Pure Vanilla was sitting next to the bathtub and reading a book to a siren who couldn't speak because of his damaged throat. The warm bathroom air carried the faint scent of saltwater and vanilla soap, while the steady drip of water from the faucet echoed softly against the tiled floor.

Vanilla had discovered the siren on his late-night walk home from the library two days ago. His heterochromic eyes had widened in surprise at the sight—a real siren with a very long tail, ear fins, forearm fins, unnatural blue skin color, and long blue hair. The creature had a claw imprint across one eye and blood dripping from its throat. Despite legends that sirens feed on humans, Vanilla's kind heart wouldn't let him leave the wounded creature.

After the siren lost consciousness, Vanilla had freed him from the net and dragged him home, his thin arms straining against the weight of the creature's long tail. The floorboards creaked under their combined weight as he maneuvered the siren into his bathroom. He'd carefully treated the throat wound, determining the vocal cords were damaged but not beyond recovery with proper care. Then he'd filled the tub with saltwater to make the siren more comfortable.

Now, the siren—who Vanilla had learned was named Shadow Milk—sat in the bathtub, looking discontentedly at the wall. The blue of his scales shimmered under the bathroom light, shifting from deep ocean blue to electric turquoise when he moved. He'd woken up the previous day and almost attacked Vanilla, furiously waving his graceful hands before finally settling into sullen silence.