The lamia is a little too close, but you don’t want to be rude and push her away or anything. Still, you want to make it clear you don’t appreciate her advancing on you. Still looking her straight in the eye you say, “Just go away and leave me alone. I don’t trust you—I know better than to trust a lamia.”
The lamia shrinks back and her face falls, almost as if she’s hurt by the remark. You don’t really care—you just said the truth, and you feel better for it. She knows where she stands with you. Or slithers. No, slithering would be walking. Would stands be appropriate?
While you ponder this the lamia smiles wider than before and slides right up to you, her clear face centimeters from yours. Okay, now she’s definitely too . . . too . . .
“Oh, but you can trust me, human,” the lamia says. You suddenly notice her eyes changing color, rings of intense color flowing endlessly from her eyes. It’s hard to get a grasp on them; you want to get a grasp on them, understand what’s happening. Now the lamia doesn’t seem close enough. “I’m your friend,” she says, staring into your eyes with those stunning orbs of color that leak beauty into the world around you.
Maybe you were a little hasty before. Just because you were told not to trust lamias doesn’t mean you can’t trust all of them, right? It’s just a general rule. You don’t know her well enough to make a call yet.
“That’s right,” the lamia says as she rubs your head, “just look into my eyes, that will help you trust me.”
Her voice takes on an echo as if filling all available space in your mind. Despite that her words spark a memory in you, though it’s hard to hold onto it. Something about a warning. You mutter—maybe saying it out loud could help you remember. After a moaning sigh you murmur, “Wait, I—I was told . . .” What was it? The eyes. Yes, look into the—no, wait, look? “I’ve heard it’s dangerous to look at a lamia.” That was it—there was peril in a lamia’s eyes. You could be in danger if you keep looking. You don’t know how—they’re so pretty and soothing, after all—but in light of this memory you start to pull your head away.
The lamia cups your chin in a smooth hand and tickles her other hand over your neck. “Exciting, then, isn’t it? Taking a chance with danger.” Her face falls as if concerned. “Oh, but don’t worry, human. It’s safe to look at a lamia for just a little while, right?” Her wide grin returns and she lets go of your chin; you make no move to look away. Instead as she circles her head you follow her gaze, seeking the bright, draining colors, and with every circle you feel more sluggish. “That’s right, a little look is safe, especially with such a beautiful lamia, hmm?” She gives a deep chuckle as your eyelids droop. “You don’t want to look away from my pretty eyes yet. Don’t you agree?”
Her words make sense, it can’t be too dangerous to look for just a little while. As long as you’re safe to look, why not enjoy her beauty? But when you feel long, scaly muscles wrap around your waist your eyes pop back up.
“Are—are you wr-wrapping me?” you ask. You wonder if you looked for too long. You consider looking away now, but your head is so heavy. But why is her tail winding around you? What is she doing?
“Now, now, don’t worry,” the lamia says, cradling your face. “Did anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to be wrapped up by a lamia?”
You consider her words, clearer to you now than your own thoughts. You don’t recall anyone ever mentioning that. Her cool coils snake up to your chest, propping you forward and closer to her dangerous eyes—or not yet dangerous eyes, but eventually maybe, perhaps. Still, it’s true that you never heard that it wasn’t safe to be in a lamia’s coils.
“I . . . guess not.”
“Then it must be safe, must it not?” The lamia nods, and you nod with her. She must be right. “If no one ever warned you about it, it must be safe to be all wrapped up by a lamia, don’t you agree?”
Your eyelids sink back down as her reassurance relaxes you. “Yeah, that makes sense . . .” You’re not sure why you were worried about it before. Her cool coils are so soft and heavy, you could just sink into them, relax while she tightens around you. You can’t help but give a small, twitching smile. The lamia holds her arms close and laughs, and you give a breathy laugh in response.
“Do you still think it’s dangerous to look at me?” the lamia asks. You just sigh deeply in response. It feels too good to gaze at her to be dangerous. If there does come a point that it’s unsafe, it’s not yet.
“How much longer do you think you can stare?” she asks.
It’s hard to form proper words in your head, let alone move your mouth to say them, but you do mutter, “For a while, I hope.”
The lamia laughs. “Me too.” Her tail reaches your neck and with a tight squeeze holds you in place. You gulp, but your mind is too drenched in hypnosis to feel anything but ecstasy from the soft scales squishing her heavy weight over you. Your eyes snap open and your face beams in a rigid smile. It doesn’t matter how dangerous it is to look now—the lamia holds you tightly in place. You can’t move your head from her gaze, but you don’t want to. Staring at her feels so wonderful that you don’t care if it’s dangerous. She has you in her coils and under hypnosis, euphoria overriding any distrust you once had.
Hypnotic bliss is a perfect substitute for trust.
Guess you remembered a lamia’s eyes are dangerous a little too late. Right? I’m totally sure that if you remembered that sooner then you would have totally been able to resist her sneaky suggestions and not get caught by her spell.
Well, you can check, if you want. Or head to a different timeline entirely! Go ahead, check it out.