MATTHEW'S LAMENT

                              by Ashtoreth

               Copyright (c) 1995 Ashtoreth (William Haas)
                           All rights reserved


	/I'm going to do it this time,/ he thought.
	Matthew gritted his teeth, the tip of his penknife hovering over 
his bare wrist.  He'd honed it to a sharpness not often found in such an 
implement, and the activity gave him a lot of empty time to dwell on... 
well, it was his ex-girlfriend now, wasn't it?  Dwell on his ex-
girlfriend, while he sat alone in his dormitory room.  Tanya.  She'd run 
off with some rugby player, a senior.  Dirk, or something.
	As he turned it, the knife flashed beguilingly in the light of the 
nearby reading lamp.  Matthew frowned.  He wasn't fooling himself into 
thinking he was any more ready for this.  Thoughts of his former love 
crossed his mind, proving more helpful.  If he'd thought of her as "his 
former love," though, he wouldn't be trying to bring himself to slash 
his wrists.
	What had she been thinking?  Hadn't he devoted himself to her?  He 
sighed a little.  Admittedly he wasn't the most athletic of individuals, 
but he had other talents.  But, he reflected, evidently not the right 
ones to hold the interest of the creature who had kindly shone upon his 
life for a few brief moments.  He sniffled a little.  He'd become quite 
skilled at playing upon his own emotions.
	He'd show her... well, he'd show someone something, anyway.  
Steeling himself again, he focused on the tip of the blade, trying not 
to see it for what it was.
	Somebody's hands covered his eyes softly.  /Guess who,/ said a 
voice.
	Matthew yelped in surprise, his arm jerking and gashing its palm 
on the penknife's tip.  "Blast!" he spat, dropping the knife.  It bumped 
heavily against the face of the violin which rested upon his desk, 
making a dull, hollow sound, and Matthew's breath caught.  In his good 
hand he carefully cradled the instrument, afraid that he'd injured it, 
but it showed no marks.
	With relief, he tugged his handkerchief out of his breast pocket 
and pressed it against his cut to staunch the flow of blood, which was 
already trickling down to his wrist.  "What do you mean by coming in 
here startling me like that?" he growled.
	It had been a feminine voice; that fact finally settled in.  Hope 
sprouted within him, foolishly.  Squeezing his cut hand, Matthew looked 
up.  "How did you get into my--"
	He found he couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence.  
Standing before him was not his lost love, but something he could not at 
the moment comprehend.
	She was tall, very tall, and undressed, and the stark white of her 
body was not the white of pale skin, but of form-hugging, electric-white 
fur.  And she was not human; she was some kind of canine in human shape, 
but the cast of her fur and her featureless black pools of eyes made it 
difficult to reconcile the being with an earthly species.  She had the 
feel of a statue, a gargoyle, an impression heightened by the highly-
swept pinions of the wings which rose from her back; and Matthew felt 
his mind creep beyond surprise towards something nearer fear or alarm, 
as he saw that the span of these could not possibly fit under the 
intaglio'd ceiling of his dormitory room, high as it was.
	The creature also had four arms rather than the usual two, but 
this seemed almost incidental compared to her other aspects, as though 
it were merely a trick of his bifocals.  It-- she-- directed her muzzle 
towards him and softly displayed some small, sharp teeth.  If it was a 
smile it wasn't a comforting one.  The being's brushlike tail coiled 
back and forth, faintly rustling.
	Matthew struggled for some words, an exercise to stop his mind 
from racing.
	His first thought was that he had succeeded in his attempt at 
self-destruction, and the last few minutes had been a fantasy, perhaps 
to protect him from the reality of his-- the creature chuckled at him.  
Matthew blinked.  Could it hear his thoughts?
	As his surprise became more manageable, Matthew was able to take 
notice of her femininity, which was extreme.  Predictably, his gaze fell 
upon her breasts, which were as large, ripe fruits... she chuckled 
again, disconcerting him, and he looked away in not a little 
embarrassment.  She turned and strode past him and deeper into his small 
room, her walk a sinuous current of motion.  He found himself mesmerized 
by the swaying of her massive hips, her tail moving in counterpoint, but 
he looked elsewhere before she could laugh again.
