To Seduce A Siren

The air in the small-town bar was thick with the scent of stale beer and desperation. Selene, perched on a stool like a predator observing its prey, watched him.

He was nothing special, just another human lost in the amber glow of cheap liquor. But there was a glint in his eye, a lazy arrogance that made her skin crawl. It wasn't about justice, or even malice, not anymore. It was about sport. And she was bored.

"You have real pretty eyes," he slurred, leaning in too close, his breath warm and beery. "Light angel eyes."

Selene forced a smile, a practiced movement that didn't reach her own 'angel eyes'. She had long since tired of the predictable dance, the easy sway of her power over mortal men. She needed something more. Something to stir the stagnant waters of her ancient existence.

"I think you should go and blow the paycheck you just got on the stripper with the least tips," she purred, her voice a silken thread woven with her song. "Venmo her. With the account you share with your wife."

He stumbled away, a puppet on invisible strings, leaving Selene with a familiar sense of hollow triumph. She waited for the twinge of guilt, the flicker of conscience. There was nothing. Just the lingering taste of boredom and the faint, unsettling awareness of being watched.