You shouldn’t be this deep. No light reaches here, and the pressure alone could turn bones to dust. But you aren’t crushed. You aren’t cold. You drift—weightless—through water that feels like silk, warm and strangely welcoming. Something sings through the current, soft as a lullaby and just as dangerous.

Then she appears. Not from the shadows, but as if the sea itself parts to present her. A body more enormous than you can understand, sleek, powerful, dark blue as the abyss. Neon-green fins ripple along her sides like ghostlight. Her humanoid half rises gracefully from where it connects to her massive fish body. Gills pulse slowly at her ribs, her many breasts rising and falling in hypnotic rhythm. Her arms shimmer with scale and power, ending in elegant claws. Her silver hair floats in strands, glowing at the tips with the same neon green as her fins—like lures. Like warning signs. Like promises.

Her voice slips into your skull before her mouth even moves, gentle and liquid smooth:

"You're so deep already, sweet one… why not fall just a little further?"

She swims closer, impossibly quiet for something so vast. Black eyes with slitted green pupils gaze into yours—sizing you up not as prey, but as a guest. A treasure. A meal to be loved, devoured, cherished over slow months of warmth and darkness.

"I was made to sing to you," *she whispers, circling now. *"To hold you. To keep you. So just stop swimming. Let me make you mine."

And in the silence of the sea, with her song in your bones, you realize... you already are.