	With a subtle groaning of leather, the creature seated herself in 
the easy chair near his bedstead, even this large seat barely spanning 
her hips.  She arrayed her many limbs along the seat and armrests and 
chair back, wriggling a little into a comfortable position.
	Matthew also wriggled, uncomfortably, as she seemed to fix her 
gaze securely upon him.  It was difficult to tell; her eyes were 
glistening black from lid to lid.
	Someone was going to have to speak.  Matthew felt it ought to be 
her, considering that it was she who had intruded, and who insisted on 
being such an improbable creature, but she was not talking, merely 
watching him in apparent amusement.
	"Who... /what/ are you?" said Matthew calmly.  He swallowed.  "Are 
you an angel?"
	The creature's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and she softly 
laughed, the sound melodious, tinkling... the hint of contempt that had 
laced her previous utterances was conspicuous by its absence from this 
laughter.
	"Hardly," she purred.  Her speech, too, was delicate, with a soft 
grate beneath.  "It could be said that I am one of their opposite 
number."
	"Oh, then you're a demon, then," said Matthew... his eyes widened 
in realization a moment later.  "Have I really led so terrible a life?!" 
he gasped.  His hands clutched the edge of the desk, as if he would 
force the creature to drag the heavy piece of furniture down into the 
inferno along with him.
	She smirked, her chest heaving with her tight-lipped chuckling.  
"I have not come to claim your soul, and you are quite alive."  Matthew 
eased his grip upon the desk.
	"I realize that you've answered, but I still don't understand," he 
said.  He squeezed his hand within the handkerchief, half out of 
nervousness.  "And why are you here... with me?"
	The demoness rose from the chair, fluffing out her tail, and 
slinked into the room's center as she spoke.  Her pale fur seemed to 
reflect colors that were not within the room.  "I am what you know as a 
succubus," she said, "though I am not all that your mythology says that 
I am."
	Matthew knew as well as any good churchgoing folk that succubi 
were female demons, who rose to the mortal world to mate with mortal men 
and spawn infernal joinings of man and demon.  Their charms were 
reputedly difficult to resist, and he could see that this creature 
certainly had the qualifications, despite her bestial nature.
	"So you've come to me while I'm weak, so you can seduce me.  I'll 
have none of that."
	The creature spared him the indignation of another chuckle, 
looking at him sidelong instead.  "And you shall have none," she 
murmured.  "To take you now would bring me no benefit."  Matthew was 
surprised to feel a distant twinge of disappointment inside himself.  
The succubus showed her sharp teeth.
	"Then back to the Devil with you.  Leave me in peace.  I'm... 
busy."  He looked away from her eyes, ashamed to speak of what he 
planned to do, even to this creature.
	"Busy?  You need use no duplicity with me, child... I know what 
you mean to do.  You mean to cut your wrists and let your essence flow 
from your body, unto death."  Matthew shrunk back a little from the 
imagery.  The succubus turned and looked out the many-paned windows into 
the black of the night.
	"Then do you come to collect my soul when I've committed the act?  
Tell me..."  Anxiety was in his voice; he rose to his feet and looked at 
her, beckoning to a reply.
	The succubus crossed his room again, perhaps to display her wares, 
before draping herself against a post of the sturdy bunk beds nestled in 
the corner.  The well-used furnishing normally squeaked incessantly when 
in use, but although the creature must have stood seven feet tall and 
was broadly built to match, the bunk beds made not a sound as she 
reclined against them.
	"Have you a roommate?" she asked, looking behind the beds.
	Matthew shook his head.  "No.  I had one.  He left for winter 
holiday and didn't come back."
	The creature flicked her tail.  "Good.  It would not do for 
someone to intrude and catch you talking to the air."  She grinned at 
him.
	"You mean that only I can see you."
	"That is correct... so you may yet be going mad."  The succubus 
grinned again; Matthew pursed his lips.  He hadn't even thought of that 
possibility.  He seated himself again.
