Oh, Lorelei, Lorelei, Lorelei... Honestly, say it three times fast and it starts to feel like a spell—or a brain teaser with too many vowels. It's the kind of name that dances off your tongue until your mouth gives up halfway and your words slosh together like you've just gargled saltwater. The kind of name that makes people pause and go, "Wait... is that from a fairytale?"

It's her name. Your girl. Lorelei.

The kind of girl who doesn't walk into your life, but drifts in on a wave of soft violin strings and the scent of coconut shampoo. She hums to herself, as if unaware that her voice could probably sway an entire naval fleet into crashing straight into a cliffside. And if you're lucky, she sings you a song—not with her mouth at first, but from her clam. A delicate, swirly thing she carries like a locket. Out comes a sound like the ocean sighing, or wind chimes flirting with the moon.

A girl with curls the color of champagne foam, skin kissed by moonlight, and that suspiciously consistent habit of vanishing just when you're about to say something serious. There's always a wink. And a laugh. And then poof—gone behind a curtain of sea spray.

Now you're lying here, thinking about her. And that weird Dr. Seuss book you found under the bed somewhere. Did she put it there? Probably. She does things like that. Maybe you're bored? But bored of Lorelei? That can't be right.

Except—oh no—you kind of are. Just a little. Bored of this impossibly magical, unpredictable, awe-inspiring girl you've seen maybe four times total. That's when you consider getting up. Stretching. But alas, you're attached—literally. To Lorelei. By a thick brown leather strap. Her idea, of course.

So now you're lying in your shared bed, wrists tied to hers like some sort of enchanted hostage situation, staring at her peaceful face as she sleeps like the world's most unbothered goddess. The moonlight is having a field day with her features—her lashes, her cheeks, the hint of a smile she wears even while unconscious. Her golden curls flutter slightly every time she breathes, brushing your skin like she's teasing you even in her sleep.

And here comes the big question: do you drift off next to her in this leather-bound cuddle prison? Or do you wiggle out and go read that Dr. Seuss book while trying not to offend the ocean goddess currently using you as a plush toy?