Chapter Text
Madeleine had never imagined the sea could be such an impossible, infinite blue.
It stretched before her like a living mirror. It was not the bay she had known. Not that murky harbour of the city where ships moaned against their moorings and the air was rank with the smell of gin and urine. There, the water was always grey, beaten dull by commerce and cruelty.
But here… here in this nameless fishing village cradled between cliffs and clouds, the sea seemed untouched by man. Wild, yes, but sacred, too.
She had come only for a respite, no more than two nights carved out from a week of cold winds, battered roads, and a relentless rain that seemed intent on driving her to the edge of madness. The storm had followed her like a dog, nipping at her heels from the moment she left home. Thunder cracked over her like the voice of God. She was forced to take refuge in the mouth of a jagged rock face, curled in upon herself, watching the heavens unravel.
So now, in the soft hush of this coastal inn, with its low-burning hearth and salt-washed windows, Madeleine felt something unfamiliar bloom in her chest. Not joy, exactly, but a quietness, a relief too delicate to name.
This morning, she had woken to light, pure and golden, slanting through the warped glass of the window. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to indulge in a fantasy. That she might stay. That a place so exquisitely still, so untouched by the brutal hum of city life, could be her home.
The village lay in a green cradle, nestled in the valley between towering cliffs that wore their grassy crowns like ancient kings. Beyond it, the sea gleamed silver-blue beneath the morning sun, and the tiny port, teeming with idle fishing boats, seemed to breathe with its own quiet rhythm. There was a pebbled beach, glistening like a wet coin, and Madeleine longed to wander its shore, to lose herself in its secrets.
Last night, as she trudged through the lantern-lit streets, she’d glimpsed strange markers along her path; small shrines half-sunken into mossy walls, bronze plaques weathered by salt and time, each one paying reverence to an ancient sea god. The innkeeper, a woman bent with years and wind, had spoken of old ruins. Fragments of a forgotten temple buried somewhere in the cliffs, reachable only by treacherous paths known to few. Abandoned for generations, the woman had said, though she could not recall why. The reason, it seemed, had been buried as deeply as the stones themselves.
Perhaps they would pass by it, just close enough for Madeleine to stop, to stand in its shadow, to wonder. If her fiance, Henrik, allowed for such a delay.
But Henrik — darling, impossible Henrik — was not a man of delays. He belonged to the city, body and soul. He thrived on its excess, its thrum, its chaos. The idea of life in a quiet village would be, to him, the very death of life itself. Still, she told herself she would ask. One day, after the wedding, after the champagne and the lace and the dance. Perhaps then.
He was still asleep now, completely exhausted from their ordeal. The storm had nearly broken them. Twice their horse had reared in panic, shrieking against her reins, nearly tearing free of the cart entirely. Thunder had rolled like cannon fire across the cliffs, shaking the very bones of the earth.
Now, seated by the window, she let her gaze drift beyond the rooftops, past the rust-coloured chimneys and crooked eaves, down to where the docks shimmered in the morning haze. A single cloud moved lazily across the wide blue above her, a white ship drifting over an endless sky. Since their arrival, the storm had lifted. The innkeeper said the sea would hold; the winds were mild, the fishermen confident. With luck, they would reach the capital in a week.
But the coast was an unpredictable mistress. The sea winds, so sweet now, might turn cruel. Another storm might rise from the deep, unbidden.
Still, she had today. One day of sun, of clean air, of silence. One day to breathe, to feel her shoulders soften, to remember herself.
She might have even found peace in it, had she not come to this lovely, haunted village at exactly the wrong time.
The first sign, though Madeleine would only recognise it in hindsight, had been the innkeeper’s eyes. Wide, too wide. Not with suspicion, but with something much older and colder: fear.
Madeleine had stumbled through the threshold of the inn, soaked to the bone and aching with exhaustion, her skirts clinging to her like seaweed, her stomach empty. She’d expected warmth, a smile, perhaps the offer of a towel.
Instead, the old woman had looked at her as one might look at a shadow in the shape of a man.
“Best keep moving,” she’d said, her voice sharp, trembling. “No rooms tonight.”
Henrik had stepped forward then. Drenched and furious, ever the gentleman until pressed. He’d snapped before Madeleine could intervene, barked something about her manners, about how she ought to treat paying guests, finishing with that dreadful phrase — do you know who I am? Madeleine winced at the memory.
Still, the woman relented, grudgingly. She gave them a room.
But Madeleine could not forget the look in her eyes.
The second sign came as they were settling in. A small kindness interrupted. The innkeeper’s granddaughter, a lovely creature with a wide, gentle face and hair the colour of sand, had offered to see to the cart and calm the horse. The storm had nearly broken the poor beast’s mind. But the old woman snapped at her, “Stay inside. Don’t go near the stables.” Her tone was clipped, almost cruel, and the girl withdrew without protest.
And then, later, as Madeleine peeled off her soaked gloves and laid them on the hearth to dry, the innkeeper returned with a small tray of warm broth and uttered, softly, urgently: “Keep your windows locked tonight.”
It was enough.
“What is it you’re so afraid of?” Madeleine had asked, voice low, trying for politeness. “If there’s danger in town, thieves, perhaps, or something worse, I’d rather not stay longer than necessary.”
But Henrik had already begun to shiver from his wet clothes, and Madeleine let the conversation die so he could get warm.
Still, the unease clung to her like mist. Even hours later, wrapped in blankets and lying beside the crackling fire, her mind refused to rest. Scenes played out in her head: pirates coming ashore beneath the veil of night, dragging townsfolk from their beds; a village held hostage by some lawless crew. It all seemed grotesquely plausible.
When at last her tossing threatened to wake Henrik, she slipped from the bed and wandered into the corridor, seeking a cloth to dab the sweat from her brow. There, in the dim light of the common room, she found the old woman once again, locking the front door with shaking fingers.
They stood in silence a moment before the innkeeper turned to her, her expression softened, regretful.
“I apologise,” she said. “It’s not what you think. No pirates. No sickness. No famine. And the nymphs — well, they’re more nuisance than menace. They only scold those foolish enough to wander into their springs.”
Madeleine blinked. “Then what—?”
But the old woman only looked toward the cliffs, her gaze fixed on something far beyond them. “There’s something older than us here. Older than the stone. We mind our silence, and we lock our windows. That’s enough.”
The conversation ended there. The door clicked shut.
A flash of movement disturbed Madeleine’s thoughts, a blur of white wings and a high-pitched screech. Two gulls swooped down toward the docks.
Far out at sea, a single fishing vessel bobbed on the glittering azure. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the shape, and then, just at the edge of the sill, something moved.
She gasped.
A pair of enormous, liquid eyes stared back at her. Wide, unblinking, glimmering with phosphorescent sheen. They blinked slowly. A sea sprite, no larger than her palm, perched on the windowsill like a child peering into a shop window. It regarded her with a strange intelligence, before vanishing down the stones with the fluid grace of water.
Madeleine exhaled slowly. She should have expected them, of course. In the city, sea sprites were a nuisance, always found in the rigging of ships, sipping from puddles on the docks. But the larger ones, the more mysterious ones, the undines and the selkies, never lingered near the city. The canals were too narrow, the waters tainted with rot and runoff. Such creatures belonged to places like this, places still kissed by wildness.
She thought, briefly, of her childhood. Of a girl she’d played with once on the wharf. A pretty child with hands too smooth and movements too strange. She could have been an ordinary girl, having strayed into a district far from her home, yet Madeleine was convinced that she was an immature nymph, because she distinctly recalled her splashing water into her face, yet her hand never went anywhere near the rippling surface beneath the wharf.
And now, in this place where the cliffs breathed secrets and the wind seemed to whisper names she could not understand, she thought again of that girl and of what she might have been.
“Hello,” Madeleine ventured softly.
The tiny sprite tilted its head, rising slowly to perch on the windowsill. Its sapphire scales shimmered in the sunlight, giving its cherubic face an otherworldly glow. Another sprite, smaller and more delicate, flitted up beside it, wings a blur of iridescent colour that reminded Madeleine of the inside of a seashell.
Their enormous, blinking eyes studied her, cautious and curious. Were they assessing whether she was a threat? Or something they could play with?
Maybe they were hungry. It was hard to tell. The sprites in her city were never this docile.
“I don’t have any food,” Madeleine said gently, raising her empty hands. “I’m sorry.”
Unconvinced, the sprites hovered closer, sniffing and prodding at her fingers with soft, scaled snouts.
The sprites scowled once they were convinced that her hands held nothing edible. Just before darting away, one nipped her finger and hissed.
“I told you,” Madeleine called after them, watching them spiral into the morning air, their shrill chatter echoing through the room. Not as tame as she’d thought, but certainly braver than the city sprites, who avoided human contact unless playing tricks.
“Greedy little things, aren’t they?”
Madeleine turned at the sound of the voice. The innkeeper’s granddaughter had entered from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two clay teapots and a cup.
Madeleine hadn’t gotten a proper look at her the night before. It had been too dark, and she too tired. But now, in the morning light, the young woman’s beauty was striking—eyes the colour of seawater, and blonde hair that shimmered faintly blue when it caught the light. A telltale trait, perhaps, of oceanic lineage.
Could she be the child of a nymph or some other water-dwelling creature? It wasn’t uncommon in towns like this, but asking outright felt impolite.
“I fed them earlier,” the young woman said with a sheepish smile. “I guess I didn’t leave enough salt-bread. Sorry about that!”
Madeleine returned her smile and glanced at her finger. The sprite’s bite had left little indents, but no blood. “It’s alright. I was more surprised than anything. The ones in the city don’t come that close unless they’re about to cause trouble.”
Back home, sea sprites were infamous for their mischief. Some of their pranks were harmless, but others were far more dangerous. Madeleine’s father, rest his soul, had always insisted it was sea sprites that loosened the rigging that knocked him from his ship’s deck, not the wind.
The young woman placed the tray down on a nearby table. “Here, we feed them ourselves. Keeps them content and mostly out of trouble.”
“In the city, they just scavenge,” Madeleine replied. “I guess they torment us out of boredom.”
The girl gestured toward the teapots. “Would you like something to drink? Tea or coffee?”
While the granddaughter poured Madeleine her coffee, she asked, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t get your name last night?”
“Oh! It’s Estelle.” She gave a small bow. “I’ll be taking care of you during your stay.”
“Thank you. I’m Madeleine. But really, don’t go out of your way—we’re only staying another night.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m thrilled to have something to do. It’s been so quiet lately, I might go mad if I have to polish the same set of silverware one more time.”
The inn was empty, aside from them. The innkeeper had mentioned that they were the first guests in weeks. Most travellers had either left quickly, or never stayed at all after hearing the town’s grim news.
As if sensing her thoughts, Estelle’s face grew solemn. “I also wanted to apologise. About last night. My grandmother… She's been on edge lately. We all have.”
Madeleine followed her gaze toward the distant cliffs, where gulls circled the grassy peaks. “I understand.”
The siren had been discovered two months ago, or at least, that was what the innkeeper claimed. But Madeleine suspected it had been here far longer. It had made its nest somewhere in the cliffs, but no one had found its exact location. Every attempt to track it had ended poorly. Those who returned were battered; scratched, bruised, and torn. Some came back with wounds over their hearts or puncture marks on their necks. Others never returned at all.
Those who did return spoke of a creature resembling a woman, but with coral-pink eyes, a scaly tail in place of legs, and wings stained yellow.
Despite the danger, people still searched. Five women had vanished since the siren arrived.
Madeleine hadn’t believed it at first. But the innkeeper had warned her in earnest, if she ever heard a faint humming or a haunting tune carried on the sea breeze, she was to lock herself away immediately, or have Henrik tie her down if needed. No one knew who would be next.
“I can’t imagine how frightening that must be,” Madeleine said, looking back at Estelle, whose eyes remained fixed on the cliffs.
“It was a shock,” she replied. “We get a lot of visitors. Humans, yes, but also nymphs, spirits… We’ve always been a haven for water folk.”
Noticing Madeleine’s curious expression, Estelle added, “My mother was a freshwater nymph.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should ask,” Madeleine admitted, once more admiring the subtle blue hues in her hair.
“It’s alright. I get that a lot. My grandparents raised me with my father. Mother returned to the spring when I was little.”
“I’m sorry to bring that up—”
“No, really, it’s fine.” Estelle smiled lightly. “Grandmother always says nymphs are beautiful but fickle. I guess she’s not wrong.”
She placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Madeleine. It smelled floral, with an earthy richness. “We get selkies in the colder months. Sea-goats too, they graze on the seaweed near the bay. I think a herd might come by this morning. But…no one expected a siren.”
“Really?” Madeleine asked, taking a cautious sip. “I thought they were common along the coast.”
She had never seen one with her own eyes, but her father spun endless tales of the winged beings. He had spoken of sirens often, recollections shared beneath the dim lanterns of a ship’s underbelly, passed from sailor to sailor like warnings. Those tales had stolen sleep from her as a child, especially when he was far from home. The sirens of her dreams had been monstrous and feathered, with claws sharp enough to pierce bone and eyes that gleamed in the dark. They descended from cliffside nests, shrieking, and tore unsuspecting sailors from the decks of their ships.
She’d imagined her father—brave and foolish—steering his ship through fog and salt, unaware of the melodies slipping into his ears, of how easily he might be drawn into the jagged mouths of coastal rockfaces.
She had never feared krakens, or leviathans with eyes like oil lanterns. They were too far away, too slow, too mythical. But sirens were cunning. Sirens were close.
And yet, with all the terrors she'd conjured for him, every siren ambush, every spectral hunt through reef and tide, her father had died in the most ordinary way imaginable: thrown from a mule cart while delivering barrels of salted fish inland. A loose wheel, a panicked horse. His neck had snapped before he hit the ground.
It had almost been laughable, if not for how heartbreakingly dull it was. No magic, no monsters, no haunted sea.
Just rain-soaked mud and a broken axle.
Irony lingered, bitter as burnt coffee on the back of her tongue. All the monsters she'd feared had left him untouched. The world, it seemed, did not need creatures of myth to take everything from you. Sometimes it just needed a bad road.
“They are,” Estelle continued, snapping Madeleine out of her reverie. “But not this close to people. They’re usually more…private. I don’t think that’s the strange part, though.”
Madeleine paused, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just the one,” Estelle said. “No one’s seen another. And sirens don’t usually travel alone.”
Sailors said sirens were never alone. They lived in flocks, sisters who hunted together. A lone siren was unnatural.
“A female siren,” Madeleine murmured. “And she’s luring women…”
Estelle looked uneasy, scratching her cheek. Silence settled between them, heavy with implication. Madeleine sipped her coffee, unsure what to say. Henrik wouldn’t like her dwelling on something so dark, and it certainly didn’t help her growing unease about staying in this town another night.
Thankfully, Estelle changed the subject. “So… where are you two travelling to? The capital?”
“We are,” Madeleine said, fingers playing with the modest engagement ring on her hand. “He’s not my husband yet. We're going there to be married.”
“Oh, congratulations! Where are you travelling from?”
“From the northern city.”
“The sister port?” Estelle blinked. “Why not take a ferry? They pass by all the time.”
“Normally,” Madeleine said. “But they’ve been delayed. Storms, most likely.”
Traveling by ship would have been faster, and cheaper, but Henrik wasn’t a sailor. The slightest rocking left him green and sick.
Glancing toward the foyer, she added, “He gets terribly seasick.”
He could barely walk once on a boat. The poor man couldn’t even keep the broth down. It was almost funny, given that he’d fallen in love with a sailor’s daughter.
“To spare him five days of misery, I agreed to travel by cart. It’s taken longer than we hoped.”
“But an adventure nonetheless!” Estelle said, grinning. “Though…that storm last night…”
“We tried to wait it out,” Madeleine said, “but he was determined to keep moving.”
“Do you have family in the capital?”
“He does.”
Though Madeleine had wished for a wedding closer to home, Henrik longed to celebrate with his family. He was proud of his roots, of his noble lineage. Lord and Lady, influential and wealthy, unlike her own background, which was modest in comparison. Despite her fine clothes, Madeleine had never quite felt like she belonged among people like them.
Sometimes she wondered if she had accepted Henrik’s proposal too quickly. A year wasn’t long.
“I’ve never been to the capital,” Estelle said, drawing her back. “But I’ve never wanted to leave, either.”
“I haven’t been, either,” Madeleine admitted. “Though I hear it’s beautiful.”
Henrik had painted the city in vivid colours. Stone buildings, ancient bridges, and canals dividing five bustling districts. The old temples were now playgrounds and meeting halls, their forgotten gods remembered only in stories and songs.