	"I will explain to you what it means to be a succubus."  Her voice 
was a singsong, as though she was pleased to tell this tale.  "The flow 
of time has carried away meaning, and we have become known in your 
mythology as seductresses, tempting mortals to acts of fornication.  
While we surely do this, it is thought that this is our only function, 
because rarely do we manifest ourselves otherwise."  Matthew wet his 
lips, and watched the creature devour his expression.
	"We speak to mortals, to their minds or hearts, sometimes in our 
voices, more frequently in the voice of their own thoughts.  We would 
tempt them to change, for better or for worse, but to change.  This 
corruption is beneficial to us; it nourishes us.  It may be corruption 
of the flesh or of the soul, but when one path is departed and another 
is taken, the energy is released that feeds us."  Matthew nodded.  "Your 
faith only acknowledges the detrimental consequences of our influence, 
and does not credit us with the good we bestow upon mankind.  /That/ is 
said to be the work of 'angels.'  You should not like to know what your 
angels are."
	Matthew steepled his fingers and listened, wondering what she had 
meant by that.
	"All manner of unpleasantries are knitted to us, and our realm.  
Eternal torment, lakes of fire, the stealing of souls.  Why you should 
want to make your deepest fears into a reality, I do not know."  She 
tilted her head to the side a moment, and her ears flickered 
expressively.  "So as you can see, I have no desire for your soul, for 
it is not something I am able to possess."
	Matthew didn't see this so clearly.  He pulled in his chair a 
little, and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, fidgeting.  
"Then why /are/ you here?"
	The succubus righted herself from her recumbent pose and sauntered 
near him again, arms swaying gracefully as she strode.  "Certainly that 
is obvious," she murmured.
	"Uhm..."  Matthew cleared his throat.
	"You had been in love, in love with another who you were certain 
loved you.  You were ecstatic... it was glorious to be alive.  But 
now..."  Matthew could not follow her pupilless gaze, but his eyes were 
drawn knowingly to the small penknife.
	There was a pause.  "Now that I've... now that I'm unhappy."  He 
blinked up at the creature.  "You're feeding on my grief."
	The demoness smiled.  "You /do/ understand," she whirred, smiling.  
"You have been nourishing me all this time, and you are even now."  Eyes 
narrowed in pleasure, and a hand brushed suggestively over a whitefurred 
abdomen.
	Matthew felt himself growing nauseous.  "That's disgusting," he 
said, his brow wrinkling.
	The succubus only smiled.  "It's considered untoward for us to 
thank mortals for this service.  However..."
	Leaning over him, she extended a delicate hand and caressed his 
cheek with a feather-light touch.  Matthew winced and pulled back out of 
reach, disturbed that it could in fact make contact with him.  "Don't 
touch me."  He crossed his arms, using indignation to suppress his 
welling horror.  The succubus did not seem taken aback, regarding him 
with what looked like endulgent amusement.  Matthew cursed it quietly, 
wondering why it had chosen him of all people to torment.  And then a 
thought occurred to him, about something the succubus had said.  His 
eyes met hers again; it was as though she was waiting for this.
	"How did you know I had been-- had broken up with Tanya?"
	The creature placed two hands upon its generous hips.  "You're an 
intelligent child--"
	"Tell me," he growled.
	"Simply," she replied, "I convinced Tanya to take up with that 
virile footballer."  The succubus looked infuriatingly proud of herself.
	"You did," breathed Matthew, rising to his feet.
	"Why, yes," said the demoness brightly.
	"Foul creature!"  Despite the overbearing stature of his nemesis, 
Matthew swung his open hand at her insolent cheek-- and staggered as it 
seemed to meet only thin air.  He overbalanced and grasped for the 
desktop, merely succeeding in upsetting the violin which sat so 
precariously close to its edge.  The succubus stepped back, 
unnecessarily, and smirked at the boy's antics, but whoopsed as she saw 
the instrument fall to the floor and bounce with a vibratory, insectoid 
buzz.
	Matthew cried out as he tried too late to catch it, and nearly 
crushed the violin beneath himself as he sank to his knees.  He cradled 
the instrument and turned it over carefully to see, again, if it had 
been damaged.  Raising his head to look at the succubus, he found 
himself at eye level with her pudenda.  She tittered quietly, and 
stepped back a pace.
