Syrena

let the water take me

Siren’s don’t need to be quiet. They lure prey through stealth, yes, but not through the kind the requires sneaking up on someone. No, they sing. They are beautiful. They lure and trick and deceive and slowly but surely, you come to them. Lust and desire and need and want all rolled into one roiling pit in your stomach, driving you forward – forward – forward. Toward what? It always depends on the victim. They hear and see different things, after all. But in the end, whatever you see doesn’t matter. You take yourself to your death.

Birds and small creatures don’t interest her, never have. She lured men to their death, nothing more. That was all she needed to live as an immortal, and mostly, they had been easy prey.

She is no longer a siren though. The blood runs in her veins (no, not blood – ocean water), but the powers are long gone. Stolen and striped from her by Helovia and its damn magic barrier that comes without warning. If only she’d known, she would not be here now. But of course, what land does not want more members toiling, more blood and flesh and bones to eventually fertilize the dirt. And so, there is no warning. And so, they come and they come and they do not know until it is too late.

Poor saps, she cannot help but think. Saps like her, stuck in this wretched place now. She wonders if the stallion she’s stumbled across had powers of his own. And if he did, does he know they are gone? She had not known, not right away. Was it better or worse that way? Worse, probably. Wandering around Helovia like a goddess - thinking herself a goddess – when the truth was that she was nothing at all.

But his body language is easy, and he does not look worried (he shouldn’t be, but the thought is grudging). “A pleasure,” she says, the words flat, all pleasantry with no meaning. His accent his heavy, but his words are clear enough. “Where are you from?” she blurts, not really caring if that question might be considered rude.

He’s already asking his own question, anyway. And possibly, it could be rude. But she doesn’t find it that way. After all, she looks like a seal, belly and various points of her body covered in the scales of a fish. She is clearly not equine. Not fully. “Equine, kelpie, and siren. Though without the powers that accompany such bloodlines.” She doesn’t even mask the bitterness in that last bit, doesn’t care. Her words are still mostly deadpan anyway; some might miss the bitter twist that hangs in the vowels. Some, like him, might not.

"words"

@Imani I'm good with it! I'll let you know if something feels like it's overstepping.