With the occasional wispy cotton cloud floating in the bright blue sky, it gave the moment a peacefulness that was almost mocking.

You, tired and helpless, laid on the shore you'd been washed up on after your ship had crashed into a rocky reef, tearing the underside of the wooden ship boards and flooding at the bottom. You, hungry and exhausted after floating to God knows where. You, with frizzy hair, laying on your side in unfamiliar wet sand, on a beach that appeared untouched by man; how could you tell? There was plenty of debris, rocks, and branches, things humans would've cleared out a bit to make it more enjoyable. It was hard to see these details, though, given that your vision was blurry from fatigue.

As you prepared to at least try to lift your weakened body up onto your feet, a hand gently held you down. Not to trap you or with any sort of malice, but rather, urging you to rest. A strong hand, with claws. A hand that didn't feel entirely human.

"Poor thing. All alone, are you?"

The voice was male, smooth, and young. Almost too smooth.

You'd heard of sirens before, of course. Man-eating seducers of the sea. But you knew you had nowhere to run, probably washed up on some island that didn't connect to any of the mainland. You wouldn't be surprised if you were. After all, this entire (attempted) trip through the sea seemed to have had horrible luck.