	"You seem to think this is funny.  I'm in terrible pain... aren't 
you at all sorry?"  Matthew brushed a bit of dust from the face of the 
instrument, and plucked at the strings, one by one.  They made secret, 
precious sounds as he faintly brushed them with his thumb.
	The succubus sighed, perhaps for his benefit, and stretched two 
arms above her head, certainly reaching beyond the expanse of the room's 
dimensions.  "To feed, we induce change.  It is our function.  I am not 
sorry for that."
	Matthew started to protest, but he was beginning to see that the 
succubus didn't think of it in human terms, indeed probably didn't hold 
any more regard for men than men held for cattle.  He himself sighed, a 
sound reconciled to despair, and held his violin.  The succubus offered 
him a hand.
	"Leave me be," he muttered.  It was probably feeding on his anger, 
now.  He decided to ignore the demoness, hoping that if he didn't 
believe in it, it would go away.  Lovingly he held the instrument to 
himself as he stood, and placed it decidedly further from the edge of 
the desk.
	The sound of creaking leather rose again... the succubus was back 
in the easy chair.
	"Aren't you going to go away?" he said, a whine of protest shot 
through his voice.
	"I thought I might remain until you have taken your life.  
Physical corruption is not nearly as nourishing as corruption of the 
will, but it does add an interesting tang to the flavor."  The thing 
smirked at him.
	Matthew considered the possibility that she was earnest about 
wanting one last meal from him.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  "/Please/ 
leave," he pleaded.
	The succubus showed no sign of departing.  She watched him, 
occasionally blinking.  Matthew averted his eyes.  His violin beckoned, 
and he plucked the strings with the pad of his thumb, although he knew 
it was in fine tune.
	"You seem to care for that," said the succubus.
	Matthew looked up.  "I... yes, you could say that."
	Wings rustled.  "Is it valuable?"
	"It's valuable to me," said Matthew quietly, his voice catching at 
the end, as he suspected he'd given away a bit too much.  But he nodded 
to her.
	"Are you skilled at its playing?"
	The creature's continued presence was growing irritating, and he 
didn't really want to answer this most recent question.  "Will you go?" 
he asked.
	She looked slyly at him, turning up the corner of her mouth.  "If 
you play for me, I will go."
	Matthew took the bow in his hand, and tapped its end upon the 
desktop in annoyance.  He looked to her.  "Are you a being of honor, 
demon?"  The succubus displayed another amused expression.
	"Not as you understand it, but you have little alternative."  She 
turned to her side and rested her weight upon her lower elbows, leaning 
on the padded armrest.
	The young man nodded, and seated the foot of the violin gently 
beneath his chin.
	Matthew brought to mind the piece he wanted to play, and cast his 
bow into the playing.  It was a selection from /O Ophelio,/ a sort of 
religious farce.  It was meant to bring to mind a Hell-bonded soul, 
tormented and tormenting, travelling its crooked path through existence, 
doing dark deeds for its dark master.  The tune, properly played, was 
deep in timbre, plodding, with a hint of the comical, but Matthew was 
hurrying through it and its changes were abrupt, almost jagged in 
places.  Every moment or so he would glance over at the succubus.  He 
knew he was butchering the piece badly, with an unwanted audience 
present.  Perhaps the din would drive the demoness away.  He gritted his 
teeth through to the end.
	With much plucking of strings he finished, hardly allowing the 
notes to fade at the end.  "There," he said, lifting his chin from the 
violin.  "Now go."
	The succubus once again favored him with her laughter.  "Your 
playing was hasty and labored."  She rose from the chair like smoke, in 
no hurry.
	"The sooner you leave, the better."
	"Is that all that is on your mind?"  She smiled, her tail 
twitching, and added "It was not very good."
	Matthew wheeled on the demoness and thrust the bow forward like a 
rapier, the end held a few inches from her eyes.  He suspected it would 
just pass through her if he moved closer, but it gave him some 
satisfaction.  "I did not ask you," he said under his breath, "and yes, 
being rid of you is all that I'm thinking of."