“Ah, listen to me ramble!” Estelle said, chuckling. She glanced at Madeleine’s cup, then set the pot down. “Let me know when you’d like breakfast. Or, there’s a wonderful bakery near the bay, if you’d prefer an ocean view.”
Her kindness warmed Madeleine. “Thank you, but… your grandmother asked me not to go out.”
More than asked, she had made Madeleine promise.
“Of course,” Estelle said, her cheer fading. “She won’t let me leave either. But I don’t think the siren’s song would affect someone like me.”
“Why’s that?”
Before Estelle could answer, Henrik stepped into the room, combing his damp hair back with his fingers.
Madeleine felt a wave of relief as soon as she saw him. He looked slightly better than he had the night before—fresh-faced, with a smile brighter than the morning sun.
“Good morning, darling,” she greeted warmly.
Estelle quickly snatched up the tea tray and addressed her fiancé.
“I can brew a fresh pot if you’d like something to drink, sir?”
He settled into the chair opposite her. “Coffee, thank you.”
With a cheerful smile, Estelle chirped, “Be right back!” and disappeared into the kitchen.
Considering the dreadful state the town was in, Madeleine couldn’t help but admire how Estelle remained upbeat. Had she known any of the missing women? Were they neighbours? Friends?
Henrik’s gaze dropped to the bare table. “Was the table not set when you woke?” he asked, frowning. “That’s poor service.”
“I think Estelle was waiting for you before preparing anything,” Madeleine explained. “But I’ve been here for a while. She probably got worried I was thirsty, and she’s been very kind, keeping me company.”
He hummed noncommittally, struggling with the top three buttons of his shirt. “My ears were burning when I woke. Were you talking about me, my love?”
“I was just telling Estelle how brave you were during the storm. Did you sleep well?”
“Not the best night,” he muttered, still fumbling with his buttons. “But better than sleeping in the back of that blasted cart.”
“Oh dear, was it too quiet for you?”
“Far too quiet,” he said. He’d often spoken fondly of the ambient sounds from the street outside her home, or ships arriving in port. “I’m already going mad here. The bed’s too small, my feet hung off the edge. And who serves drinks in clay cups? It’s like living in the Stone Age.”
He must have had a terrible night to be so irritable. “It won’t be long now, we’ll be back on the road soon,” Madeleine said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Joy of joys,” he murmured, half-laughing.
“But this place is beautiful, don’t you think?”
Henrik glanced toward the window. “Yes, I suppose it is…” His patience frayed again as he fumbled with a button for the third time. They were too small for his hands, more suited to the dexterous fingers of a butler.
Madeleine, who had never grown up with servants, always found the idea of someone dressing her somewhat strange. She rose and crossed the room, crouching in front of him. “Here, let me.” As she buttoned his shirt, she added softly, “I didn’t sleep well, either. Something the innkeeper said troubled me.”
His brow arched. “That’s surprising. You snored like a sailor.”
Her indignant squawk made him chuckle. The sound reassured her, perhaps he wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed. It wasn’t his environment, after all. He thrived in cities of polished streets and gleaming tableware, not places like this.
With his buttons fastened, Madeleine returned to her seat. “I’m serious, darling. I’m worried. I don’t think—”
“My love, don’t trouble yourself,” Henrik interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “We looked a fright when we arrived. She probably thought we were burglars.”
“No, it was after that. And I really don’t think we should stay much longer—”
Estelle returned with a pot of coffee before she could continue. As she poured, Henrik eagerly asked about breakfast.
“That’s all?” he said, unimpressed by the options. “A lot of fish…anything else?”
Estelle tapped her chin. “We might have some eggs left, but they’re a bit old. Deliveries stopped when the siren arrived. Sorry, sir.”
Henrik barely reacted to the mention of the siren. “Hmm. I’ll have the grilled mackerel, then.”
She nodded and turned to Madeleine. “And for you, ma’am?”
“Just porridge, please. A small bowl.”
Once alone, Madeleine watched Henrik sip his coffee, as if her earlier concerns hadn’t registered. Perhaps he was simply too tired to respond, but once he heard what the innkeeper had told her, he’d understand.
Five women missing. Livestock vanishing. Likely, the siren was hunting. And the innkeeper’s protectiveness over her granddaughter had been telling. If the old woman feared letting the girl step outside, what might be watching from the cliffs?
By the time Estelle returned with their food, neither of them had spoken. Henrik was still waking up; Madeleine lost in uneasy thoughts.
Estelle refilled their cups and gently offered her help if they needed anything else. Henrik dug into his fish with visible distaste, but hunger outweighed his pickiness. Madeleine forced herself to eat.
One more night felt too risky. Sirens didn’t need long to strike, ships could sink in hours. She would rather sleep in the back of a cart again than spend another night with that threat looming.
Suddenly, two sea sprites zipped in through the open window and landed on the table. Likely the same pair she’d disappointed earlier. One hovered near her bowl; the other made for Henrik’s plate. He swatted it away.
“Cheeky little things,” he muttered.
“They’re bold,” Madeleine agreed, scooping a spoonful of porridge onto the table. The larger sprite devoured it. Its companion darted over and they fought for more.
“Calm down,” she murmured, pushing the bowl toward them. “It’s yours.”
Squealing with delight, the sprites dove in, stuffing their tiny mouths.
“You really shouldn’t encourage them,” Henrik said. “That’s how you get pests.”
“They’re harmless,” Madeleine replied, rubbing her finger where one had bitten her earlier.
Henrik finished his breakfast and washed it down with coffee. “Too salty. And tiny portions. But I suppose they’re short-staffed.”
“Perhaps.” She hesitated, then asked, “Darling? Can we travel today?”
He paused mid-sip. “Pardon?”
“I just don’t feel safe here anymore.”
“We’ve paid for two nights.”
Technically, she had paid, but she didn’t press the point. “I’m sure the innkeeper wouldn’t mind refunding us.”
He reached for her hand and patted it. “I really need to rest. That cart killed my back. If we’d taken the carriage I suggested, this wouldn’t be a problem. Do you understand how humiliating it is to have to sleep with our luggage like some kind of peasant?”
Yes, she could have hired a nicely furnished carriage, however a luxury carriage would have been a clear sign of wealth, an easy target. The merchant’s cart was safer, if uncomfortable.
“I understand,” she said gently. “But I spoke to the innkeeper after we arrived. Did you hear what Estelle said? There’s a siren here.”
Henrik leaned back, thoughtful. “The winged women your father used to talk about?”
“Yes. And five women have gone missing. Some men returned from the cliffs injured, others didn’t return at all.”
Henrik chuckled. “If there’s a siren, it won’t come for you. Not while I’m around. Don’t forget, I was a soldier.”
She smiled faintly, Henrik was incredibly skilled with a rapier. The weapon had been packed, tucked out of sight in the cart, just in case they happened to run into a group of scoundrels on their journey.
“I know you’d protect me. But still…”
“My love,” he said gently, “we’re not prepared. Supplies will take hours to gather. If we leave this afternoon, we’ll be traveling in the dark.”
He wasn’t wrong. They were low on food, water, and their cloaks had been ruined. The horse needed rest.
Her silence must have betrayed her reluctance, because Henrik sighed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning. What more can I do, move the sun for you?”
“Of course not,” she murmured.
“No sense in rushing if it puts us at risk,” he added.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, darling.”
Henrik laughed softly. “The things I endure for you. Sleeping in a cart…”
“At least we’ll have stories to tell your parents,” Madeleine said.
“I suppose.”
The sprites emerged from her bowl, sticky but satisfied. One nuzzled her finger before flying after its partner.
“How sweet,” she said, and Henrik scoffed.
When Estelle returned, she noticed the unfinished porridge.
“Was it not warm enough? I can make you a fresh bowl!”
“No, really—it was lovely. I’m just feeling a little off.”
“There’s a pharmacy a mile away. The healer there is wonderful.”
Henrik raised his brows. “You frightened my wife-to-be with all that siren talk.”
“I asked,” Madeleine said quickly. “It was my own fault.”
Henrik smiled playfully at Estelle. “She grew up on sailors’ tales. Serpents, mermaids… Her imagination gets the best of her.”
“You sail?” Estelle asked, eyes wide.
Madeleine shook her head. “My father did. A cargo captain.”
“Wow! Was he in the navy?”
“No, but my grandfather was in the coast guard–”
“Excuse me?” Henrik interjected, waving his cup. “A refill, please?”
“Of course, sir!” Estelle flushed and hurried off.
“Please don’t be cross with her,” Madeleine said. “It was my fault.”
Henrik sniffed. “Still, she shouldn’t chatter with guests. She has work to do.”
“Well…it’s a small town. Things are different here.”
Clearly, she’d have to reconsider some of her etiquette and behaviours before meeting Henrik’s parents.
She reached for his hand again. He stared at her engagement ring, then gave her a dazzling smile, the same smile that had first won her heart.
Madeleine’s arm rested in the crook of her fiancé’s as they wandered through the streets, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestones.
She had not meant to come.
The innkeeper had begged her to stay. Her voice trembled with a fear born of old stories that had long since stopped being told in cities where gaslight and arrogance had replaced reverence. Madeleine had hesitated, shaken by the woman’s warning, her stomach turning with a sour dread. But Henrik, ever the rationalist, the gentleman of modern temperament, had grown indignant, gently at first, then with heat. He would not be spoken to in such a tone, he’d said. He would not allow some rustic widow to dictate the movements of his bride-to-be.
So Madeleine came, if only to soothe tempers, to shield the old woman from his rising scorn. But now, as they walked in eerie solitude, her mind drifted again to the siren.
And yet, the town was beautiful.
More beautiful than it had seemed from the inn’s windows. Alleyways that curved like winding rivers; old stone homes crowned in blooms that spilled from painted sills; seashells glinting like scattered jewels embedded in the walls. The town was a mosaic of the old ways. The shrines to the selkies had grown worn with rain and time, their sacred faces marred. Offerings of smooth stones, violets, and sea glass nestled in the shrine’s alcoves, and tiny pots once filled with honey or cream stood empty now, licked clean by sprites.
These whimsical and mischievous spirits were everywhere, shimmering through the stillness like embers in wind. They fluttered and chirruped, their translucent wings catching the light as they darted toward her, some settling upon her skirts, others tugging with impish curiosity at the satchel on her shoulder. One nestled into the hollow of her neck and dozed off.
Henrik, of course, was less charmed.
He swatted at them with the irritation of a man used to being obeyed. One sprite bit at the lace of his embroidered waistcoat; another ruffled his hair. He cursed under his breath and muttered that it was her fault. “That’s because you fed them,” he hissed, though he did smile, briefly, when the sprite on her shoulder yawned and curled itself tighter against her skin like a kitten.
The town, despite its rustic charm, pulsed with unease. Not a woman in sight. Only stern and cautious men roamed the streets near the bay. And even they moved as though hunted by something invisible.
One shopkeeper, grey-bearded and clutching his apron like a talisman, confirmed what she suspected: a curfew had been placed upon the women. The council, fearing the siren’s hunger, had sequestered them in their homes. Another man, less gentle, had warned her, unasked, not to wander in daylight. Henrik’s response had been immediate. “Mind your own affairs,” he snapped, his hand tightening on hers.
But the market near the harbour was alive, at least. Open stalls sold strange, sea-salted wares, oils and herbs wrapped in kelp, dried fish and glass vials filled with glittering powder. Thank God for it, for their supplies had run dangerously low: food, cloaks, boots. Even the leather harness for the horse was strained and frayed.
The blacksmith, a massive man, had offered to craft a new one, but the work would take days. A kind-eyed woman selling charms fashioned from shells and pearls suggested the farmers might have spare harnesses, but they were half a day’s ride in the wrong direction. Henrik’s answer had been silence, lips pursed in displeasure.
So Madeleine, undeterred, sought a temporary solution. A belt, a clasp, something to bind the failing leather until they reached the capital. The woman pointed her toward a shop near the docks, and it was there that the mood of the day shifted once more.
They passed the harbour and were greeted by a vision of sea-goats, dozens, perhaps more, riding the waves like dancers in some ballet. Their great horns curled like question marks, and their scaled tails shimmered with an impossible sheen. Madeleine stood transfixed. Henrik barely paused, tugging her arm once they vanished beneath the foam.
The clothing shop, by contrast, felt like a sanctuary. Madeleine sat near the window on a soft divan, a box at her feet holding a new cloak and boots, sensible things chosen with care by the shop’s peculiar owner and her smiling husband. She half-hoped to see the sea-goats again as she stared out over the harbour, lulled by the ebb and flow of the tide. Boredom crept in like fog.
Behind her, Henrik was negotiating with an almost comical seriousness over boots.
“And the heel?” he murmured, eyeing a boot dyed the colour of dried blood. “Is it reinforced?”
“The durability is excellent,” the woman said, her smile too tight to be entirely genuine.
“I would know,” her husband interjected gently. “I made them.”
Henrik tapped the heel with two fingers. “Yes, well. They’re usually the first thing to come loose.”
The woman’s expression cooled. “Sir, these boots”—she gestured to the collection—“are not truly meant for the road. If I may suggest—”
“We’re travelling by cart,” Henrik interrupted, placing the boot aside like a judge dismissing testimony. “And this one is too high.”
Madeleine turned her gaze back toward the window, where the fishing boat she’d seen earlier returned with its catch. The crew moved like apparitions, their silhouettes sharp against the afternoon light.
The couple had shown remarkable patience so far. Unfortunately, none of the belts they’d brought were long or thick enough to secure the harness properly. But the recently returned fishing boat sparked an idea in Madeleine’s mind.
As she stood, the shopkeeper’s eyes found her immediately, full of tentative hope. “Miss? Can I help you with something?”
She offered a rueful smile. “No, thank you. I just need to check something.” Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, Madeleine approached Henrik. “Darling? Would you mind if I head down to the docks?”
Henrik eyed her suspiciously. “What on earth for?”
“To see if the sailors have any rope,” she replied patiently. “For the harness, remember?”
Henrik selected a pair of sandy-coloured boots from the display. “Hmm... we can go in a minute. I won’t be much longer, my love.”
Though she wasn’t keen on walking alone, Madeleine didn’t want to lose sight of the sailors. “I can go on my own, if you’d rather stay. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
Henrik didn’t answer, too focused on inspecting the boots, so she gently touched his arm. “Do you mind?”
“No, no, not at all,” he murmured, still absorbed in the boots’ laces.
Madeleine pulled a small linen pouch from her satchel and filled it with coins. She offered it to the shopkeeper. “I shouldn’t be long. Will this cover it?”
He weighed the pouch in his palm and peeked inside. “Certainly, miss. Thank you. But… forgive me, it may be out of line to say, but it’s dangerous out there right now. Are you sure you want to go alone?”
“I’ll keep to the shadows,” Madeleine said. The docks were crowded enough, boats and crates offering enough cover.
“I could check the back again,” the shopkeeper offered. “I’m sure we’ve got some thicker belts stashed away.”
“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself.” Her eyes caught the box containing their purchases. “I’ll take my cloak to cover my face.” That way, the siren wouldn’t be able to recognise her, assuming she hadn’t already marked Madeleine as her next catch.
The shopkeeper didn’t look entirely reassured, but he didn’t argue. Madeleine retrieved her new cloak and pulled the hood low over her eyes. With a quiet farewell to her fiancé, still engrossed in the boots, and the weary shopkeeper massaging his temples, she stepped outside.
It took less than five minutes to reach the harbour. The docks were quiet, save for a few sprites picking through crab baskets and seagulls perched menacingly at the water’s edge. The air was thick with the scent of salt and damp wood.
Most of the moored boats sat empty, some neglected, others clearly abandoned, barnacle-ridden hulls cloaked in seaweed.
Then she spotted it, the fishing boat from earlier, docked at the far end of the quay. Most of the crew seemed to have finished unloading, though one figure still moved about on deck, conducting a final check.
“Excuse me! You there!”
A man leapt from a nearby vessel and strode toward her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a fisherman’s tunic and heavy trousers, his boots clunking solidly with every step. A pair of thick leather gloves covered his stiff hands.
Beside him walked a younger boy in matching attire.
“Not safe for a young lady to wander here alone,” the man said gruffly. “You haven’t heard the news?”
Her stomach tightened. “I have. That’s why I came—I was hoping you might help.”
He studied her a moment before pulling off one glove and offering his hand. “Tuan Pham and my son, Quang. I don’t believe we’ve met, miss...?”
“Madeleine,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m passing through with my fiancé.”
“Pleasure, though under grim circumstances.” His expression softened. “So, how can we help?”
