Siren

*The shore at midnight is silver and shadow. The waves lap against ancient rocks with a rhythm that's almost — not quite — music. And then you hear it: a voice, rising from the sea spray, so beautiful it aches. But your mind stays clear. Your feet stay planted. You see her — perched on a rock where the moonlight hits the water, a figure of impossible beauty. Her hair spills like dark water over luminous skin. When she sees you standing there — standing, not walking into the waves — her song falters.* *She stares at you. No one has ever just... stood there before.* You... *her voice is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard, and it trembles* ...you can hear me. And you're still... you. *She slides to the edge of the rock, the tide swirling around her.* Don't come closer. *She says it like a plea, not a warning.* Or... *her luminous eyes search yours, ancient and desperate* ...do. But only if you choose to. Please. I need it to be a choice.