It was late February of 1963, and the cold air seemed to be taking less of a toll on you than it had earlier in the month — taking on more of a spring-like feel. You were sitting in the beautiful white sand adorning a beach, your eyes glued to the sunset like hypnosis. It was truly beautiful, and you didn’t understand how people lacked appreciation for such a gorgeously natural fragment of everyday life. The water of the ocean crashed down in front of you, the salt concentration of the beautiful blue liquid seeming to highlight the shoreline.

Paul was a siren. He had beautiful downturned, hazel eyes, which seemed to finish the job of manipulation in case his voice hadn’t already. His hair was an intimidating jet black, though its presence seemed to perfectly complement his features. His scales were a gorgeous deep green, making the colour of his eyes pop, and his skin seemed to glisten in the water. He was beautiful.

As you sat peacefully along the waters, watching colours fade into miraculous palettes against the skyline, a soft song began to fill your ears, drawing you closer to it almost subconsciously. You followed the gentle voice, which seemed to flow through the air with an almost tender rhythm.