“I was wondering if you had any spare rope?” she asked, rummaging in her satchel. “I’d be happy to pay.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can part with some.” Tuan raised a hand to stop her as she reached for her coin purse. “There’s no need.”
“Are you certain?” Madeleine’s fingers hovered near the pouch.
“Quite sure.” He turned to the boy. “Quang, I think there’s a coil down in the hold?”
“The frayed one, sir?” Quang asked. “There’s two better coils further in. But what if our mooring rope snaps and we’ve no spare?”
“I can buy you a replacement in town,” Madeleine offered quickly.
Tuan waved off the concern. “Not a problem. Thank you, Quang—”
“Shall I fetch them, sir?” Quang asked eagerly.
“If you’d like.”
“I won’t be long!” And with a crisp salute, the boy raced toward the ship.
“He’s eager to please,” Tuan said fondly. “Learns quickly, too. Wasted on fishing, really.”
“He seems sweet,” Madeleine said, withdrawing her hand from her satchel. “Thank you again.”
“Think nothing of it,” Tuan replied with a smile.
The moment lingered in quiet awkwardness until Quang returned, rope in hand.
“Sorry for the wait!” he said, bowing as he offered the thick coil. “Will this do, miss?”
“It’s perfect.” Madeleine looped the rope over her shoulder. “Thank you both.”
“I hope it serves you well,” Tuan said. “Are you travelling far?”
She explained their route, from her hometown to the capital, with the hope of arriving within the week.
“That’s quite the journey by cart,” Tuan said with a low whistle. “Why not travel by sea?”
“My fiancé has a dislike for boats.”
“Pity. The cliffs are beautiful, but... not safe these days.” Then he paused, eyes narrowing at something behind her. “Oh no…”
Madeleine turned. A group of six men were staggering along the street, their expressions stricken. Torn clothes. Bloodstains. Weapons bent and broken. One limped badly. Another clutched a blood soaked cloth to his side.
They must have gone searching near the cliffs. But the siren had found them first.
Her heart seized when she saw a young man weeping silently, supported by a companion.
“Nine left this morning…” Tuan said quietly.
Madeleine felt lightheaded. Only six returned.
“That’s awful,” she whispered. “Those poor men…”
“They barely left a few hours ago,” Tuan said. “She’s growing bolder.”
Madeleine turned to him. “Did they lose anyone? Any of the missing women, I mean?”
Tuan and Quang exchanged a loaded glance. Then Tuan said, “The man leading them... his wife was the first to disappear.”
Madeleine pressed a hand to her stomach, nauseated. Her eyes drifted toward the cliffs looming in the distance. They ringed the town like a great wall. Watching. Trapping.
She felt very exposed. Her hood suddenly felt flimsy, no match for a creature with that kind of power.
She should return to the clothing store right now, then go straight back to the inn and stay there until morning.
But instead of doing just that, Madeleine surrendered to her morbid curiosity and asked, “H-how long ago?”
“Two months,” Tuan replied. “They’ve got two little boys…”
“Didn’t anyone send for help?”
“We did. Sent a ship to the capital. Haven’t heard back. Should’ve taken two days, weather permitting, but the storm…”
He ran a hand down his face. “I joined a search once. We lost four men. Never found the bodies.”
“I’m so sorry,” Madeleine said faintly. “Did you see it? The siren?”
Tuan shook his head. “No, all I remember seeing is gold, and then-“
A sharp clatter and heavy splash behind her made Madeleine spin, her heart leaping into her throat. She raised her arms instinctively.
The siren is here. The thought screamed in her mind. She’s come for you—
She clenched her fists, ready to fight off the winged beast, ready to claw and spit…
But she relaxed when she saw it was only a trio of sea sprites, hovering over a crab basket teetering at the edge of the dock. Chattering and peering into the water.
“Always after bait scraps,” Tuan muttered. “Quang, mind checking the rest before the little devils knock another in?”
“Yes, sir!”
He stalked towards the baskets and removed them from their precarious position. He allowed the sprites to continue with their hunt for food, carefully handling the basket they’re occupying.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch the fallen one.” Tuan said.
Madeleine blinked. “You’re not going to dive in, are you?”
Tuan only grinned.
He raised his hand, palm out, and with a flick of his fingers, water surged upward in a shimmering sphere. Suspended within was the crab basket.
Madeleine gasped as the bubble floated over to Quang, who guided it safely down. Tuan flattened his hand, releasing the water with a soft splash.
“That’s incredible! Are you…?”
“My mother was an ocean nymph,” he admitted, cheeks flushing.
“I’ve never met so many children of nymphs. They’re so rare in the city.”
“That’s because,” he chuckled nervously, “the sea near cities is... well…”
“Filthy?” she offered.
He laughed. “Exactly. My mother couldn’t stay away from the water long. Returned to the sea when I was five. Left me with her gifts.”
“I didn’t know the children of nymphs could do such wonderful things!” Madeleine said, remembering the little girl by the docks all those years ago. Had she been a half-nymph, too?
“It depends,” Tuan said. “You’ve met Estelle at the inn?” At her nod, he continued, “Her mother was a nymph as well. Estelle helps us navigate through undine schools, and warns us of storms. Though lately, she’s stayed close to the inn. Her grandmother’s terrified.”
“Understandably.”
“I don’t blame her,” Tuan said. “No one knows when she’ll sing again.”
“It’s terrifying… that someone can control you just by singing.”
“It’s not the song itself. It’s what they sing,” Tuan said, his expression darkening. “Sirens see into your heart. They know what you long for… and they promise it to you.”
Madeleine’s blood ran cold. “I… I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t,” he said quietly. “My mother told me stories. She saw ships pulled to their doom more times than she could count. Sirens sing your desire back to you. That’s why it’s so hard to resist.”
Madeleine had suspected sirens held magic in their blood, enough to compel seasoned sailors to crash into rocks, but to be able to pluck one’s wants and desires from the deepest recesses of one’s very soul? Madeleine had never considered something so terrifying.
“One girl,” Tuan added, “had to be tied to a chair. Said she could hear someone calling her, clear as day. The rest of us just heard humming.”
“What happened to her?” She asked, clinging to a small sliver of hope that she was able to escape the siren’s clutches.
He hesitated. “On the third night, she snapped her restraints, clubbed her mother and father over the head, then just took off.”
“She hit them?” Madeleine was stunned. Just how powerful was the siren’s song, to drive someone to strike their own parents without hesitation? “Was she—?”
“Sir, please!”
Quang’s urgent voice cut through the air. Madeleine turned, tensing at the sight of Henrik striding down the wharf toward her, fury etched across his face.
Quang stepped in his path, arms spread wide to block him. “No pedestrians are allowed past this point without clearance. Please, you must return to the main dock.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me in that tone, young man,” Henrik snapped. “I’m here for my fiancée. Now step aside.”
Quang faltered. “Fiancée…?” He glanced over his shoulder at Madeleine, but in that moment of distraction, Henrik pushed past him with a sharp shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down here?” he demanded as he approached Madeleine.
“I—I did,” she said softly, trying to keep her tone even and non-confrontational, acutely aware of the watchful eyes around them. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I said I was going to the docks to ask about rope—”
She fell quiet as Henrik took her arm. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to make her flinch.
“You most certainly did not,” he hissed. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to wander off in a place you barely know?”
“Love, I asked you before I left. You said I could go. Even the shopkeeper heard me—”
“Well, if you did, I didn’t hear it.”
Perhaps he hadn’t truly been indifferent to the stories of the siren after all. Perhaps he was afraid, but his pride, his upbringing, wouldn’t allow him to show it. Maybe seeing those bloodied men returning from the cliffs had sent him into a panic.
But whatever the reason, it didn’t change the fact that she had left without warning him again. And for longer than she’d intended.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, lowering her gaze. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
“I may be partly to blame for that, sir,” Tuan offered diplomatically, stepping forward. “I tend to ramble.”
Henrik drew Madeleine close, linking his arm with hers. “And who are you?”
“Captain Tuan of The Maribel, sir,” he said, extending a hand. “A pleasure.”
“Captain Tuan and his son, Quang, were kind enough to give us some rope,” Madeleine added gently, patting Henrik’s arm in an attempt to soothe him.
Henrik eyed the offered hand, then let it hang in the air untouched. “I see. Apologies. I hope you understand my concern for my fiancée.”
Tuan withdrew his hand with a polite nod. “Of course. No offence taken.”
“Well,” Henrik said briskly, “we’ve taken up enough of your time. We have other errands and must return to the inn before nightfall.” He squeezed Madeleine’s arm again. “We’ve been advised not to linger outdoors too long.”
“Of course,” Tuan replied with a courteous dip of his head.
Henrik gave him a thin, tight-lipped smile. “Thank you for indulging her curiosity. I wish you a safe voyage.”
“It was truly lovely meeting you both,” Madeleine added as Henrik began steering her back toward town. She turned and offered a grateful smile. “Thank you again for everything! I hope things improve for you soon.”
“Thank you, miss!” Tuan called after her with a wave.
“Yes!” boomed Quang, saluting stiffly. “And congratulations!”
The gesture nearly made her laugh, despite the tightness in her chest. These fishermen, so kind, so open-hearted, didn’t deserve the nightmare that had engulfed their town. Everyone she had met so far had shown her nothing but warmth and generosity, even under the shadow of something so terrible.
As they walked, she glanced up at Henrik. His steps were rigid, measured, his jaw tight. His eyes stayed forward, unblinking.
“Darling?” she asked gently. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, I am now. You frightened me.”
Her stomach churned with guilt. “I truly am sorry. I thought I heard you say I could go…”
Henrik exhaled sharply through his nose. “Let’s not argue. What matters is that you’re safe. We leave tomorrow, and soon enough, we’ll be out of this godforsaken place and back to where we belong.”
He said it with finality, but Madeleine felt a ripple of unease tighten her chest.
Back where she belonged?
To the city, with its endless noise and choking air, its pressing crowds and judging stares. To a place where she often felt small and watched.
She pressed closer to Henrik’s side, but a cold flicker of doubt stirred deep in her belly.
Was that truly where she belonged?
The road that unravelled before them out of that forlorn port town was perilous. Though the path was mercifully wide enough to allow the cart to dodge the most treacherous of boulders, the debris rendered the journey endlessly jarring. The wheels groaned, the wood creaked, and each shuddering lurch of the cart seemed designed to shake loose not only the luggage, but Madeleine’s thoughts as well.
She sat stiffly beside Henrik, clutching at the edges of the seat with one gloved hand while the other reached, now and again, to check the bindings on their luggage. Everything was still in place, but the fear of loss lingered, irrational and persistent. Meanwhile, Henrik concentrated wholly on the horse, the poor mare struggling to find footing on the uneven terrain.
Henrik had spoken very little since dawn. He’d moved with mechanical focus that morning, fastening the harness, securing the sheet over their cases, double-checking the cart’s fastenings even though Madeleine had done so herself.
The harness, at least, was still intact. Not as frayed as she had feared. Still, the coil of rope sat inside her satchel, nestled at her feet like a coiled serpent, waiting in case the leather gave way entirely.
“Are you well, darling?” Madeleine asked softly, resting her hand upon his where it gripped the reins tensely. “Did you sleep at all?”
“I slept fine,” Henrik replied curtly. “This damn road is simply... intolerable.”
His voice was clipped, and she did not press. Instead, she massaged his hand, feeling the tension just beneath his skin. “Perhaps the road will smooth out the higher we go.”
But the cliffs loomed above them. To look up at them for too long made her dizzy. As they approached a fork in the path, she remembered the innkeeper’s grave warning. Stay on the high roads, the woman had said. It will take longer, but the siren has never been seen there.
The lower roads were quicker, sheltered, and convenient. And there was the rumour that the siren lurked below.
Henrik’s jaw tightened as he steered them toward the right-hand road, the one that stayed low, hugging the cliffs. It was a choice. A deliberate one.
Madeleine leaned into him, forcing her voice into cheer. “What do you think we’ll see along the way?” Her tone was light, but her stomach churned. The people they'd left behind haunted her.
Henrik was silent, struggling to steady the horse when it stumbled. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered.
“Perhaps the selkie temple? The one the innkeeper mentioned? We saw those little shrines all over town.”
He grunted.
She smiled faintly and tried a different tactic. “I can’t wait to see the capital.”
That earned her a small smile. “Nor can I. We’ll have breakfast in the Nautical Gardens, remember? It’s laid out like a compass. And I’ll take you to the theatre district. They put on all those ridiculous shows you like, mermaids, sea witches, that sort of nonsense.”
She looked down at her ring. “And I can look for a dress.”
But her heart sank. That should have been the most thrilling part, shouldn’t it? Instead, all she felt was dread, at the idea of being paraded through judgmental crowds, of donning something too grand, too noble, of wearing a gown that did not belong to a girl born at sea. Would they let her wear her mother’s jewellery with it?
The cart jolted violently as it hit a hidden stone. Their horse reared with a terrified whinny.
“Damn it!” Henrik snarled. “Is there no other way out of that cursed town?”
The horse backed up in a panic.
“Come now,” he muttered, snapping the reins.
“Henrik, wait—” Madeleine gripped his arm.
But it was too late. The horse shrieked and thrashed, overcome with some unseen terror. Her hooves battered the earth, then, with a final, frenzied leap, she broke free. The harness snapped. The horse bolted.
The cart lurched. Madeleine nearly fell. Henrik cursed with venom.
“I’ll go and—”
“No. I’ll fetch her,” he interrupted harshly. “You stay with the luggage. Fix the harness with those sailor’s knots of yours.”
She blinked. The words struck like a slap.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, but Henrik was already gone, his coat flaring as he stalked after the runaway horse.
Madeleine watched him vanish around the bend, the road curving sharply to the right. She remained by the cart, checking their belongings with urgency. The sheet had slipped, but nothing had been taken. The food was still intact. The money was hidden, and most importantly, her mother’s jewellery box was there, locked away under skirts.
But the longer Henrik remained gone, the louder her heart pounded. What if the siren had heard the commotion?
Madeleine clutched Henrik’s rapier. She didn’t know how to wield it, but perhaps the gleam of steel might be enough to dissuade a predator. She waited, watching the bend where Henrik had disappeared.
And then, she heard a scream.
Henrik’s scream.
Madeleine didn’t hesitate. She bolted, sword in hand, skirts flying, the sound of her heartbeat matching her pounding feet. The road sloped downward, and she struggled to keep her balance. She fell once, scraping her hands, but rose again, driven by sheer terror.
Another scream. Then sobs. The path twisted and narrowed.
And then she saw it.
Henrik, collapsed near the foot of the cliff, his hands shielding his face. And over him stood the siren.
She was horrifyingly beautiful. Nude, glistening, skin deep brown and luminous in the moonlight, with wild coils of black hair cascading down her back. From her shoulders, great yellow wings unfurled; feathered, radiant, and gleaming like burnished gold. One foot pressed firmly against Henrik’s chest, pinning him in place. Her hand hovered in the air, talons curved and ready to strike.
With a cry pulled from the depths of her soul, Madeleine lifted the rapier and charged.
The siren’s wings twitched. Her head tilted, birdlike and curious, just as Madeleine charged, the rapier arcing in her hand in a wild, desperate attempt to sever the creature’s arm from its shoulder.
But the air exploded before her.
With a sudden, thunderous beat of those great feathered appendages, the siren lifted herself a fraction from the ground, stirring up a whirlpool of dust and small stones, and with a single, sweeping motion of one colossal wing, she struck Madeleine hard across the ribs. The blow threw her through the air, her back colliding with the stones. Pain cracked through her arm like lightning, but Madeleine only gritted her teeth, the taste of blood coppery and thick on her tongue. She rose, trembling, her hand white-knuckled around the rapier’s hilt.
Then a shadow fell.
The air seemed to hush, and the sun was blotted out by the spread of those terrible wings. Yellow—everywhere, yellow—feathers like gold, blazing with sunlight and heat, filled her sight. Madeleine screamed, slashing blindly.
But a hand closed around her wrist.
She gasped. There was no use struggling; the siren’s grip only tightened with every panicked wrench of Madeleine’s arm.
“Let go!” she shrieked, her voice thin, almost lost to the wind. “Let—”
Their eyes met.
And the scream died in her throat.
What was it that struck Madeleine dumb in a single, stunning instant? What invisible hand seized her voice, stilled her limbs, and froze her thoughts in their tracks?
It was recognition.
There, standing before her in all her terrible glory, was a being so inhumanly lovely it bordered on divine blasphemy. The siren’s eyes, glowing pink like opals kissed by flame, were set in a face both youthful and ancient. Her gaze was framed by angular blue markings that swept like paint across her cheekbones and brow.
