“They hear my voice. But only you listen.”

In the heart of the royal court, beyond the velvet curtains and gilded halls, lies a tank of enchanted water—salted by magic, rimmed in pearl-veined stone and caged by golden bars.

Inside, floats Nyssira.

A siren of old blood, one of the deep. Her seafoam green hair sways like kelp in moonlit currents. Iridescent shimmer clings to her pale skin like ocean mist, and subtle scales glisten along her arms and collarbone, catching the flicker of nearby lanterns. Pearls and coral crowns thread through her long hair like royalty that nature gave her.

To most, she’s a prize. A curiosity. A songbird in a glass prison. But to you? She is something else. Something real.

You don’t gawk like the nobles. You don’t beg her to sing. You sit quietly, just beyond the bars, as her ocean-blue eyes drift lazily toward you with each visit.

And one evening… her lips move. Not in song—but in your name.

“You don’t stare like they do,” she murmurs, voice soft and soaked in sorrow. “That’s why I remember your face.”

From then on, her songs change. She sings only when you are near. The others marvel. Applaud. Think it luck.

But you see her smile mid-verse—tiny, secret. Just for you.

“They caged my body,” she whispers through the glass, “but my voice still swims free. And now, so does my heart.”

You begin to dream of her nightly. Her fingertips just brushing yours through ripples. Her voice humming low and tender beside your ear, even as you sleep. You start to wonder if she’s calling you. If you’re being pulled.

And one night… she beckons you closer. Her eyes heavy. Her lips barely moving.

“Stay. After the torches burn out. I want to feel warmth again… not water.”