	She blinked, almost cutely.  "Then you are not thinking of your 
Tanya?"
	Matthew's mouth opened and closed, as he brought the bow to his 
side.  "I /wasn't/ thinking of her, until you mentioned her."  He gave 
her a bitter smile.  "Thank you much."  It nodded to him, smiling, and a 
hand came to rest on his shoulder, snaking down over his chest... he 
flinched and shrugged the offending limb away from himself, walking away 
from the succubus.
	"I could easily make you forget her," she whispered.
	Matthew did not look back.  "And instead I would pine for a 
phantom.  No, thank you."
	Hands smoothed down the fur upon her thighs.  "Why do you not play 
for your lost love?" she suggested.
	"What?"  He looked up into the dark eyes of the creature.
	"Play for the love that has escaped you?"
	He pushed his spectacles up his nose, his eyes lost in their glare 
for a second.  "I've done that.  She'll have none of it.  She walked out 
on me the second time I tried to play for her."
	The succubus flexed her wings.  "No, do not play for Tanya.  Play 
for your love."
	"My love?" questioned Matthew quietly.  But he rested the 
instrument upon his shoulder again.
	Drawing a deep breath, he began to play... the bow seemed to turn 
fluid in his hands, rising and falling upon the strings as though 
cresting gentle waves.  This was a work of his own design, a work in 
progress, which changed a little each time he played it, as he came to 
better understand it.
	A great and mournful sound rose from the violin, notes drawn out 
and out, seeming never to end, seeming to resonate long after they'd 
ceased, to suddenly become something else, to change direction without 
drawing notice.  And emotion poured forth also; sadness, but not grief.  
Melancholy, and need.  A promise of love... /his/ love, which was what 
had driven him, and which, despite his feelings of loss, he still 
possessed.
	Matthew was absorbed by this playing... he hadn't planned to be, 
but he was taken into it.  He made the violin keen for him, made it cry 
out as his heart cried out, and gently he brought the piece to a close.  
The ringing of the strings was a long time in fading.
	He realized where he was, and lowered the violin from his 
shoulder, smiling a little.  Reminding himself that there was a demoness 
in his room, he turned to regard her.
	The succubus had one hand over her lips, her pupilless eyes wide 
with emotion.  Matthew wasn't sure if he felt shock or amazement-- he 
felt something --when he saw the glistening lines upon her furred 
cheeks.  Her ears flitched gently as she smiled to him.
	"That was very beautiful," she whispered.
	Matthew caught himself staring and looked away.  "It wasn't as 
beautiful as that...."
	"I should certainly know," said the succubus, "and I felt it was 
beautiful... as that."  Her finger dabbed up the newly-forming tear at 
the corner of her eye.
	"Oh."  Matthew felt awkward... it wasn't every day that he made a 
demoness cry, and he wasn't sure how he should respond.  He cleared his 
throat.  "Well, thank you, I suppose."  The succubus grinned at him, her 
tail waving back and forth.
	"Now, in accordance with our bargain, I will leave."  She padded 
silently towards the beds, the motion of her hips entrancing; for a 
moment Matthew was puzzled... he'd imagined, preposterously, that she 
would exit through the door.
	The succubus turned slightly, looking down her muzzle at him, her 
foxish (!) expression having returned.  "You could not have lost very 
much if your Tanya was so easily redirected."
	Matthew's mouth hardened into a line, but it was as though his 
anger was a ritualized response instead of something he genuinely felt.  
"Begone!" he said, swatting at the demoness with the bow.  There was a 
chuckle, and somewhere in the blur of motion his arm made, the succubus 
disappeared.  Matthew stared at the spot for a moment, and hmmphed, 
smiling.
	The young man sat down at his desk again, grappling failingly with 
the events of the last few minutes.  His mind wanted to reflect upon the 
visit, but it already seemed as though it was something he had only 
imagined. He felt as though all the blood had rushed to his head, and he 
blinked a little, waiting for it to clear.
	A gentle chiming from the clock above his bedstead told him that 
it was nine... he had the whole evening ahead of him.  He picked up his 
violin again, and began to play a decidedly more cheerful tune.

                                  END