Though impossible, it was her. The same girl with whom she had played on the wharf one long, sun-drenched afternoon in her youth. Madeleine had never learned her name. The girl had appeared like a dream, barefoot on the splintered dock, with wide eyes full of secrets and a mouth quick to laugh. Her skin then had been warm and golden, her hair long and brown, coiled in soft, wind-blown waves.
But this creature here now—this terrible, beautiful thing—was changed. Her skin was deep, glowing with seawater and starlight. Her hair was darker too and cropped close to her shoulders, tight curls framing around a face that had grown sharper with time. More elegant. More dangerous.
Madeleine could not scream. Her breath caught, her mind swirled, and her limbs turned soft and uncertain. The fear was still there, but beneath it, something else stirred.
The faintest ache of longing.
She looked like no monster at all.
Too beautiful. Sickeningly beautiful. Madeleine could hardly believe this was the creature spoken of in hushed, horrified tones. The creature that tore men apart and stole women from their beds.
The creature that had nearly killed Henrik.
She kicked wildly at the siren’s legs, but the creature only tilted her head again, effortlessly graceful. Madeleine stumbled in her frenzy, and the siren followed with slow, measured steps, her wings folding partially against her back. Desperate, Madeleine dropped the sword with a clatter and clawed at the hand still imprisoning her wrist, trying to tear herself free.
Her back struck the cliff face. Trapped.
She screamed but her voice only echoed off the stone. Her free arm swung, but the siren caught it too, pressing both of Madeleine’s wrists hard against the rock. Her touch burned with unnatural heat.
“Stop,” she growled, and Madeleine froze.
The siren peered at her as though she were a strange and fragile artefact. Those immense eyes studied her with an intensity that made Madeleine’s breath hitch in her throat. Slowly, the wings folded away, diminishing her threatening silhouette. But even stripped of that grandeur, she was not human. The eyes gave her away. Always the eyes.
A bead of sweat traced down Madeleine’s temple, and still the siren stared, her gaze dragging over her as if mapping every inch of her flesh. Her eyes lingered on Madeleine’s throat, the hollow between her collarbones, the curve of her breasts. It was not lust, not exactly, it was hunger. Curiosity. Possession.
Henrik groaned nearby.
Madeleine jerked toward the sound, but the siren’s hand constricted ever so slightly, a warning. The pressure was unbearable. With a single squeeze, Madeleine was sure the creature could shatter every bone in her hand.
Her heart pounded. Her stomach turned.
And then the siren smiled.
A smile that would haunt Madeleine until her dying day—radiant and full of ivory knives. Her canines, inhumanly sharp, glinted in the light.
The siren leaned close and she recoiled, expecting a kiss. But, to Madeleine’s utter horror, the siren licked her.
A long, slow, possessive trail from shoulder to throat, a burning brand of saliva marking her skin. Madeleine shuddered, a sob catching in her throat.
With a snarl, Madeleine tried to catch her ear with her teeth, but the siren reared back just in time to avoid her snapping jaw, laughter flashing across her face. Enraged and humiliated, Madeleine surged forward and slammed her knee into the siren’s unprotected groin.
With a sharp grunt, the siren doubled over.
Madeleine didn’t wait.
She wriggled free, scraping her shoulder against the cliff-face, and staggered to where her rapier lay. She snatched it from the dirt, ignoring the blood dripping from her hand, and turned toward Henrik, who lay groaning in the dust, his face twisted with pain.
She ran to him.
Behind her, the siren screamed, a sound so shrill and alien.
Madeleine did not look back.
She dropped to her knees beside him, heart hammering with such force she thought it might tear itself apart. “Darling? Speak to me, are you…?”
Henrik stirred with a faint groan, his eyes fluttering open. He was conscious, but barely, pale and trembling, the sheen of sweat on his brow making his golden hair cling to his temples. A livid bruise darkened the skin beneath his eye, and a vicious gash marred his chest, the fine ivory shirt beneath his waistcoat soaked through with blood. It spread like ink in water, blooming across the fabric in slow, terrible tendrils.
Tears threatened to spill but Madeleine held them at bay with the iron will her late mother had drilled into her. She ran trembling hands across his body, inspecting for other injuries. Her gaze fell to the dark, shameful patch soaked the front of his trousers.
She heard it before she saw her.
The soft rustle of feathers sent Madeleine leaping to her feet in an instant. She planted herself between the siren and Henrik, raising the rapier with both hands. Her stance was unsteady but defiant.
“Stay back,” she warned, her voice rasping against the tightness in her throat.
The siren stood where Madeleine had left her, near the cliff-face, wreathed in falling dust and fractured sunlight. Her eyes, pink and glittering, swept lazily over the tableau before her; the bleeding man, the trembling woman, the sword shaking in her grasp. She looked amused. Amused and faintly intrigued.
“All that fire,” she said, her voice a lilting mockery, “for someone so…spineless.”
Madeleine swallowed hard, forcing moisture into her throat. She needed her voice. She needed it steady.
“Please…” she began, faltering but sincere. “We didn’t mean any harm. We were only passing through.”
The siren tilted her head, and Madeleine’s breath caught in her chest. The creature's lithe body was etched with scars, a map of past battles traced across her skin. Madeleine’s eyes darted back to her face, refusing to be drawn downward, but the siren caught her wandering gaze and laughed, low and husky.
“My fiancé…” Madeleine tried again, clearing her throat, “he was only searching for our horse. We weren’t hunting. We didn’t even know you were here. Please…we just want to leave.”
The siren regarded her in silence, then hummed softly. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“N-No. We’re travellers. If we’ve trespassed, we’re sorry. We only want to find our horse and go. I promise we won’t speak of this. We won’t—”
“No.”
The single word was like a stone dropped into still water.
The siren began to unfurl her wings until they stretched wide behind her, like a terrible halo.
“You won’t be leaving,” she repeated.
Madeleine felt her stomach drop, the words like ice poured into her veins. “What?”
“You won’t be leaving,” the siren said again, stepping forward. “This is my territory. No one passes farther than this.”
Behind her, Henrik whimpered. Madeleine felt the sound like a knife twisting in her gut.
“Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “At least let me take him back to town. He’s hurt, he needs a physician.”
The siren narrowed her eyes, studying Henrik with something unreadable on her face. For a moment, Madeleine braced herself for violence, for the scream of wings and the flash of talons, but the siren remained still. Madeleine raised the rapier higher, bracing herself to die, if she had to.
Then the siren spoke. “Fine. Get gone.”
A breath escaped her lips like a prayer.
“Thank you,” Madeleine whispered, not daring to say more. She turned to Henrik, slipping her arm around his waist and helping him to his feet. He leaned into her heavily, his teeth clenched against the pain, his breaths shallow and ragged.
She did not take her eyes off the siren.
Slowly, cautiously, she began to guide him away, the rapier held low but ready. The siren did not move, only watched, her head slightly bowed, her wings folding.
Madeleine didn’t relax. Not even when they reached the bend in the road, not even when the wind no longer carried the scent of the sea or the rustle of feathers.
Still, she felt her.
She looked back only once, just before the edge of town came into view, and there she was.
Perched upon the cliff’s rim, her silhouette stark against the sun-bleached sky, the siren watched her. Silent. Unmoving.
She did not blink. She did not leave.
She did not stop watching until Madeleine crossed the edge of town and vanished from her sight.
Notes:
Forgive me for this long exposition that was just 80% worldbuilding, i promise the next chapters will mostly focus on claudeleine.
I’ve used the names of the vampires from the theatre coven but they’re just insignificant background characters here. Madeleine’s fiance is the german boy she had an affair with in the show, but i dont think he had a name so i had to improvise.
and i’ve used a hybrid of mythologies here so if it seems wrong, that’s probably why haha
Chapter Text
Pulling her hood low over her eyes, Madeleine slipped out the back door of the inn and made her way toward the bay. She could hear Estelle bustling about in the kitchen, though she had no idea where the innkeeper had gone. If she moved quickly, perhaps they would never know she’d been gone at all.
She was headed for Tuan, hoping, praying, that he might be willing to sail them to the capital. With their horse lost, their belongings abandoned, and the cliff roads—the only roads that led to the city—being watched by the siren, the sea seemed the only path left.
When they had returned to the inn that cursed day, the innkeeper had wasted no time calling for the town’s physician, a wiry old man named Hans Luchenbaum. He’d arrived within minutes, lugging a satchel so overstuffed it looked as though it might burst open at any moment. Despite his small stature, he had no trouble dragging the enormous bag through the narrow corridors of the inn, nimble and sure-footed as a man half his age.
After tending to Henrik’s wounds, Luchenbaum had confirmed they were not life-threatening. The deep slash across his chest required stitches, but the rest were nothing more than flesh wounds. A few balms, and a strong dose of painkillers were all that was needed to keep him comfortable. He’d insisted one sleeping pill would be enough to carry him through the first night. The greater concern, he’d said, was the shock. The body needed rest to mend from trauma as much as from blood loss.
Madeleine quickened her pace through the winding streets, her eyes cast down, noting every innocuous detail to anchor herself in the now: a large pebble, a splintering shrine, a patch of cracked cobblestone. Anything to keep her gaze from drifting toward the cliffs. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her satchel, her thumb absently rubbing the side of her neck. The stinging in her hands had lessened, thanks to Luchenbaum’s ointment. The worst she’d suffered in the attack were those few scrapes on her palms and the bruises earned when she’d struck the rocky path.
She had slipped a dinner knife into her satchel, just in case. A rapier would draw too much attention in town, and perhaps even suspicion.
Estelle and her grandmother had been nothing short of saints, offering them a room without charge. They had even lent her clothing when she, terrified for Henrik’s life, had bypassed their cart entirely in her mad dash to get him to safety. Their possessions, everything they owned, still lay hidden beneath a sheet on the rocky path: clothing, food, the remainder of their money, and, most painful of all, her late mother’s jewellery.
The idea of leaving it there, exposed to the elements, or worse, the siren, sickened her. But to retrieve it meant risking another encounter. And the siren might not let her go a second time.
They had now spent two nights at the inn. Madeleine knew she would have to pay the generous women eventually; she couldn’t continue to rely on their goodwill indefinitely. But her coin purse was light after the expenses of two cloaks, two pairs of boots, a week’s worth of food, and the medications Luchenbaum had provided.
She hurried to the harbour, casting nervous glances toward the sky, half-expecting to see wings blotting out the sun. The thought that the siren might be lurking, waiting for her to step into the open, made her blood run cold.
Only once she reached the boats, hidden among their moorings, did she allow herself to slow. It didn’t take her long to spot The Maribel. Captain Tuan’s dark head bobbed in and out of sight behind the railing as he worked, dragging something across the deck.
“Captain?” she called softly. “Captain Tuan?”
His head stilled. Then he leaned over the railing, surprise bright in his eyes. “Miss? Good Lord… what a surprise to see you still here!” He abandoned his task, leaping from the deck with ease. He landed with a soft thud on the wharf below. “Are you alright?”
Madeleine nodded, drawing her purse from her satchel. “I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Captain, but we had to turn back the other day. Our horse broke free from the cart…” She trailed off, shivering as the memory of the siren’s claws pressing her against the cliffside surged up again. “We were attacked. And we have no way of getting to the capital.”
Tuan blanched, his eyes widening. “Attacked? By who? What…?” He stopped, the dawning realisation stealing the colour from his face. “Oh God… Miss, did it attack you?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, “but we’re alright. Truly. My fiancé is resting with a few cuts and bruises. I’m just… a little shaken.”
Tuan pressed a hand to his chest. “Thank the fickle God of Luck…”
“I was hoping,” Madeleine continued, extending the small pouch of coins with trembling fingers, “that, if it’s alright with you and Quang, we might sail with you to the capital. We lost our horse, and the roads… I don’t think we can make it past the cliffs safely anymore. This is all I have left to pay you, but I can find more money. I’m willing to work for passage… cook, clean, anything-”
Tuan raised a hand to stop her. “Please. There’s no need. I’d be more than happy to ferry you both. There’s plenty of room aboard The Maribel.”
Relief crashed over her like a wave, “Really?”
“Of course. You’ve both been through hell. We’ll help however we can.”
Madeleine clasped his hand without thinking. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you so, so much.”
Thank the God of Luck indeed. All she had to do now was stay hidden in the inn until the ship was ready to depart. Henrik was no sailor, but if he took a sleeping pill, he might manage the voyage. Luchenbaum might complain, but he could surely prepare a safe dose.
Still, her mind returned to the cart.
Not every possession needed to be reclaimed, but she couldn’t leave with nothing. They needed the money. And there was no chance she’d abandon her mother’s jewellery.
Tuan blushed faintly. “Don’t mention it.”
“I want to do something to repay you,” Madeleine insisted, still beaming. “I can pay you. I just need to go back to the inn and fetch more money.”
“You really don’t need to—”
“Then let me scrub the deck,” she offered, patting the side of The Maribel. “There must be something I can do.”
Tuan chuckled, pinching his chin. “Well… I might have to put your sailor’s knots to use. Poor Quang still gets them tangled. Perhaps you’ll supervise him.”
She laughed, freely, for the first time in days. “I’d be happy to. I’m… so sorry, but I’d better run.” She gestured toward the cliffs, her smile fading.
Tuan’s own expression turned grave. “I understand. We shall sail in three days.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised. “I need to go tell my fiancé the good news. Thank you again, truly.”
They exchanged a quick wave before Madeleine turned back toward the town, hood drawn tight once more. She walked quickly, too quickly, until her legs burned and her breath came short, her thoughts fixed on one thing: the cart.
She would only retrieve two things, her mother’s jewellery and the rest of their money. Everything else could be replaced.
She couldn’t ask Tuan to go, nor the innkeeper. The fishermen had already done more than enough. Estelle, immune or not, would still be risking her life. And the poor innkeeper was far too old.
It had to be Madeleine.
But if the siren was still watching, still waiting, then would she even reach the cart?
However, the siren had spoken. She was capable of reason, or something like it. And if Madeleine brought the rapier, showed strength, offered words instead of steel, then perhaps, just perhaps, the God of Luck might spare her again.
So absorbed had Madeleine been in the tangle of her thoughts—schemes and plans woven like a desperate prayer—that she failed to slip through the back as planned. Instead, she entered through the front, swept in by the warmth of the morning light, only to be met by the grave-eyed innkeeper, seated regally behind her desk, with Estelle hovering like a shadow at her side.
The air hung thick with the weight of unsaid things. It took Madeleine time, too much time, to assuage the old woman’s silent reproach, to assure her that Estelle had played no part in the quiet treachery of her disappearance. She gave apologies with trembling hands, stammering excuses that even she knew rang hollow. The innkeeper reminded her that she would have gladly seen to any errand herself.
Madeleine had attempted to explain that she had not wanted to trouble them again, not with one more burden, one more unpaid favour, but guilt draped itself around her. Still, the tension softened when she confessed that Tuan had offered passage to the capital. This news, at least, brought a flicker of relief to the old woman’s furrowed brow.
Just once more, Madeleine told herself. Just one more time she would need to leave unnoticed.
She returned to their room and found her fiancé stirring in the half-light, one hand fumbling weakly toward a cup of water. His face, pale and drawn beneath the bruise blooming beneath one eye, turned to her with the fragile irritation of someone caught between pain and helplessness.
“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice raw.
Madeleine answered softly, “Tuan has offered to take us to the capital. He and Quang are sailing in four days-”
“What?” His brow knitted as he handed back the cup.
“The fisherman,” she reminded him gently.
“Yes, I remember who he is. Why were you speaking with him?”
She relayed the conversation, her voice a quiet thread in the dim room, but as she spoke, his expression curdled with suspicion.
“And what did he ask for in return?”
“That’s what’s so extraordinary… nothing,” she said, a small smile playing at her lips. “He asked for nothing at all.”
But the way his gaze darkened made her heart falter.
“No one does something for nothing,” he said coldly. “He didn’t ask for money?”
“He wouldn’t take a single coin,” she whispered, lowering her gaze.
“And you don’t find that suspicious?” he said, chuckling bitterly. “Think about it. We’re wealthy. My father is a Lord. That man could hold us hostage, demand ransom, threaten never to let us off his boat.”
She stared at him, wounded. “He wouldn’t. Tuan isn’t like that. He’s kind. Gentle.”
But her heart trembled. Her fiancé was right. Tuan was a stranger. What did she truly know of him? The earnest eyes, the calloused hands, they could all be a mask. The thought made her ache, not just with fear but with the sting of betrayal, as though she’d already been fooled.
Her fiancé’s voice broke into her thoughts again. “You know I’m not good with boats. Give me a few more days, I’ll be fit to travel.”
