Syrena

let the water take me

She’s hardly all that concerned, all things considered. This should be scary or something. And okay, it is, but then again she’s half made legendary, mythical creatures herself. And she did spend the first couple years of her life luring men to their death. Feeding on their souls to sustain her immortality (long gone now, such a waste). She still dreams of that power, of some small shred of the ability to make men fear for their lives again.

So yes, while the amalgamation of a monster that stands before them is scary, so was she once. And she’s trying not to forget that losing her powers doesn’t make her powerless. It just makes her different. Granted there’s no water around here to strangle someone with seaweed, but she wouldn’t do that anyway. It would look bad for the Falls and all, and she can’t have that.

She is damn tired of the cold that comes every time he speaks though. Her wet skin prickles in the wind, and she tries not to shiver. The stench of the monster finds her as well, and she actually crinkles her nose at this one. She loves the smell of the sea, can even stand the smell of decaying fish within the waves. But this? It’s death that’s long past its expiration, like milk gone bad only centuries worse. Pleasant.

But whatever lay at the end of this was worth it. She’d suffer and toil and sweat to become something again. It is not the life she planned on, not the life were she was born with all the powers she could ever want. No, she would lash trees and build walls and struggle, but she would get there.

The vines snake out from the tree now, carrying bones in their green fingers. Each vine heads towards one of the horses gathered – most of whom she doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to know. Some of them are talking amongst themselves. But Syrena just stands off to the side, concerned with the prize at the end and not with making small talk. The vine bounces about before her, and she wants to reach out and snap at the vine till it just stops. But she resists, eyes bouncing around in her skull instead, examining the bones.

They are freaking tiny, and she can’t make much out at first. There’s a ton of them, and finally, she begins to figure out they are little tiny wing bones. Lots of them. The runes flash in a stroke-inducing array of colors, though in a way, she finds them beautiful. But they aren’t fish, and they aren’t from the sea since they have wings. She’s not well versed in land and sky creatures, and so it takes her a minute before she even has a guess.

The sounds from the bones give her the best clues. They hum with a busy energy, and all around her she can hear that laugh. Something mischievous and odd and similiar to the monster’s laugh. She’s getting tired of that sound, and wants it to shut up. So she answers. “Fairies?” Her voice is deadpan, but there’s a slight cock to her head that implies amusement. Fairies. Well then. The monster put fairies, of all creatures, in front of her. It’s almost funny, if she knew how to laugh. Or maybe fitting. They were monstrous little things. So was see, just not so little.

“Small, winged humanoid creatures known for being playful and mischievous, and often cruel. They generally keep to themselves in small parts of the woods, known as fairy glens. They have an affinity for nature, which would explain why they live in the woods. They do come out to cause trouble though, which can range from tangling hair to killing.” Pesky little creatures, she thinks. But perhaps rather useful friends.

Unlike many of the others, she feels no personal affront here. Maybe the creature used fairies to kill. Hell, maybe he killed them. She doesn’t care, or judge for that matter. Instead, she waits to see what comes next. She answered the question, she played. Next step.

"words"