at her breast.
And she screamed.
FINIS
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