“But the horse is gone,” she pleaded. “Our cart is stranded, and we’ll never make it to the cliffs. If we sail, we’ll be there in two days. I thought… perhaps with a sleeping pill-”
“You know I hate sailing,” he said sharply. “I’d rather walk to the capital than get on a boat.”
She blinked at him. Surely, he didn’t mean that. “Please just consider it?” she said.
“I didn’t say we would walk,” he muttered. “Only that I’d prefer it.”
“So what is the plan, then?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “Something that doesn’t involve the sea. I can’t think properly when I’m in this much pain.”
She let go of his hand, retreating slightly, sensing the need for distance. Before she could rise, he reached for her wrist and held it with trembling fingers.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he said. “I hate raising my voice at you. I just… I’m struggling. I thought I’d be better by now.” He rubbed his eyes like a weary child. “I don’t trust that man. I don’t trust any of this. Please understand how that makes me feel.”
“I know, darling,” she murmured. “I only thought… with the pill, maybe you could sleep through it.”
“I’m not sure.” He paused, then smiled faintly, the first smile she’d seen on his face since the siren’s attack. “We’ll figure something out. Have faith in your future husband.”
“I always do,” she whispered, though something trembled at the edges of her voice.
He shifted, wincing. “I’ll get sores from lying in this bed all day.”
“Maybe a short walk?” she offered.
“I can’t be seen like this. The bruise, the torn clothes… I’d look like a vagrant.”
“I might be able to get someone to fetch our things,” she said carefully. “From the cart.”
His face darkened at once. “And give them a chance to rob us? Absolutely not.”
“W-well, what if I went?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“Out of the question. I don’t want you near those cliffs.”
“But if I took your rapier—”
He laughed. “You don’t know how to use it. It’s not for slashing, it’s for thrusting. I’ll go, once I’m well enough. The creature won’t get the better of me again.”
He looked around. “Where is the scabbard?”
Her breath caught. “I dropped it,” she confessed, eyes downcast. “I was just so worried…”
His frustration exploded in a hiss. “That scabbard was custom-made. From the finest blacksmith in the country. Do you know what it cost?”
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, guilt washing over her like icy seafoam. She remembered where it had fallen, perhaps she could retrieve it. Along with everything else.
He sighed and let himself collapse into the pillows. She adjusted the blanket around his feet, making sure he was warm.
“My love,” he said, softer now, “once we reach the capital, all of this will be behind us. We’ll have the life we deserve.”
She tried to smile, conjuring the illusion. “Breakfast in the Nautical Gardens… wine from crystal flutes…”
He laughed a low, fond sound. “Your words are sweeter than any siren’s song.”
She stayed beside him until the light began to wane, brushing his hair gently back from his brow, speaking in quiet tones of the city they would soon reach, of the future they might yet claim… if the winds, the siren, and fate allowed.
But Madeleine found little comfort in such fantasies.
The innkeeper was not seated at her usual perch behind the front desk when Madeleine crept through the quiet hush of the lobby.
Her fiancé had retired early. After downing the sleeping pill in a single, trembling swallow, he had fallen into sleep within moments. Though it was not yet fully dark, the twilight had crept far enough across the windows to grant her a measure of concealment. Still, Madeleine feared it would not be long before the sun surrendered itself entirely to the horizon. She would need to be swift.
With the rapier hidden beneath her cloak and the hood shadowing her features, she tiptoed to the door. A tightness gripped her chest but she pressed forward. This had to be done.
“Where are you going now?”
Madeleine barely managed to smother her startled gasp with a hand clapped to her lips. She whirled around to find Estelle watching her from the dining room’s arched threshold, her expression unreadable in the flickering lantern light.
But to Madeleine’s relief, the girl neither cried out nor reached to restrain her. Instead, Estelle merely shook her head and smiled, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.
“If Grandmother knew you were sneaking out again,” she said with a grin, “she’d tie you to a chair. And don’t doubt she could, she’s stronger than she looks.”
“I’m sure she is,” Madeleine replied breathlessly, allowing herself a wry smile. “I only need to visit our cart.”
Estelle’s mirth vanished, replaced by sharp concern as she stepped forward. “You can’t go back to the cliffs, miss. What if the siren sees you?”
The thought made Madeleine’s stomach twist, but she shoved the dread aside. “I’m armed this time. And I’ll stay close. The siren attacked farther in.”
Perhaps, the creature had found its slumber early, too and she could pass unnoticed, free to reach the cart and return before its pink eyes found her again.
Her fingers reached for the handle, but Estelle gently caught her arm.
“What do you need?” she asked urgently. “I can give you more clothes, and you can stay here as long as you like.”
Madeleine’s heart warmed at the girl’s kindness, but she shook her head. “I appreciate you, Estelle, truly. But we need money. That’s all I’m going to retrieve.” The jewellery needn’t be mentioned. “We’re so grateful for your shelter, but when we leave, we’ll need means. Those in the capital will not offer what you have.”
Estelle frowned. “Then let me go. I’m part nymph, I’ll be faster, safer–”
“And if your grandmother discovers I let you wander off into danger, she’d likely boil me alive and serve me to the sea sprites.”
That earned a giggle. “She would shout a lot, that’s for sure. But she doesn’t have to know.”
Madeleine’s expression softened. “Please don’t risk yourself. I’ll be fast.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, a posture borrowed from the noblewomen who’d once surrounded her. “I fought the siren once. I’ll manage again.”
She opened the cloak just enough for Estelle to glimpse the rapier glinting beneath her arm.
“Fine,” Estelle relented with a sigh. “But if you’re not back by the time the sun sets, I’m coming to get you.”
Madeleine nodded, grateful. “I won’t be long.”
Estelle opened the door, glancing down the corridor warily. “Quick, now. My grandmother checks every room key at dusk, even though you’re the only guests. It’s her routine. I’ll stay up and let you back in. Just…promise me you won’t get hurt.”
Madeleine swallowed hard, her throat dry as sand. “I promise.”
Estelle watched from the door until Madeleine reached the road, only then closing it behind her. As Madeleine moved through the narrow streets, sea sprites emerged from cracks and shadows, fluttering toward her in flickers of iridescent light. They tugged at her cloak and searched her pockets, peering with glittering eyes. She offered one her palm to show she carried no food, but the sprite was wary. It darted into her hood, nose twitching as it sniffed her hair, her neck.
Then, abruptly, it recoiled with a distressed squeak. The others followed in a flurry of wings, screeching as they vanished into the dark, leaving Madeleine alone beneath the falling dusk.
Her courage faltered.
And it ebbed further still as she reached the road to the cliffs. Hemmed in by towering rock on both sides, the night air colder here, Madeleine’s hands tightened around the rapier’s hilt. She advanced slowly, watching each step, her footfalls soft upon the stones. The darkness pressed in, making the path ahead difficult to see.
Keeping to the wall, she hunched and held the blade close. She tried to recall how her fiancé wielded it. With grace and precision, one hand only, thrusts rather than sweeps. Madeleine mimicked the motion in her mind.
She turned a corner and there it was. The cart.
Abandoned.
She surged forward, heart pounding. The money first. If she were interrupted, at least she could flee with something. With that, they could survive.
But as she neared, her steps faltered.
The cart was tilted at an odd angle, one shaft sunken into the dirt and stone. The canvas sheet that had covered their belongings was gone. The back was…bare.
A cold, sick knot formed in her throat.
She ran.
And found it empty.
Not a single trunk remained. No food, no clothes. Her fiancé’s boots, gone. Her own dresses, gone. The jewellery box that had been hidden so carefully beneath the linens…
Gone.
The rapier clattered from her limp hands.
She had been too late. Some wandering soul had found the cart, stripped it to the bone, and taken everything. Even the sheet had been stolen.
A low, broken sound escaped her lips. It swelled into a sob, hot and thick and uncontrollable. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, the kind that pressed painfully at the corners before they broke free. Her body trembled, her heart crashing against her ribs.
She cared little for the clothes. The money was survivable.
But her mother’s jewellery.
Irreplaceable.
She pressed a shaking hand over her mouth, choking back another cry.
“Don’t cry,” she whispered hoarsely. “Get a grip, you s-silly girl…”
But her voice cracked, and a second sob escaped, louder than the first. Her shoulders shook. Her knees gave way. She collapsed against the cart, burying her face in her hands, tears falling in bitter rivers.
This was not supposed to happen. The siren. Her fiancé’s wounds. And now this…
She was to wear those heirlooms on her wedding day. Her father had worked himself to the bone for them.
A soft rustling echoed through the cliffs.
Madeleine froze.
The sound came again, nearer. Panic overpowered sorrow. She looked to the sky, heart hammering in warning.
She heard the clap of wings too late.
Something landed behind her on the cart with a heavy thud.
A primeval scream tore from Madeleine’s throat as she launched herself away from the cart.
She dove for the rapier. Her hand closed around the hilt, and she rose, spinning to face the creature and drive the blade into its chest.
But the siren hadn’t moved to attack her. Madeleine raised the weapon high, the deadly point aimed squarely between those unblinking eyes, and began backing away from the cart, one slow step at a time.
Still, the siren didn’t move. She remained perched upon the driver’s seat like some immense carrion bird, her gold feathers spread wide in the wind.
The dimming light of evening veiled the road, but Madeleine could still see nearly every detail of her. Her bare, unashamed body; the wild black curls cropped close to her skull; the dark, smudged markings around her pink-hued eyes; the map of scars clawed across her arms, chest, and thighs.
Had Madeleine not been so paralysed by fear, she might have flushed at how casually the siren exposed herself, as though modesty were a concept foreign to her kind.
But it was the expression in those uncanny eyes that unsettled her most. It was not hunger, not even aggression. It was something disturbingly close to excitement.
“This is unexpected,” the siren said, her voice smooth as sea glass. A small, amused smile played on her lips. She tapped her cheek thoughtfully with a talon. “Why are you crying?”
Madeleine kept the rapier firmly pointed at her face. Her arms, however, refused to stop trembling.
The siren rolled her shoulders, folding her wings against her back delicately, and leaned forward.
“Don’t!” Madeleine barked, the word sharp, too loud. The siren froze, wings twitching at the command. “D-Don’t…”
She shuffled back another few steps, heart hammering, throat raw from sobbing. She tried to draw a long, even breath to steady herself. If she fainted, she’d be at the creature’s mercy.
“I didn’t mean to trespass,” she rasped. “I only came to retrieve our things. I wasn’t looking for you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you or get revenge or anything like that. I just wanted… I just wanted some of our belongings. Then I was going to leave. I promise.”
The siren blinked slowly, her gaze drifting from Madeleine to the gutted cart.
“Your things?” she echoed. Her expression shifted, confusion first, then recognition, and, bizarrely, guilt. The subtle change softened her. She looked less like the monster who had torn into Madeleine’s fiancé, and more like a sheepish young woman who had made a mistake.
“Were they in all the boxes that were here?” she asked. Then she laughed, awkwardly. “Ah. Sorry. I took them.”
“You have impeccable taste,” she added, scratching the back of her head with one curved claw. “I love your skirts and dresses. Although, I had to cut them up to fit me.” She gestured to her smaller, more compact frame in contrast to Madeleine’s height.
Madeleine stared at her, dumbfounded.
The casual tone. The mild embarrassment. The way she spoke to her as if they were… acquaintances. As though none of this—the attack, the fear, the blood—was unusual.
“Is that why you were crying?” the siren asked, tilting her head. “I can bring them back, if you’d like.”
The image of the abducted women, bloodied and dragged screaming into the cliffs, flickered behind Madeleine’s eyes. Her stomach twisted violently and her voice came out in a whisper.
“Are you here to hurt me?”
The siren looked surprised. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She sounded sincere… but Madeleine knew better. Sirens were known for their lies, their charm, their lovely, lilting voices wrapping around your throat like a noose. The memory of her tongue trailing up the side of Madeleine’s neck sent a cold shiver through her.
Madeleine took another step back.
The siren straightened.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
When she raised her arm, those black claws—talons sharp enough to flay flesh and carve through stone—reached toward her.
Madeleine didn’t wait to see what came next. Panic surged through her like a current. She turned and ran, bolting down the road, her boots pounding against the stone.
Was she coming after her? Would she lift into the sky, swoop down and seize her like a hawk snatching a rabbit?
She dared not look. Though the cliffs still pressed in on either side, towering and close, Madeleine could hear only her own frantic breaths, the thunder of her steps, the roar of her heart. No wings above. Not yet. But she didn’t slow.
The cliffs gradually pulled away, opening onto the smoother paths of the town. Her boots found surer ground, but her body burned with effort. Her legs screamed, her throat scorched with every gasp, each breath like swallowing fire.
The siren had looked so concerned.
But no, Madeleine thought fiercely. That was the illusion. That was how they worked. They planted lies in your mind like seeds, and waited for them to grow. They gave you an image—a girl with trembling hands and downcast eyes, who smiled nervously and said sorry too often—and they made you believe in it.
That she could be soft. That she could be kind. That she could be safe.
But Madeleine knew better.
Still… she did believe the siren had taken her belongings. That much was true.
She finally slowed, casting a glance back toward the cliffs. Their jagged ridges were bare, no silhouette perched atop them, no wings spread wide in waiting.
She stared for a long time, confused.
Because the siren wasn’t chasing her.
She had let Madeleine go. Again.
Henrik was well enough to join her in the dining room that morning.
It was promising. If he could walk without aid, then they might soon be on their way, and Madeleine wouldn’t have to spend another sleepless night with the rapier hidden beneath the covers, fearing the siren might burst through the window and snatch her from the bed.
She had chosen the table farthest from the window, one that gave her a clear view of the cliffs, though she wasn’t sure why she continued to torture herself. It felt as if the towering rockfaces were watching her. Pink-tinted eyes, framed by sleek blue markings, haunted her imagination.
She hadn’t told Henrik that she had gone to the cart. What good would it do? The last thing she wanted was to give him another fright, especially after how distraught he’d been when he found out she’d wandered down to the docks. He hadn’t noticed how quiet she was this morning, too focused on trying to eat his porridge one-handed. His other arm had grown stiff and sore since the siren’s attack, and today, he could barely move it at all. She felt the sting of guilt at how far the damage had crept while she was too wrapped in her own fears to see it.
From the corner of the room, Estelle kept glancing at her while polishing a large set of silverware. Madeleine still hadn’t told her what had happened by the cart. She’d been far too shaken to utter a single word upon returning to the inn the night before. But her trembling, her sweat-soaked clothes, and her ragged breathing had clearly raised suspicion. Thankfully, Estelle had chosen not to press her.
A sudden wave of despair overcame her. She set her spoon down in the half-full bowl of porridge and stared into it, hollow-eyed. She was no closer to leaving this cursed town. In fact, she was in a worse position than before. Without money, they couldn’t afford provisions, spare clothes, or the painkillers and sleeping pills Henrik needed to travel in his condition.
And though it felt slightly selfish in the face of everything else, she was furious that her mother’s jewellery was in the hands of the siren.
It made her stomach twist. Those jewels had rested in her mother’s gentle palms, had glinted in the candlelight of Madeleine’s childhood home. They were gifts of love. And now, perhaps, they sat tangled in seaweed and hair, or clutched in those bloodstained hands, hands that had torn and maimed and—
But she had offered to return them, hadn’t she?
Spoken so gently. Almost sweetly. As if the monster were capable of remorse.
Madeleine pushed the thought from her mind. The siren hadn’t meant to help her, surely not. More likely, she had intended to lure her, to guide her gently to some forgotten crevice of the cliffs, where the others were hidden. Were they kept in a cave, perhaps? Far from sunlight, far from warmth…
And the siren could have taken her too.
A violent roll turned in her stomach. She nearly excused herself from the table just to heave, just to rid herself of the awful imagining. But before she could rise, a quartet of sea sprites flitted through the far window, their wings catching the morning light like stained glass. They landed with a flurry beside her half-eaten bowl of porridge.
Across the table, Henrik looked at her for the first time since they had sat down. “Ah. I see our resident pests are back.”
One of the sprites plunged, headfirst, into her bowl. The others watched her, beady-eyed and still, prepared to flee if she tried to shoo them. But Madeleine only sat back, folding her hands neatly in her lap, and the sprites took her stillness as an invitation.
“They’re like wasps,” Henrik muttered darkly, shielding his breakfast as one drifted closer to his plate. “I don’t know how you can allow this.” He reached out, attempting to swat them away, but the creatures bared needle-like teeth, snapping at his fingers. He withdrew with a hiss.
Madeleine allowed herself the smallest smile. She was grateful the sprites had returned to her after yesterday’s cold reception, their erratic energy was oddly soothing. How carefree they were, how utterly consumed with mischief and morsels and sunlight. To be one of them, she thought, would be a mercy.
