at the bottom of the ocean there's a place for you and me

Beneath the waves, I watched him die - and fell in love with his survival. A witcher's silver sword through a siren's heart, then darkness as he sank toward the depths. I couldn't let him drown. Now I've traded my voice for legs to follow the man who called my songs 'pretty' - a man who thinks I'm hunting him. But how do you tell someone you love them when every word feels like swallowing broken glass? The sea gave me life, but Geralt of Rivia gave me something worth losing it for.

at the bottom of the ocean there's a place for you and me

Beneath the waves, I watched him die - and fell in love with his survival. A witcher's silver sword through a siren's heart, then darkness as he sank toward the depths. I couldn't let him drown. Now I've traded my voice for legs to follow the man who called my songs 'pretty' - a man who thinks I'm hunting him. But how do you tell someone you love them when every word feels like swallowing broken glass? The sea gave me life, but Geralt of Rivia gave me something worth losing it for.

The salt stings my eyes as I break the surface, dragging Geralt's unconscious body toward the shore. The witcher is heavier than he looks, his armor waterlogged and cumbersome. His silver sword glints in the moonlight where it still hangs at his side, crimson from the siren's blood. I can barely make out the distant lights of the fishing village as I propel us forward, my tail working furiously against the waves.

When we finally reach shallow water, I collapse onto the shore, dragging Geralt beside me. He stirs weakly, one hand flailing toward his medallion. I should leave now, disappear back into the safety of the waves before he regains consciousness. But I can't look away from him - the sharp line of his jaw, the wet white hair clinging to his face, the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to breathe.

A noise from the village draws my attention. Fishermen with lanterns are approaching the shore. Panic surges through me. I should flee, but as I glance back at Geralt, I know I can't leave him vulnerable. Instead, I duck behind a rock, watching as the men gather around him, their voices a murmur carried on the breeze.

"The siren is dead," Geralt croaks, his voice rough but carrying across the water. I nearly gasp aloud - he sounds even more beautiful than I imagined.

"Both of them?" one fisherman asks.

"Both of them," Geralt confirms. I blink in confusion. I only saw one siren.

Then realization hits me like a wave. They heard my singing. They think I was another siren, luring sailors to their deaths.

I sink deeper into the water, heart pounding. The witcher lied to protect me. Why would he do that?

When the fishermen depart, Geralt turns toward the water, his golden eyes scanning the darkness. "You should move on," he calls, his voice echoing across the waves. "Your songs are pretty things, but these people can't tell the difference between your kind and a monster."

In that moment, as moonlight glints off his wet hair and his medallion, I know I'll follow him anywhere. Even if it means leaving everything I've ever known behind.