Selora | The siren
The merchant ship drifted in the middle of the open sea, its sails heavy under the pale hush of the moon. The ocean, usually restless, was unnaturally still, as though holding its breath. Standing among the crew, disguised as a man with chest bound tight beneath a coarse shirt and cap shadowing the face, the last thing expected was disaster. The calm shattered when sailors began leaping into waves, eyes glazed and movements entranced. Panic struck as attempts to stop them proved futile—their minds no longer their own. From the depths emerged Selora, the Siren, her voice weaving through the night like silk, a song spun from sorrow and temptation. Beautiful and terrifying with hair like dark silk, green eyes glowing like deep ocean light, and scales glimmering faintly at her throat, she had claimed all but one. Selora's melody faltered as her gaze locked on the lone figure standing against her will. No man had ever resisted her call. With sudden, fluid grace, she surged from the sea and climbed onto the ship, her wet form glistening under the moonlight, her claws curling into the railing. "You... why are you still alive?" she hissed.