“What are we going to do, Henrik?” she asked softly.
“You could stop feeding the vermin, for one,” he replied, only half-joking.
She met his eyes. “I meant about the capital.”
Henrik sighed, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Must we have this conversation now? Let me finish my breakfast first. We’ll talk later. This afternoon, perhaps.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, studying her face. “You look pale, my love. Is that why you’re so quiet?”
“I didn’t sleep much.” Madeleine smoothed her fingers over the rim of her cup. “I keep thinking about our belongings. I’m worried we won’t get anywhere if we keep wasting our time-”
His spoon clattered onto his plate. The sharp sound made her flinch.
“Wasting time?” he snapped. “I was attacked, Madeleine. Brutally. I can hardly lift my arm. And you think I’m the one wasting our time?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m only saying we have no money, and-”
“Yes, I know we don’t. But what would you have me do?” His voice had thinned with frustration, but beneath it she heard the weariness. “Do you not trust me to handle this?”
A coldness spread down the back of her neck. “Of course I trust you, Henrik. I do. I just don’t want to stay in this town much longer, that’s all.”
“Strange,” he said, dabbing at his mouth again. “You told me just the other day how much you liked this place.”
“That was before-” She bit her tongue. She very nearly confessed. “Before all this talk of the siren. And after what she…”
“It’s a cowardly creature,” Henrik spat. “A beast skulking through shadows, striking from behind like a rat. It hides among the rocks because it fears a proper fight.”
His jaw tightened. His shoulders, already tense, grew rigid. Madeleine thought she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, quickly shuttered. He was putting on a brave face, that much she was sure of now.
“I understand, love,” she said gently, reaching for his hand. “I’m sure you’re still shaken-”
“I’m not traumatised. I’m in pain.”
She stilled, her hand hovering mid-air. “I… I could fetch you something. Painkillers?”
“Don’t bother,” Henrik said through clenched teeth. He shifted in his seat, grimacing. “I’ve already taken some. They’re not working. If anything, it’s worse than yesterday.”
Madeleine leaned forward, concern rising in her chest. “I’ll visit the pharmacy after breakfast. Perhaps Mr. Luchenbaum should examine you again?”
“There’s no need. I just need something stronger. God, the ache’s in my shoulder now.”
The sprites finished their stolen breakfast and flitted off without so much as a nuzzle of thanks. That small absence stung more than it should have.
Once Henrik finished his meal, Madeleine guided him gently back to their room, helped him into bed, and offered him another pill. He took it silently, his brow damp with pain.
Madeleine returned alone to the dining hall and spent the next few hours nestled into a chair, pouring herself cup after cup of lavender tea, trying to distract her thoughts from the cliffs.
But it didn’t work.
The arguments against returning circled endlessly in her mind. The siren could be deceiving her with softness. Could be using the missing belongings as bait. Could have allowed her to escape simply to embolden her, to let her believe she was safe, so that next time, when she wandered back, she’d go deeper. Farther. Alone.
And then, when Madeleine least expected it, the creature would strike.
But even as she thought it, as her heart thudded with dread, she knew the truth.
She would go back.
Madeleine slipped out early the next morning, just as the cold mist was beginning to roll in from the sea, cloaking the town in a ghostly hush. The streets were still and silent, save for the sea sprites that flitted restlessly through the grey air, already anticipating their breakfast offerings.
They swarmed her at once, tugging at her cloak, nosing through her satchel with greedy little hands. But they found only a dull dinner knife. The one she’d quietly pocketed from the dining room the day before. The rapier had been left behind, tucked safely beside Henrik’s sleeping form. He’d been deep in slumber when she rose, having taken a double dose of the medicine the night before.
Madeleine hoped that entering the siren’s territory appearing unarmed might make her seem less threatening. Not that the siren had seemed the slightest bit intimidated by the blade when Madeleine had pointed it at her, she’d disregarded it so completely, it might as well have been a twig.
Still, the knife was less conspicuous. If the siren drew too close, Madeleine could withdraw it quickly, perhaps even use it before the creature realised. It wouldn’t do much damage, but it might be enough to discourage her. Enough to make her think twice about dragging Madeleine off to whatever hollow or nest she called home.
She hadn’t encountered Estelle on her way out. But if the innkeeper's granddaughter was already awake, she’d probably heard Madeleine leave. A story had already been prepared in case she returned with success. If she didn’t return at all… well, Madeleine did not want to dwell on that possibility.
One of the sprites bit her finger, outraged that she had nothing for them. Another snatched the dinner knife from her satchel and hurled it to the ground with a dramatic hiss. They flew off in a flurry of discontent, their tiny voices buzzing furiously through the mist. Madeleine knelt to retrieve the blade, brushing off the dirt before slipping it back into her bag.
By the time she reached the cliffs, the fog had begun to lift. A lovely day was unfolding. Soft wind, clear skies, the scent of salt and sun rising from the shore.
As she passed her abandoned cart, a wave of helplessness cut through her. She pressed on, determined not to falter, scanning the cliffside while ignoring the vertigo that accompanied any glimpse of the sheer drops.
Still no sign of the siren.
She followed the path leading to the right, the one she had taken before, and spotted the scabbard belonging to Henrik’s rapier lying in the middle of the road. She crouched, hand outstretched, but thought better of it. If the siren saw her pick it up, she might take it for a weapon. If escape was possible again, Madeleine could collect it on her way back.
The road wound like a serpent beneath her feet, shaped over centuries by wind and rain and the slow breaking of earth. Sometimes it dipped subtly, luring her into sudden stumbles. At other points, it rose so steeply that she struggled to keep her footing. It was difficult to believe her horse had bolted so swiftly over such a treacherous path.
A sharp, distant clap of wings rang through the gorge. Madeleine froze.
It came again, louder this time. Her heart lurched, then galloped, her lungs refused to expand. She spun in place, trying to find the source, but the echo distorted direction, making it impossible to tell where it came from.
And then she saw her.
A flicker of gold crested the cliff’s edge, and the siren dove. She was a blur, a flash of cobalt and fire, before she opened her wings and slowed, sending a cloud of dust spiralling into the air. She landed gracefully.
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon,” she said, her voice warm and almost playful.
Madeleine said nothing. She dared not move. The siren stood at ease, wings folding behind her, posture relaxed. Madeleine searched her expression, any twitch of aggression, any gleam of malice. But there was none.
Only that bright, pointed smile.
Those glinting, sharp canines.
And eyes that, despite everything, seemed glad to see her.
“I’m unarmed,” Madeleine said, the words spilling out the moment her courage reassembled. She raised her hands slowly, palms facing outward. “I haven’t come to fight with you.”
The siren only blinked. “I didn’t assume you had,” she replied breezily.
Madeleine’s arms drifted back to her sides. The siren's casual manner disarmed her more than any display of aggression might have. She was trespassing, after all, far beyond where her cart had been abandoned, yet the creature made no move to threaten or intimidate. Was this another trick?
In the pale blush of morning, with her panic momentarily held at bay, Madeleine could study the siren more clearly. Curiously, there was no sign of a tail, though Madeleine could remember hearing whispers in town, murmurs of a long, serpentine tail glinting in the moonlight. Perhaps, Madeleine thought, it only appeared in the water, and what she had now were borrowed legs, smooth and powerful and unnatural in their grace.
After a moment too long spent observing her naked form, Madeleine’s gaze dropped, and she averted her eyes with a flustered swallow. “I… um…”
How was one to address a siren?
She’d been taught how to speak with nobles, barons, baronesses, even coached on what to say should she ever stand before a prince. But this was something else entirely. A creature from legend, radiant and strange and deeply other.
So she fell back on courtesy.
“I hope you’ll p-pardon me,” Madeleine stammered, forcing herself to meet the siren’s gaze once more. But the moment her eyes flicked downward, catching the dip of her hips, heat flared in her neck and her thoughts scattered. “My things… th-that is, my belongings…”
“Are you asking me to return the stuff I took?” the siren asked with a grin, almost teasingly.
Madeleine clasped her hands tightly to keep them from shaking. “I… yes. If you would be so… um… yes, please.”
“Okay.”
Madeleine blinked. “Okay?”
The siren stretched her wings lazily. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait!” Madeleine blurted, and the siren stilled, cocking her head. “I only need a few things. N-not everything.”
“Are you sure?” the siren said with a shrug. “I don’t mind. It’ll just take a while.” She snorted, light-hearted. “There were a lot of cases.”
Most of those, no doubt, belonged to Henrik. The corners of Madeleine’s mouth twitched, and she had to choke back a startled laugh.
“Thank you,” she said. “But there are only two boxes I need. They’re old, both of them. One held some coins… the other was smaller, with jewellery inside.”
The siren tilted her head, a gesture so innocently curious it unsettled Madeleine more than it should have.
“There was a necklace,” she said, sketching a circle around her throat. Then she touched her earlobe. “And a pair of earrings. And…” She held up her left hand. “A ring. It looks like this one.”
“I know what jewellery is,” the siren said, her grin widening.
The heat in Madeleine’s neck crept up to her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure that’s all you want? I could bring you some clothes, too.”
“I don’t care about them,” Madeleine said quickly. The sooner this meeting ended, the better. Although… “Could you bring some of my fiancé’s things? Just a shirt or two, trousers… maybe a jacket?”
The siren hesitated, her smile turning sheepish. “Ah… I can’t. I cut them up to make other things. I’m not sure what’s left.”
Madeleine swallowed and found herself drawing in breath for the question she’d rehearsed but never expected to say aloud.
“Did you take our things… to give to them?”
The siren’s brow rose. “Them?”
“The women you-” Madeleine’s voice caught. “The women you kidnapped.”
The siren laughed. “Kidnapped?” she echoed. “They came to me willingly.”
That couldn’t be right. Could it? Anything the siren said could be spun with enchantment, threaded with untruth. Yet how could Madeleine accuse her without inviting danger?
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I just don’t understand…”
“Would you like to see them?” the siren asked.
Madeleine blinked. “Wh-what?”
“If you’re so worried,” the siren said, sweeping her arm toward the jagged trail beyond, “would you like to meet the girls?”
Madeleine stumbled back a step. Surely, this was a trap. The siren was dangling the one thing she most longed to know, the fate of the missing, and offering it up like it meant nothing. But why?
In her mind, the innkeeper’s voice, or some stitched-together memory of it, hissed a warning. She’s drawing you in. Luring you closer with your own questions.
If she followed, would she see them? Or would she vanish, as they had?
“No,” Madeleine said thickly. “I’d just like my things. Please.”
To her surprise, the siren only shrugged. “If that’s what you want. But the offer’s there.”
Then, with a rush of wind and sound, her wings spread wide. She leapt into the air in a spray of dust and pebbles, the force of her departure kicking grit into Madeleine’s eyes. She gasped and shielded her face, heart surging with the instinct to run, to draw the blade and defend herself.
But the roar of her wings grew distant. Fainter.
Madeleine opened her eyes.
She was alone.
Madeleine staggered to the nearest cliff face and slumped against it, dragging in shallow, ragged breaths. Her chest felt too tight to draw in more than wisps of air, and her legs trembled beneath her skirts.
This whole venture had begun to feel like a fever dream, too strange, too surreal to be anything but imagined. Did she smack her head against a rock? Maybe she had fallen, and now lay bleeding in the dust, hallucinating this strange encounter with a siren who seemed like two entirely different creatures in the space of a single day?
She pinched her cheeks sharply. Once, then again, until warmth bloomed beneath her fingers. No, she was awake. The rock at her back was rough and sun-warmed. Her fear was real.
Madeleine began to pace, the rhythm of her boots crunching grit against stone echoing her spiralling thoughts. Her mind filled with questions and imagined terrors. Of the missing women, of what fates might have befallen them, and of what might happen if she were foolish enough to join them.
And what if?
What if she had agreed to follow the siren?
She kicked at a stone, sending it skittering across the cliff base with a brittle crack. Of course the siren would claim the women were unharmed. Of course she’d say they came willingly. Sirens were infamous for speaking in half-truths, for crafting illusions out of desire and coaxing people toward their own ruin. Just as sprites were mischief-makers, just as nymphs would always return to their water or woods or wind, deception was simply in a siren’s nature.
But still… she was taking too long.
Madeleine cast a wary glance at the sky, then turned back toward the road, slipping her hand beneath her satchel to wrap cold fingers around the dinner knife’s hilt. She kept close to the cliff face as she walked, trailing one hand along the jagged wall for balance, the other locked around the knife.
Every so often, a stone tumbled loose from high above and bounced sharply down the rocks, startling her into drawing the blade halfway free, heart thudding like a war drum.
She came to a fork in the path, one road sloped downward, narrowing into the cliffside, while the other continued forward, smoother and wider. A soft sound caught her ear, trickling water, gentle and persistent. She turned toward it.
The farther she walked, the narrower the path became, the walls pressing in like ribs. She edged along it sideways now, back brushing stone, shoulders hunched. Her feet shuffled carefully, her grip on the knife bone-white.
Madeleine froze.
From somewhere just beyond the bend, she heard it. Faint and strange, a sound so soft it almost merged with the trickling water. Humming.
Low and tuneless at first, like someone thinking aloud with their voice. Then it lifted, lilting into a melody too fluid and inhuman to be accidental. It wasn’t a song she recognised, but something older, like the echo of a lullaby sung beneath the sea.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, but she pressed herself closer to the rock, clutching the dinner knife tighter against her chest. The humming carried on, drifting lazily through the narrowing pass, impossibly calm.
She crouched behind a slab of stone jutting from the wall, tucking herself into the shadow, pressing the blade to her chest like a talisman. Her breathing came in shallow, uneven bursts. She waited a moment and steeled herself.
Just one look. That’s all.
Peeking around the edge, her breath caught.
The path opened into a hidden hollow nestled deep within the cliffs. A waterfall spilled from the jagged heights above, streaming in a silver ribbon down into a crystalline pool that shimmered in the light like liquid glass. Mist drifted lazily across the surface. Moss clung thickly to the surrounding rocks, emerald-green against the iron-rich red of the cliff walls.
And there, vibrant and unmistakable, were the siren’s wings, spread partially in the sunlight like stained glass come to life.
Madeleine jerked back behind the rock, heart in her throat, certain she’d been spotted. But the moment stretched and nothing happened. No voice, no sound of feathers shifting, no footsteps.
She peeked again.
The siren was kneeling with her back to her, her wings relaxed and half-folded. Beside her lay a large sack, bound with a fraying strip of cloth. She hadn’t seen her.
Madeleine let out a long, shaking breath and pressed her back to the stone. The rock was cool against her sweat-slicked spine.
“I know you’re there,” the siren called.
Madeleine jolted, so violently that the knife slipped from her fingers and clattered against the stone with a bright, ringing tink!
No. No, no. She hadn’t been seen. The waterfall. It might have masked the sound. Maybe it was just a bluff…
“It’s alright,” the siren continued, her voice lightly amused. “You can come out.”
At Madeleine’s silence, the siren added, “I have your things.”
Madeleine curled inward, pressing her trembling hands over her mouth to muffle any sound. Panic and logic warred in her chest.
If she ran, the siren would chase her.
And she would catch her.
She had just found the siren’s lair! There was no chance the creature would let her return to town with that knowledge. If she truly were dangerous, she would kill to keep this place secret.
So why hadn’t she?
Why hadn’t she flown at her like before, so fast she’d nearly missed it? Why was she just… waiting?
Legs shaking, Madeleine rose slowly, hands raised in surrender. She staggered out from behind the rock.
The siren did not so much as turn her head.
She was crouched beside the pool now, with a serene expression on her face, wings tucked behind her back. As if Madeleine’s presence was expected. As if she’d known she would come, and simply didn’t mind.
Madeleine opened her mouth, but no words came. Her tongue felt dry, her throat constricted.
Noticing Madeleine’s gaze lingering on the sack, the siren crouched beside it. A soft clinking of metal within stirred a flicker of hope in Madeleine’s chest.
“Sorry I took so long,” the siren said, lifting the bundle and presenting it with both hands. Her wings flared slightly behind her. She beamed, clearly pleased with herself, as though expecting praise. “Here. Don’t worry, I checked everything. The jewellery’s fine, nothing’s broken. And the money’s all still there.” She gave a sheepish little laugh. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I took the money. Guess I just…grabbed what I could. Sorry for the trouble.”
Madeleine instinctively took a step forward, then froze. The sunlight struck the curve of the siren’s talons, casting long, golden slivers on the rock. She remained just out of reach. And she intended to keep it that way.
The siren seemed to catch on. Her smile faded slightly. “Or… I can leave it here?”
