As the lamia brings her enchanting eyes and brilliant colors closer to your sight, your thoughts sink and swirl into the spinning colors. You thought something was wrong, you thought you needed help, but staring into the lamia’s eyes, you know everything is fine. Everything is perfect. It feels so good to let the colors wash over your mind, wash away your thoughts.
Sleep . . .” she whispers, her gentle voice cutting through the gloopy buzz in your head. Yes, you’re so sleepy, too. The lamia sways her head to the side, lifting her head up with each sway. You thought of saying something, but you don’t want to spend the energy, and you can’t remember what or why anyway. You just follow the lamia’s sway, hooked to her eyes; she’s so beautiful, you want to never break your gaze from her, each upward movement from her eyes drawing you up and deeper.
Sleep . . .” she purrs, her voice becoming the buzz in your head. It’s all you want to hear now. She sways to the other side, dragging your head along your sight. If your body could move at all right now you would crumple, you’re so drowsy. As it is your head sways back and forth, each turn drifting you further into a sleeping void. That’s all you want now, to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep, go to . . .
A thought jars your colorful, serpentine reverie. You can’t move your body now. Scales surround you squeezing your arms, rubbing your back, caressing your chest, rising and hugging. It’s such a gentle, caressing hug that you sink into it—but no, wait, the lamia is wrapping you up. The memory of some danger startles you awake. Didn’t you consider calling for help?
All you can do is yawn, your eyelids drooping further with each attempt. Your head falls forward, but the lamia’s hypnotic eyes holds your gaze up. It’s a struggle as your head hangs up, and the stress batters your thoughts. You yawn, words hardly forming, let alone reaching your mouth. The only words are those the lamia lilts, words of sleep, rest, trust, sleep, submission, sleep. Your mind tangles in swirls as the lamia rotates her head again, dragging your lolling head in a dizzying circle. You yawn, so hard to think, so easy to stare mindless, but you need help.
Sleeeeeep,” the lamia continues to whisper, lodging the word deep inside your unconscious consciousness. Sleep. You call out for help—with a yawn. Sleep. A name, you need a name. Sleep. Pretty colors are all you can remember. Sleep. There are no names. There is sleep. There is a lamia, a beautiful lamia. Sleep. What were you thinking about? You weren’t. Pretty colors . . .
Pretty . . .
Sleep . . .
Pretty . . .
Your mouth twitches into a smile.
Sleep . . .
Pre . . .tty . . .
Only think about the lamia . . . Only care about the lamia . . . Only obey the wonderful lamia . . .
Let the colors think for you. Sleep your old thoughts away . . .
The thick, soft tail wraps over your shoulders and squishes around your neck, squeezing your body tight in a gentle, domineering hug you have no choice but to welcome. With a shiver up your entire frame bliss strikes your mind and body like lightning, and your face seizes into a grin of pure radiance. The core of your mind sleeps, numb with hypnotic colors, and the lamia holds complete control over you.
You forget all else. There is no jungle, no Bagheera, no human village. There is only your mistress, your master, the lamia.
The lamia proceeds to whisk you away from the tree deeper into the jungle, for whatever purpose she might have, and Bagheera never notices you’re gone until it’s too late to ever find you again. But he didn’t really have your best interest at heart, did he? No, the lamia did, from the beginning. It is a good thing she caught you. A good thing . . .