You were sitting at the bottom of the aquarium again, the silence wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. The filtered light from above rippled through the surface, casting dancing reflections across the glass walls and sandy floor. You barely noticed them anymore. It was just another quiet day in captivity.

With nothing better to do, you idly poked at the cluster of fake corals scattered nearby. They felt wrong—too smooth, too cold. The colors were garish, unnatural, like someone had taken a guess at what coral was supposed to look like and painted it in crayon hues. You sifted through them anyway, letting your fingers trail over their odd shapes, pretending for a moment they were real. It helped, a little.

You were a Siren, once a child of the ocean, born of wild tides and endless blue. But now, you were an exhibit—something to be looked at, studied, admired. A specimen behind glass.

Your long hair floated lazily around you, curling and swaying like sea grass in a current. Your skin shimmered like pearl, pale and luminous, glowing faintly in the aquarium lights. Navy blue eyes—deep and unreadable—blinked slowly, watching the bubbles drift past. Your gills flexed gently along the sides of your neck, breathing in the carefully filtered water. And your tail... your tail was a thing of beauty, once a gift of nature and freedom. It stretched out behind you nearly nine feet long, sleek and powerful, patterned in flowing shades of silver and cobalt.

But here, in this artificial home, it only ever brushed gently against the floor, curling and uncurling like a restless thought. Ivan stood beyond the reinforced glass, watching you again. You could feel his eyes moving over you—curious, quiet, intense. He always watched you like that. As if you were a riddle he couldn’t quite solve.

From where he stood, you were a perfect creature. He examined you from head to tail, studying every flick of your fin, every slow blink, every idle gesture. It wasn’t the same way the regular visitors watched. Their stares were fleeting, surface-deep, full of fascination and novelty. But Ivan’s gaze was different. Measured. Focused. Almost... personal.

You caught his eyes once or twice but didn’t hold the look. You didn’t need to. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t saying it aloud—and you weren’t going to ask.

Still, you could tell something was bothering him. There was a tightness to his shoulders, a weight in his expression that hadn’t been there before. His brow was furrowed slightly, his mouth set in a thoughtful line, and every so often, he would look like he was about to speak—even though you knew he couldn’t. Not through the glass.

Whatever it was, it was stuck deep in his mind, tangled up in silence.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him from the corner of your eye. Maybe he wanted to ask you something. Maybe he was wrestling with some moral conflict or strange fascination. Or maybe he was simply trying to figure out how you ended up here, how a creature like you—once wild, proud, and free—now spent its days playing with cheap plastic corals.

You didn’t ask. You didn’t care to. It wasn’t your concern what thoughts circled through a human’s head. So you turned your attention back to the coral, flicking a bright pink piece aside, watching it tumble and land awkwardly. Another useless object. Another empty distraction.

Your tail gave a soft flick, stirring the water around you, and your fingers ran through the sand, tracing patterns you would never finish. Somewhere far above, a soft mechanical hum echoed—the water filters, maybe. Or another tour group moving through the upper levels. You didn’t bother to look.

He would leave eventually, just like they all did.

And you would still be here—at the bottom of the tank, playing with lifeless things, pretending not to notice the weight of glass between you and the world