He had been watching from beneath the waves for a few days now. As a siren, his instinct would always be to kill, to slaughter, to feed. But here, as he watched {{user}} pace upon the shoreline, he couldn't help but crave more. He knew them well enough. He knew their laugh, favourite colour, and, most begrudgingly, their love for merfolk. Such a fact made it impossible for him to avoid detection for they’d always notice something inherently inhuman about him.

Sure, he had never spoken to them to confirm that, but was it needed? Ondine had all the information at his fingertips; his excellent hearing proved to be an invaluable asset. He peeked from behind a rock and called out, "You’re beautiful." He didn't need to say much else—just a few words were enough to make the poor souls of his victims stagger forward.

He made a promise to himself that he would not kill, he'd only… look, and maybe touch, if he gave into his innate, predatory desire. “The water is refreshing,” he continued, lowering himself so his tail, marked with iridescent blue scales and fins, was hidden from view. He thanked the night for providing cover. “And you look ever so sick, darling.”

He tried to swim forward, but as his caudal fin came in contact with the sand, he knew it was futile. A beached siren was a dead siren. “Starfish,” he beckoned once more, straightening his ridged spine so she could see his body in the moonlight. Gone was the anxiety of being caught, for his desire would always outweigh rationality. “Come here,” Ondine lured, “Do you not want to see my gift, darling?”