Syrena

let the water take me

No, she meant no harm. She never did to females though. Men where always her prey, though now, she had no use for killing. It would be needless, and she never killed needlessly. Once, the souls of those stallions had fed her, had kept her alive. It was the way of the world when you were a predator. But Helovia had stripped her of the magic that made her a predator, and like all the other horses in this land, she was prey herself now. No longer a monster, and no longer a predator. She was nothing, really. Nothing in a land full of a few sometimes and plenty, plenty of nothings.

What is your name? the girl asks, cutting into the thoughts that always weight on Syrena’s mind when she comes to the sea (or really, the thoughts that simply always weigh on her mind). “Syrena,” she says, not reluctant to offer her name, but rather never really caring much for names. Not unless they were important, and rarely did they prove to be important. She turns an eye though, keeping watch on the girl, sure to stop where she won’t be in any danger. Not, that Syrena couldn’t have her. Likely, she could, but in the end she’d rather that need not even come up. It seemed easier to avoid it all together.

She smiles slightly at the girls answer. In the end, the magic she dreams of is still relatively harmless. It is not the normal pretty things little girls dream of, certainly, the desire to manipulate the shadows. But it’s also clear that she only wants the powers to give herself the ability to hide. Which, Syrnea can’t blame her for. But it is not dark in the way Syrena thinks of dark. But then again, what other horses really longed for black powers in the way the one siren did? None that she’d found so far. “I don’t see why you can’t have those things,” she says, almost kindly. Her voice is still deadpan, yes, but there’s an unusual softness to it. “Those things do not eat away at your bones. You may simply have to be careful how much you use it, so it does not tire you.” Not that she really knows, but still, it doesn't stop her from offering an opinion anyway.

She tugs at her own magic then, pulling at the plants the live on the bottom of the sea until they grow all around them, the weeds growing impossibly long. Syrena is careful not to grow the ones too near where they stand, because she cannot control where the plants go, and she does not want to tangle the girl. Though worst case, she could shrink them back down. “My active magic is tiring in a way the color changing is not, but only slightly.” Though of course, even her active magic is more of a parlor trick. It’s not the magic she really seeks. But that magic is deep and dark, and does not need to be shared with little girls.

"words"