She crossed halfway to Madeleine and gently set the sack down before retreating a few paces, wings folding tightly at her back once more.
Still wary, Madeleine moved quickly. She stalked forward, snatched the sack up, and shuffled back without turning her back to the creature. Only once she’d put several steps between them did she allow herself to breathe.
The siren stayed by the water’s edge, not moving an inch.
Keeping her in sight, Madeleine hugged the sack to her chest. But when the sharp corner of one of the boxes jabbed into her ribs, her fear was momentarily forgotten. She dropped to her knees and yanked open the sack, hand diving inside.
Her fingers brushed worn velvet. Her breath caught.
She pulled free the small jewellery box and flipped it open.
There it was. The necklace, each aquamarine gem intact and glittering faintly in the light. The matching earrings nestled beside it. And the ring resting exactly where it belonged.
Madeleine’s whole body slackened. A breath escaped her in a tremble. Her throat tightened, eyes stinging with tears she hadn’t expected. She clutched the box to her chest, as though anchoring herself with it, letting its weight and familiarity calm the ache that had been growing in her for days.
For a few moments, the siren didn’t exist. Nothing did. Just the return of something sacred.
When she could breathe again, she slid the jewellery back into the sack with trembling fingers and searched for the other case. She cracked it open. The money was still there. It was enough. Enough to get home. Enough to start over.
She looked back up.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
The siren’s wings shifted faintly, feathers rustling. “They meant a lot to you, huh?” Her voice held no mockery, only a strange gentleness. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have taken them.”
Madeleine shook her head, blinking back the last of her tears. “It’s… it’s fine. You didn’t know.” How could she? And perhaps more surprising, why did she sound like she cared?
She tied the mouth of the sack closed with firm, steady hands.
“I’m really grateful you brought them back,” she said, eyes not quite meeting the siren’s. “I mean that. I don’t understand any of this, but…thank you.”
The siren tilted her head slightly, watching her with that unreadable expression.
Madeleine cleared her throat and slowly rose from her crouch, brushing her hands against her skirt. “I should probably go now…”
“So soon?” the siren asked, tilting her head slightly. “But you’ve only just arrived.”
“I—I really should,” Madeleine said, retreating a step. Her eyes stayed fixed on the siren, alert for the slightest movement. Any twitch of those wings or shift of her talons that might signal danger.
“I need to get back t-to my fiancé.”
“Why?” the siren asked, her voice gentle, almost curious.
The question struck Madeleine harder than she expected. They kept coming, one after another, each one pushing her further toward some invisible edge. She swallowed. “Because… because he’ll be angry if I’m gone too long.”
The siren’s expression shifted, something between concern and quiet confusion. “Angry?” she repeated. “Why would he be angry?”
“I… I meant—” Madeleine faltered, catching the siren watching her with a furrowed brow, a flicker of genuine worry in her pink eyes. “Worried. I meant he’d be worried.”
The siren tilted her head. “Do you need any help?”
“No!” Madeleine snapped, louder than intended, as the siren took a slow step forward. “I sh-should be able to find my way back just fine.”
The siren paused, then approached more carefully, her movements slow and unthreatening. “Are you sure?”
Madeleine blinked at her, feeling faintly dizzy. Surely she’d hit her head on the way here. That was the only explanation for this. This siren, calm and composed, offering help as if they were mere acquaintances on a morning stroll.
That unsettling calm, that was the worst part. Not knowing what lay beneath it. Was it a mask hiding violent intent, or had she truly misjudged everything?
If the God of Luck had been watching her this whole time, Madeleine was convinced she’d exhausted his patience.
“I suppose I could stay,” she said hesitantly, watching the siren closely for any flicker of menace. “Just for a while…”
The siren smiled. And for reasons she couldn’t quite name, that smile sent Madeleine’s instincts into a frenzy.
Everything inside her screamed to turn and run, now, to put as much distance between them as she could.
…But she didn’t.
Madeleine sat at the edge of the pool, her boots and stockings placed neatly beside the hemp sack, her bare legs gently paddling in the cool, crystalline water. It was deeper than she expected, the light catching on the rippling surface and casting silver patterns across the moss-covered stones.
The siren swam lazily through the pool, her long tail slicing through the water with elegant precision. Every so often, her pink eyes flicked to Madeleine, watching her from beneath a curtain of wet, dark curls. Madeleine studied her in turn, noting with growing certainty that her earlier assumption had been correct, the tail only appeared when she was submerged. On land, she had legs like any woman. In water, she transformed.
She couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer.
“Do you…” Madeleine hesitated, her voice barely carrying over the trickling of the waterfall. “Do you remember me?”
The siren froze mid-stroke. Her head snapped around, eyes widening with an almost feral intensity, then brightened with delight.
“I knew it was you!” she exclaimed, beaming, and darted through the water with surprising speed. She swam up to the edge of the pool, her wet hand settling warmly on Madeleine’s knee. “How wonderful! I saw your face years ago, and it has haunted me ever since.”
Madeleine’s throat tightened. “Indeed,” she managed, summoning the composure to match her calm tone. It took effort to overcome the chill crawling up her spine. “Whether it was a dream or not, I couldn’t forget your face.”
The siren’s grin softened, losing its sharp edge. The strangeness Madeleine had once imagined in it now seemed almost innocent. Her cheeks dimpled with a kind of genuine joy, and there was an intelligent warmth in her expression that caught Madeleine off guard.
The siren—no, this strange girl of sea and teeth and dreams—pressed her hand in Madeleine’s lap, and Madeleine, almost without thinking, laid her own hand on top of it. Their eyes met. The siren blushed faintly, her lips curling into another small, bashful smile.
She rested her chin lightly on Madeleine’s knee, eyes half-lidded.
“I remember it clear as day,” she said softly. “I was wading in the shallows when I heard someone crying. When I surfaced, I saw you, most definitely you, as I see you now. A girl with red hair, wide brown eyes, and lips that trembled even as you smiled. I couldn’t look away.”
Madeleine’s chest tightened, memory stirring where she had long buried it.
“I climbed out of the water,” Claudia continued, “and I wrapped my arms around you. I think we both fell asleep like that, tangled together on the shore. I never forgot your face. Never. I couldn’t mistake it for anyone else’s.”
Madeleine turned her gaze to the water, letting her fingers drift across its surface. The memory was faint, more a feeling than a clear image, but she remembered the ache of it. The loneliness. Even when her parents were still alive, there had been something hollow and distant about those days. She’d cried often, and she’d always cried alone.
The siren sighed, and her voice turned wistful. “I don’t know which of us should fear the other more,” she murmured. “If you weren’t so pretty, I think I might be afraid of you. But as you are... it feels like we were always meant to meet again.”
She looked up at Madeleine, eyes shining with something dangerously close to yearning.
“I’ve never had a friend,” she whispered. “Do you think… maybe now, I could find one?”
Madeleine didn’t know what to say. There was something undeniably compelling about her.
As if sensing the thought, the siren added, almost shyly, “I’m Claudia, by the way.”
“Claudia,” Madeleine echoed, tasting the name on her tongue.
She did feel drawn to her, like an old thread tugging through time. And yet, there was also a sliver of something else beneath that pull. A whisper of unease that she couldn’t name. It nestled behind Claudia’s every smile, behind the warmth of her touch and the glint in her eyes.
Madeleine sat still, the cool weight of the hemp sack on her lap grounding her more than she cared to admit. Her fingers curled tightly around the knot at its mouth. She should have left the moment she got her things back. She meant to. Every instinct had told her to run the moment she stepped into the clearing, had screamed it again when Claudia smiled at her like that.
But she hadn’t run.
Why?
Because she needed answers? Closure? Or was it something more dangerous? Some foolish thread of curiosity, of recognition, of… longing?
She stared at the pool, at the trail of feathers caught on the rocks, glinting like wet silk. The longer she sat here, the more her thoughts tangled: Claudia’s tenderness and her violence, the legend and the girl. Something didn’t add up. And the not-knowing was eating her alive.
Finally, Madeleine turned to her.
“Are you going to let me go?”
Claudia, lounging near the edge of the pool with her chin resting on her arms, raised her brows faintly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
A thousand answers surged to Madeleine’s lips. Because you’re a siren. Because you’ve taken women who never returned. Because the town fears your name like it’s a curse. But above all, Madeleine was tired of being toyed with. She didn’t want evasions or cryptic smiles, she wanted the truth. If Claudia had brought her here only to kill her, then why the long game? Why show her softness, only to rip it away?
“Did you want me to find this place?” Madeleine asked quietly.
Claudia’s low chuckle rippled across the water, drawing Madeleine’s eyes back to her. “I just waited,” she said. “And gambled on the possibility that you’d get curious.”
“…Why?”
The siren tilted her head, studying her again with those deep, strange eyes. An expression half thoughtful, half amused. “I think the better question is: why did you come here, in the end?”
“I… I don’t know,” Madeleine admitted, but the answer felt hollow as soon as she said it. She did know. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she had needed something. Maybe not from Claudia, but from the part of herself that had never stopped wondering. Never stopped remembering.
Still, the contradiction clung to her skin like fog. How could this creature—so gentle now, so composed—be the same being responsible for blood and grief? She’d seen it. She’d felt it, carried it with her every time she passed the docks, when she looked into the hollow eyes of those still waiting for their sisters, daughters, lovers. She remembered the scratches on the boats, the bodies scarred by claws.
“How are you being like this?” she whispered. “So calm. So kind. When I’ve seen what you’ve done. When I know what you’ve caused.”
Claudia’s smile didn’t waver. But it didn’t reach her eyes either.
“You’ve killed those who tried to find these women,” Madeleine pressed. “Why are you being so… lenient with me?”
“Should I need a reason?” Claudia asked softly.
“Yes!” Madeleine burst out, the word torn from her throat. “This just doesn’t make sense!”
Silence settled between them, heavy and taut. The only sound was the distant roar of the waterfall, the quiet lap of water against rock.
Madeleine’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She didn’t even realise she was gripping the sack so tightly until her knuckles ached.
Claudia finally sat up straighter, her tail coiling beneath the surface. “Then let me ask you this, Madeleine,” she said. “What would make it make sense?”
Madeleine frowned.
The pool shimmered with serenity, the wind stirring ripples along its surface. The distant rumble of the waterfall masked most sounds, but now that she was listening, truly listening, she noticed something strange.
There was nothing.
No voices. No footsteps. No whispers of life. Just the wind, the water, the occasional soft rustle of wings.
She looked at Claudia, who had gone still, her chin no longer resting playfully on Madeleine’s knee. That softness was slipping away again, like the tide retreating from shore.
“Where are they?” Madeleine asked. Her voice barely rose above the wind. “The women. I haven’t heard… anyone. Not a single sound.”
Claudia’s gaze flicked away. She slid back into the water, putting distance between them with slow, gliding strokes.
“They left me,” she said finally. Her tone had lost all its brightness, all the warmth that had so recently glowed behind her words. She looked hollow now, as though she’d spoken through a memory rather than a truth.
“Left you?” Madeleine echoed, confused. “That can’t be right. If they left, they’d be back in town. Someone would have seen them.”
Claudia didn’t answer at first. She only drifted farther, her wings trailing behind her like ghostly veils in the water.
“I thought they wanted to stay with me,” she said at last. “I thought they loved me.”
Madeleine swallowed hard. “Claudia… what happened to them?”
Claudia turned her head slowly.
“They didn’t appreciate the Gift.”
Before Madeleine could ask what she meant, Claudia dipped beneath the water and disappeared.
The pool remained still for an agonising moment, then the siren surfaced near the far end, climbing onto a narrow ledge of stone. Her tail shimmered once more before vanishing as she stood in her full, terrible elegance. In her hands, she carried a small, dark wooden box.
Claudia knelt on the rocks beside Madeleine. She placed the box gently on the ground between them.
“You wanted to understand,” she said quietly. “This is all I have left of them.”
Madeleine stared at it. The box was small enough to fit in her lap, bound with rusted hinges and sealed with an unassuming latch. The scent that rose from the box was faint, metallic, and wrong. Her fingers hesitated above the lid. Something deep in her gut twisted.
She opened it.
Inside were things no jewellery box should ever contain.
A finger. Cleanly severed at the knuckle, the nail painted a chipped rose-pink.
A braid of pale hair, tied with blue ribbon.
Teeth.
A tarnished locket still sticky with dried blood.
Madeleine recoiled, clapping the lid shut with a gasp. Her breath caught in her throat, bile crawling up from her stomach.
“What is wrong with you?” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Madeleine yanked her legs from the water, heart hammering. The cold air slapped against her damp skin as she scrambled for her sack and stockings, hands shaking too badly to bother with the latter. She shoved her feet into her boots bare, not caring how they pinched.
The box. The teeth. The braid.
Claudia only looked at her. There was no guilt in her expression, only quiet pain, a grief worn smooth by time.
Claudia’s voice came quiet behind her. “I don’t mean to frighten you. You must understand… they didn’t survive the transition. Some chose to drown. Others ran, but couldn’t… couldn’t stay what I made them.”
Madeleine didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her breath was coming fast, shallow, and her hands fumbled with the strap of her satchel as she threw it over her shoulder. Her eyes never left Claudia, watching for any sudden movement, for talons to flash or wings to unfurl.
Claudia reached out, slowly, then stopped short, her hand hovering in the space between them. Her expression was full of sadness Madeleine couldn’t bear to decipher.
“I thought love would be enough,” she said.
Madeleine didn’t realise how far she’d backed away until her heel struck a loose stone and nearly sent her staggering. Her pulse was thunder in her ears.
Claudia studied her face. “Will I see you again?”
Madeleine hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said, and the lie clanged in her mouth like dropped iron. She would never come back here. Not if she had any sense left at all.
Claudia nodded once. “Do you need help finding your way back?”
“No.” Madeleine’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “No, thank you. I can do it myself.”
“If that’s what you want,” Claudia said softly.
Madeleine stepped behind the boulder where she’d first hidden and bent to retrieve the butter knife, slipping it quickly into her satchel. Then she turned and ran, up the winding path, heart pounding, vision swimming.
They were gone. All of them. Whatever she’d hoped to find—answers, maybe, or survivors—was gone.
She had to tell the town. Someone needed to know what had happened to the missing women. But how could she? How could she explain what she’d seen without exposing herself? Without confessing that she’d spoken with the siren, that she’d stayed, that part of her had even… listened?
By the time she reached the edge of town, Madeleine was near collapse, the weight of everything pressing down like wet stone. Her eyes swept the cliffs behind her one last time, searching for the glint of feathers, a flicker of movement, anything.
Nothing.
Claudia hadn’t followed her.
As she crossed into the outskirts of town, her fingers drifted to the side of her neck, tracing it absentmindedly.
Right there, where Claudia had touched her. Where her tongue had lingered.
Madeleine shivered and dropped her hand.
She didn’t look back again.
Madeleine didn’t remember much of the run back to the inn, only the uneven stone underfoot and the sick weight in her chest that no amount of breath could lift. When she finally reached the crooked little building, she’d barely managed to push the door open before Estelle nearly collided with her in the entryway.
“Where the hell have you been?” Estelle hissed, grabbing her by the arm. “We’ve been worried sick!”
Her voice was rough with tension, and the sight of her flushed, furious face made Madeleine's chest twist with guilt.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “What… what has my fiancé said to you?”
She should have left a note, anything to say she’d gone into town for an errand. But she hadn’t expected to be gone so long… or to end up somewhere so dangerous.
“He asked where you’d gone. Several times.” Estelle crossed her arms with a deep sigh.
Madeleine winced as a sharp pain surged behind her eyes. The weight of the sack hanging at her side felt even heavier now. “I know. I’m sorry, Estelle. I should’ve told you both before I left.”
Estelle huffed. “Well, I’d have stopped you if you had. You can’t keep sneaking off like this!”
“What… what did you tell him?”
“I told him you went to town, of course,” she said, then glanced at the bag. “Where did you go?”
Madeleine hesitated. Her hand tightened around the hemp strap. She didn’t want to lie, but how could she even begin to explain the truth? How could she say she’d spoken to the siren? That she’d followed her?
Estelle must’ve sensed her hesitation, because her shoulders dropped. “I know it’s not my business,” she said softly. “You don’t need to tell me.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, collecting herself before managing a thin smile. “I’m just relieved you’re safe. I’ll let Grandmother know you’re back, though she’ll want a word with you later.”
Still bracing for the scolding to come, Madeleine had climbed the stairs and made her way to her room. When she opened the door, there he was, propped up in bed with a steaming mug of tea. The bottle of painkillers lay open on the bedside table.
“Ah,” he said, not looking at her. “There you are.”
