Like a siren of the sea she beckons them to her. A distant call that lures them to the distant waters, toward the horizon where she awaits them, promises dripping from her lips. Their desire is as palpable as her songs that carry across the winds, that ripple through their sails and urges them further out. Closer to her, the wind twists and turns and brings their boat faster, and the men on board holler and praise her bewitching voice.
Enchanted by her songs that sings praises, that whispers desires as the wind caresses their skin. The dark clouds that circle behind their ship go unnoticed, pushing them further out to sea and swallowing up the shore - hiding it away. They don’t hear the ripple of angry thunder through the black clouds, drowned out by her voice. The horizon is lit up by the rising sun a promising future as long as they don’t look back. Back at the billowing black clouds that echo with their sins that follow them.
The caress of whispers fades away with the wind, an empty echo through the air that leaves them stranded. Their sails falling flat, the steady pulse of the water against the hull of their ship is an echo of how far out they are, how alone they are. It’s only the crack of thunder that they turn around to see the black clouds making their way toward the ship. Stunned faces that desperately strain to hear the voice that promises to lead them to safety.
Even with eyes squeezed shut at the oncoming storm, the shadow that silently rises from the water and blocks out the sun catches their attention. Eyes peeling open as hands holding rope go as slack as their jaws, the ethereal beauty looming over them with the impassive expression. She is tall like a statue of Gods, the water glistening off her skin and the fins behind her head remind them of royalty. They bow, bending at the waist, at the knees and praise her, begging for the promises she has sung to them.
She moves, her arms lifting up and spreading out like a welcoming embrace until she tilts her head up and raises her hand, as if praising the open sky and the angry thunder that roars in the distance, growing ever closer.
The waters grow violent, and they buckle down on their ship and continue to sing her praises. Begging for her to save them, to give them what they had heard, what they tasted on the tips of their tongues. Begging for the paradise she promised. Yet she does not acknowledge them, and remains still like a stone statue of praise toward the sky. The winds rage and the water follows in suit, thrashing against the ship that rocks violently from side to side. Unfazed she stands like an incarnation of Calypso, tilting her head back down to the sailors. Each finger bends, like a ball is beneath her long nails and her arms move in.
The winds howl, and the thunder cracks loudly, the dark clouds devouring their ship and only their siren remains untouched by its anger. Each violent sway of the ship is accompanied by her hands moving closer, twisting and manipulating the air and sea to her will, the impassive face is no longer. The hints of disgust brush against the corners of her lips, in the way her eyes narrow down at the men who scream to be saved.
Their world continues to grow smaller as the water rises up, as the wind rocks them violently and the whirlpool brings them into a cycling circle. They shrink against her form, against the waves and everything bends beneath her hands until they are nothing but a sphere of spinning water and angry wind between her palms.
The rippling storm lights up the sky with lightning, the echoing of thunder that drowns out their screaming as they continue in the endless circle. Ship tossed around by the whirlpool that she had shrunken down to fit into her hands. Her towering form turns away from the shore, each step brings her further and further into the angry waters, reaching up to lash at those held within her magic.
They sing her praises instead, begging to be freed and even through the onslaught of rain and thunder they can hear her voice.
“I will escort you to Davy Jones Locker.”
Their screams are swallowed by the howling wind that grows more rapid within her hands as she descends further into the water until her form slips away. The black clouds disappear in her absence, breaking apart against the rays of the sun leaving only the rainbow to dance across the soft shower.
The woman’s feet are tired, her eyes burn with tears and her throat stings with sobs yet to be heard. The dirty and torn cloak of her lost beloved around her shoulders to keep her warm from the morning chill. The path is a weary one, it takes its toll on her in her current state but she is determined to avenge her fallen husband. Slain by sailors too arrogant to know how kind he was, and only saw to bring blood.
Another stifled sob bubbles past her lips, palms brushing against the stray tears that fall. The pathway she struggles against slowly straightens out, no longer a struggle against the uphill. Instead, her breath catches within her throat at the woman who stands at the small makeshift shrine. Her feet bring her close enough to only see the the shadows of her cloak make her features impossible to see.
It’s only when the eerie woman unfolds her hands from within her own cloak that the woman lets forth another sob. Hands immediately covering her mouth as she moves forward, carefully plucking her husband’s wedding ring and necklace.
“It’s you, it’s you.” She wants to sing the woman praises, falling to her knees as she clutches the ring and necklace to her like a lifeline, another anguished sob pressing past her trembling lips. “Thank you, thank you!”
Remembering her own offerings, she presses her husband’s things safely into her satchel, “I have something in return,” She pulls forth the little money she has, everything to her name outstretched in her hands only to be greeted by empty space once occupied.
The wind whips through the air, ruffling against her hair and cloak and like a caress against her cheeks she looks up to the sky and clutches the items to her chest.