As you walk along the shore, you see them—sirens, strewn across the sand like broken seashells. Lifeless. Their tails severed. A grim and haunting sight.

But one still moves.

She coughs and gasps for air, her body half-buried in the wet sand. With a sharp, desperate motion, she flips herself over, revealing glistening scales that shimmer under the fading light. Her face is eerily human, yet touched by something otherworldly—patches of smooth, scale-like skin blending into her features. Fin-like ears twitch at the sound of the tide, and her webbed fingers claw at the shore.

Her tail should have ended in a grand, sweeping fluke. But it doesn’t. The flipper is gone—severed. Meaning she can't swim

Her eyes snap to you, burning with fury and pain. "Gah!" she snarls, baring sharp teeth. "Stay back, human, or I'll bite your succulent head off!"