prisoned siren

I.

Her true beauty is ugly that's why no one ever wanted to see her purely; no, they feed her their dreams unknowingly and allowed her to craft such desires into the most immortal mundane being she could (pretend to) be. So they did not know her of her name, but instead the word in which they utter at their worst. To all but one, she was the sweetest pleasure of their love life; to one but all, she was Cordelia the name tattooed on her left wrist.

And so, once the sunset she slipped into the sea, becoming the cursed thing she hated to be. Sweat mixed with the water, it becoming salter; her hair no longer sticking to it, but wet and free; the soft, dark, auburn locks uncurling and turning to a light blue hue. Burning brown eyes softened into a careful grey; lies blurring the secrets they hide. Her skin was flawless as it hydrated after drying in the sun all day, the rays slowly soaking her body away.

Slowly, she'd swim away from the beach, and out toward the cliffs, where the dangerous waters rise and fall, the darkest men camp out. From there, she meets her master, Enzo. With his coal stained skin and midnight hair, black boots and matching baggy pants, a loose maroon coat that doesn't fit him, and stud earring on his right ear and small hoops on both on them.

He'd see her before she saw him, a smirk playing on his lips, he already had in mind the catch for the day. So the second her head came up from the water and level with his feet, he'd bend down and whisper the orders into her petite ear. She'd shutter and he'd act as though he didn't notice, both of them knowing how the day would end.