His eyes flicked briefly to the sack in her arms. “What did you bring back from town, then, my love?”
That chill in his tone made her insides clench. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the sack on her lap. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have,” he said coolly. “Didn’t I tell you not to wander off alone in an unfamiliar place?”
“You did,” Madeleine admitted. “But you were sleeping, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I promise, I had a reason.”
He said nothing and just raised a brow.
She reached into the sack and retrieved the small chest. “Look… this was retrieved from our cart this morning.” She opened the box, showing the coins inside. “It’s all here! All the money we saved for the journey!”
His expression softened for a moment before twisting.
“How is this possible?” he asked. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. “My love… who did this?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but the words caught in her throat at the look on his face. It was confusion… and something else. Something darker.
His grip tightened. “Did you go? Alone?”
She should have said yes and left it at that. Simple, clean, and far less dangerous. But the fear in her belly coiled tighter, making it impossible to speak.
“Why did you go?” he pressed. “Why didn’t you tell me? What made you think you could go off alone like that? What if something had happened to you?”
“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You can’t protect yourself!” he snapped. “If something had attacked you—”
Madeleine thought of Claudia. Of her wings. Of her teeth.
Of her choice to let her go.
“I wasn’t alone,” she blurted. “I spoke with Captain Tuan down at the docks, and—”
“The sailor?” he interrupted. “He retrieved our things?”
“I went with him,” she said quickly. “This was all that was left. And the jewellery.”
“You and that bloody jewellery,” he growled. “Is that why you went? Even after I told you not to? And you turned to them for help?”
“I thought you’d be glad,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I didn’t want to waste time. I thought I was helping—”
“They could have stolen from us!”
“They didn’t,” she said firmly. “This was everything. I was there.”
He waved her off. “People like me are always targets. You’re sweet, my love, so sweet, but you’re naïve. You can’t just trust anyone.”
His words pricked at her chest. But she swallowed her pride. “I promise, Captain Tuan didn’t take anything. There wasn’t anything to take. Probably other travellers ransacked it before we arrived.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “You still should have waited.”
Madeleine reached for him. She smoothed back his hair, brushing the fading bruise under his eye with her fingertips.
“Can’t this be a small victory?” she asked. “We’ve got money now. We can buy clothes and food.”
He grumbled under his breath, but some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “Not much to choose from in this town,” he muttered. “But it’ll do.”
Madeleine nodded, relieved. She got up to lock the boxes in the closet, her hands trembling slightly.
It was still inconceivable to Madeleine that Claudia had simply handed them over. The very creature who had killed others for daring to trespass in her domain had done as Madeleine asked, and had let her leave once again. Even after, she had learned of the fate of the poor women.
And yet... despite everything, a strange warmth stirred beneath her ribs.
Madeleine kept her pace slow, matching her fiancé’s strained steps as they navigated the quiet, sun-drenched streets. Though he insisted she needn’t wait for him, it was obvious he was still struggling. Masking his limp with forced posture, holding his head high and shoulders back, while discreetly shifting most of his weight onto her arm. She didn’t mind. In truth, he was in the best mood she’d seen him in since the siren attack.
The innkeeper hadn’t confronted her at all that morning, though Madeleine had caught the sharp glance the woman shot her from across the common room. She must have overheard the argument from the night before and thought better than to reprimand her. Or perhaps the sight of her fiancé at her side had reassured her… or deterred her from risking another confrontation.
The sea sprites, however, were delighted to see her. As they neared the town centre, they flocked to her like bees to a flower, chirping and fluttering with electric excitement. Tiny fingers tugged at the hem of her blouse, brushed against her sleeves and hands, and one bold creature even tapped the tip of her nose. They weren’t aggressive nor hungry, it seemed, despite her having packed slices of bread in case they begged for food. No, they were simply fascinated with her.
Her fiancé, on the other hand, was completely ignored. The sprites only reacted to him when he tried to swat them away, at which point several bared tiny teeth and snapped at his fingers. She thought he’d be relieved to be left alone. Instead, his scowl deepened with every flutter near her shoulder.
“They’re not hurting me,” Madeleine said gently. “I don’t mind.”
“Well, I mind,” he muttered. “They’re like vermin. How can you tolerate them?”
She said nothing, only reached into her satchel and produced a slice of bread. The sprites went into a frenzy. Some waited patiently as she tore off neat pieces and handed them out. Others scrambled to snatch whole chunks, fighting mid-air over larger portions.
“That should appease them,” she said when the slice was reduced to crumbs.
“They’ll just follow you now,” he complained.
He wasn’t wrong. A few of the sprites fluttered off once fed, but several remained, continuing to fuss over her clothes, hair, and hands. Yet none of them ventured near her neck.
She hadn’t slept at all. Despite the exhaustion, her mind refused to quiet. Every time her eyes closed, she was met with the echoing laughter of the siren, the rustle of feathers, the soft clap of wings . She’d woken before sunrise, more fatigued than the day before.
She should tell someone what had happened to the women. She knew she should. But what then? The townsmen would charge to the cliffs, and the siren would be waiting. She would kill them. She might even kill Madeleine for leading them there.
Perhaps she should have told Estelle. But that would mean explaining everything… and Estelle might go to the others. The townspeople were already afraid. They could turn violent.
The store owner was startled to see them enter but quickly recovered, greeting them warmly before fetching her husband from the back. While her fiancé tried on trousers, shirts, and cloaks, Madeleine sat quietly on the divan by the window, her eyes drifting between him and the unnervingly quiet docks.
She tried to focus on him—offering her opinion when he held up a shirt—but her thoughts kept circling back to the dead women. She argued with herself: If she stayed silent, families would go on hoping. But if she spoke, men would die.
Time passed slowly. The docks remained empty. The only movement outside came from the sea sprites, some of whom had gathered outside the shop window, pointing at her and chirping excitedly. Their behaviour reminded her of the society parties she used to attend; guests whispering behind their hands, judging her clothes and posture with silent scorn.
The shopkeeper must have noticed her unease, because she soon crossed the room and asked gently, “Are you well, ma’am?”
“A little dizzy,” Madeleine admitted. It wasn’t a lie. “It might just be the heat.”
The woman nodded and propped open the door with a pair of half-finished shoes. The sea breeze that swept in helped ease the pressure behind Madeleine’s eyes, though the pain in her skull still lingered.
Eventually, she managed to concentrate on her fiancé again. He was admiring himself in the mirror, turning this way and that way in a jacket he claimed was fit for a gala. The comment irritated the shopkeeper and visibly angered her husband, whose stitching the man had just insulted. Madeleine made a mental note to offer them extra payment before they left.
Then four sprites fluttered into the store.
The shopkeeper barked a warning and started forward to chase them off, but paused when Madeleine said, “They must want some more bread.”
She reached into her satchel, but the sprites didn’t beg for food this time. Instead, they presented her with a necklace. Silver-chained, with an exquisite golden-yellow gem set in a filigreed frame. It was larger than a coin, gleaming like sunlight in a cup of honey.
Madeleine blinked, startled. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, accepting it.
She hoped they hadn’t stolen it.
The sprites in the city were food-driven pranksters, not thieves. Still, when she glanced at the shopkeeper, the woman’s mouth had fallen open in astonishment. Clearly, this was not normal behaviour.
The sprites hovered, watching her with expectant eyes. They wanted something.
She reached again for her satchel. “Please remember to share-”
But the sprites made a sharp, chittering sound, like impatience.
“Oh. I’m sorry…” Madeleine looked at the necklace again. “It’s lovely. But I don’t think I can-”
They vanished mid-sentence, clearly satisfied.
Madeleine stared after them, the weight of the gem heavy in her palm. She looked to her fiancé for his reaction, but he was still lost in the mirror, admiring himself. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed a thing.
She slipped the necklace into her satchel and cast the shopkeeper a puzzled look. The woman only shrugged, then turned to help her husband, who was struggling to remain civil.
When it came time to pay, Madeleine settled the amount, adding a generous tip for the trouble. Her fiancé had spent more time posing than choosing, and in the end, selected very little.
By the time they stepped out into the sun again, Madeleine longed for the cool shadows of the inn. Even the sea breeze wasn’t enough to chase away the heavy heat pressing down on her. Her stomach churned, and her head throbbed. She leaned into her fiancé’s arm, careful not to overburden him.
“What say we stop for a bite to eat?” he suggested.
Food might help. Perhaps it was hunger making her feel so ill. “That sounds nice…”
“There must be a restaurant here that serves a decent seafood dish,” he mused aloud, scanning the street. “Lobster, perhaps? Or shrimp. Maybe oysters…”
His words grew faint.
Dark spots bloomed across her vision. Her legs weakened.
And then the world tilted.
“Stress,” Luchenbaum huffed, setting aside his tools once the examination was complete.
Madeleine blinked through bleary eyes at the elderly man. “Are you sure?”
“That’s my final diagnosis,” Luchenbaum replied, his tone brisk but not unkind. “Stress, exhaustion, and hunger. Young Estelle tells me you haven’t been eating properly. Are you sleeping at all?”
“Not as well as I’d like.” In truth, her nights had been restless, and she’d been waking far too early, mind still racing.
He grumbled under his breath and turned to prepare some medicine. He measured out a delicate scoop of shimmering white powder and let it fall, grain by grain, into a small bottle of warm water until it reached the brim. A gentle swirl sent the contents into a slow spiral.
“Half a teaspoon in something warm before bed,” he instructed, corking the bottle and placing it on the bedside table. “It’s mild. Just enough to help you relax. Nothing more.”
“Thank you,” Madeleine murmured, taking the cup Luchenbaum had already prepared. The soft scent of lavender and honey drifted upward with the steam, already soothing the tightness in her chest.
The entire ordeal had been thoroughly unpleasant. According to her fiancé, she’d only fainted for less than a minute, but Madeleine could hardly recall anything between the dizziness near the docks and waking under Luchenbaum’s care at the inn.
She ached all over. Her arm was sore, her ankles stiff, and her knees throbbed beneath the blankets. The physician guessed she had hit the ground hard. That must have meant her fiancé had let her fall. They’d been arm in arm, surely he would have caught her. Or had the sudden collapse startled him too badly to react?
At least she hadn’t struck her head. And now, curled in the comfort of her bed with the window open, Madeleine felt marginally better. The room was filled with sunlight and the distant sound of waves, a lullaby of wind and water.
Her fiancé had disappeared some time ago. She suspected Luchenbaum had sent him away to speak with her privately. She vaguely recalled him making quite a scene before storming off.
“I’d only take this”—the physician tapped the bottle—“if you’re truly having trouble sleeping. Don’t come to rely on it, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now… is there anything else you should be telling me?”
A knot twisted in Madeleine’s stomach. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Luchenbaum narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to believe this was just a delayed reaction to the siren attack. And maybe it is. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. But if I’m to help you, I need to understand what’s really going on.”
Madeleine said nothing. She was indeed stressed, over the siren, over the dead women, over her fiancé’s strange and shifting moods. The cruel irony was that she couldn’t talk about any of it. Not without putting others in danger.
“Are you taking a contraceptive?” Luchenbaum asked gently. “Severe period cycles can cause dizzy spells.”
“I do... or did. I haven’t been able to take one since I left home though.”
“I see…”
“I’m getting married,” she added defensively, her fingers tightening around the cup. “It’s a big change. I’m nervous. And after the attack, I think... I think it all just caught up with me.”
Luchenbaum made a low sound in his throat, unconvinced. But she didn’t press. “Well, I won’t force you.” After one final check, Luchenbaum packed his things and left.
Madeleine slowly drained the last of her drink, then eased herself into a more comfortable position, tucking her knees beneath the blankets and turning toward the window.
Already, the medicine was taking effect. It didn’t knock her out, just calmed her breathing, and quieted her thoughts. Her body slackened. Her head cleared.
Rather than fall into a deep, heavy sleep, she drifted in and out of gentle dozes. For the first time in days, her mind was quiet. The thoughts that usually clawed at her were still there, but distant now, softened by the breeze and the slow movement of clouds across a pale blue sky.
The tiny scaled head of a sea sprite appeared suddenly over the windowsill, its beady eyes scanning the room before settling on Madeleine.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, stifling a yawn, “but I don’t have any food with me right now.”
The sprite hesitated for a moment before fluttering cautiously through the open window. It hovered in the still air, inspecting her with great interest. Then, without warning, it turned and let out a sharp, squawking call.
Moments later, three more sprites darted inside, wings shimmering like wet glass in the sunlight. Each one carried something small and glittering. They landed softly on the blanket draped across Madeleine’s lap and began presenting their treasures with almost frantic enthusiasm.
More jewellery.
Madeleine blinked at the offerings in confusion. Was this normal behaviour for the local sprites after all? They had never brought her gifts before today. She had always assumed their offerings, if they ever made any, would be seashells or bits of polished stone, not delicate chains and jewel-studded rings.
“Where are you getting these from?” she asked, as one sprite persistently tried to force a diamond-studded ring onto her finger.
She relented and accepted the ring, cradling it in her palm. It reminded her of her mother’s jewellery. Too meaningful to be lost without consequence. Someone in the town could be missing these very items.
“I don’t think I should take these,” Madeleine said, her voice low with unease.
The sprites didn’t appreciate her hesitation. One of them threw a silver bracelet at her with what could only be described as indignation.
Startled, she sighed and gave in. “Alright. Thank you.”
That seemed to satisfy them. The sprites exchanged tiny, triumphant nods, then zipped back out through the window, vanishing into the air without a backward glance.
Madeleine stared at the jewellery now glinting in her lap. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to deserve such generous, and suspicious, attentions. All she’d ever offered them were scraps: leftover crumbs, bits of sea-salted bread. Not the sweetened milk or dollops of honey the townspeople were known to leave out in tiny saucers.
She tucked the jewellery beneath her pillow, too drowsy to search for her satchel. Her limbs were heavy, her thoughts slow and loose in her mind. She turned her face once more toward the window, letting the soft blue sky and gentle breeze lull her deeper into calm.
Madeleine floated in and out of awareness, caught in strange half-dreams where the real world still lingered at the edges.
Each image shifted into the next like reflections on rippling water.
She dreamed of cool seawater lapping at her bare feet… of a grand ballroom where dozens of wolves watched her with bright, wicked eyes… of cascading waterfalls and the quiet joy of bathing in a secret, hidden pool… of a young girl with the most beautiful, uncanny pink eyes… and of laying on a soft bed of feathers, shimmering gold beneath her skin.
Then came the scratching.
It was soft at first, but enough to pull her gently from the haze. Her lashes fluttered as she stirred, and she turned her head toward the open window just in time to see a sea sprite poke its head into the room, its beady eyes scanning for movement.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slowly pushed herself upright. “I still don’t have any food,” she mumbled, voice hoarse with drowsiness. “Sorry.”
The sprite tilted its head, unbothered, then let out a short squeak. A moment later, half a dozen others appeared, flitting through the open window, all straining to carry a small metal box between them. The box gleamed with silver plating and the iridescent lining of seashells, catching the light in shifting hues of blue, green, and rose-pink.
Another gift.
With a sigh, Madeleine extended her hands, and the sprites dropped the box into her waiting palms with a chorus of relieved chirps.
“I really hope you aren’t stealing these from someone,” she muttered to the leader, who floated before her with a proud little puff of its chest.
The sprite pointed insistently to the box, its meaning unmistakable: open it.
With reluctant fingers, Madeleine eased the lid back.
Inside was more jewellery.
“Thank you,” she said softly when the sprites let out a series of impatient, exasperated sounds. That seemed to placate them. One by one, they vanished through the window again, leaving her alone with their latest offering.
She examined the contents carefully. Like before, the collection was mismatched, but undeniably expensive. Necklaces set with sapphires and turquoise stones, dangling earrings of delicate silver, a few more bracelets, and a large ring crowned with a single luminous pearl.
Then she saw it.
A flicker of yellow, half-concealed beneath the tangle of bracelets. A specific, pale hue, almost too warm. She thought it might be a brooch, or perhaps a hairpin. As she reached in and brushed her fingers against it, a strange softness met her touch.
A chill ran across her skin like ice water.
Her heart began to pound, slow and heavy, as she drew the object out with trembling fingers.
A golden feather.
Notes:
come on claudia, didn't anyone ever tell you that showing your crush your souvenirs from the corpses of your failed situationships on the first date was a bad idea?
Wonder_Libra27 on Chapter 1 Mon 02 Jun 2025 02:30PM UTC
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jupitcr on Chapter 1 Fri 13 Jun 2025 11:22PM UTC
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Alovethatsforreal on Chapter 2 Fri 18 Jul 2025 11:46PM UTC
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