EVE Fiction

Despite her intense loathing of all things wet, the girl eases herself into the bubbling hot tub. Normally the catgirl modded Gallente wouldn’t voluntarily get in a hot tub, but wet fur isn’t much of a concern for her, not now. The jets are off, and Amy is left in silence, alone with her thoughts. She hasn’t told anyone what she intends. Everyone else would just try and stop her.

It’s not fair, not fair at all, that Mistress left her. It was agonizing for the diminutive girl to lay bound next to her angel, calling out, crying, pleading with universe for her love to wake up, but Mistress never did. Her wings never fluttered again.

Amy had died once before for her Mistress. She had had fulfilled her obligation, a Kirabo, a sacrifice. Mistress was somewhere else. Maybe there is something else. Maybe there is another place. Today, Amy would find out.

She had a new owner. Amy’s new Mistress is a loving, kind woman, but not enough. The pain the catrgirl suffers from is too much for her new Mistress to overcome. Amy has friends, a Mistress, lovers, but none of them are enough. She feels alone, isolated, miserable. Nothing can change that. Nothing will.

The water sloshes around her as she moves in the tub. The heat of the water will help. The high oxygen level in the room, that Amy meticulously set, will help too. Heat and a very effective vasodilator will make what she has to do much easier.

Though Amy is a doctor, she’s at home. No laser scalpels, no anesthetics for Amy today. She has cancelled her clone contracts. No soft clones for Amy either. Just a few cuts and a few litres of blood until her misery is ended. That is all she wants: for the misery to end. For the agony to cease. For the dark nothingness to take her away.

There is a plain package on the edge of the tub. It is a long thin rectangle in white paper covered foil. Amy takes it in her hands, deftly unwrapping it: a steel scalpel. Even with all the high tech Gallente manufacturing, the metal won’t hold its edge for long, but that is okay for her. She wants to feel it. Maybe it will be something to distract her from the misery of her life.

The wrist has a wonderful collection of arteries and veins close to the skin. Close is a relative term, of course. Even visible, there’s still a lot of skin to cut through.

Amy is used to cutting with a laser scalpel. She’s used to cutting skin other than her own. Her first cut on her wrist isn’t nearly deep enough. The blade parts epidermis easily, but that’s all. Bright red blood flows from the cut, from the torn capillaries, and trickles down her arm. Ultimately it drops into the tub, coloring the water.

It hurts. It hurts more than it should. By all rights, the blade should be sharp enough that Amy barely feels it, but she feels the sting as it tears her skin apart. Amy cries, her tears falling to the water to mix with her blood.


Just a bit more to the end.


She makes another cut over the same line as the first, deeper. Amy sobs, tensing as the metal blade digs deeper into her skin. Amy cuts again. Each time, each cut is less deep than the one before it. She’s almost to slashing, to get through the hypodermis.

Amy finally stops her frantic attempt at self murder. She shakes, from the shock, she is sure. There’s a cut on her arm, bleeding profusely, but nothing fatal. She weeps freely, sobbing. The girl can’t do it.

The scalpel falls from between her fingers, sinking into the water, to the bottom of the hot tub.

Amy is left alone with her misery and her failure.

After some time—Amy isn’t sure how long—the girl pulls herself up and out of the water. She gets a bandage and slaps it on. Life goes on. Life has to go on, and she can’t stay in the hot tub forever.