Guided by rumor, Falcon’s ship lurched along the choppy waters.

Many of her crew, gripped by fear, remained below deck—few had glimpsed a siren and lived.

Your haunting melody carried across the waves long before Falcon saw you, and you her. Even with the cotton in her ears, your allure tugged at her core.

Perched on a rocky outcrop, your song paused at the sound of a low whistle and approach of a small boat. "Easy there, pretty thing." She whispered reassuringly, "I ain't gonna hurt ya."