▪︎𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝗜'𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
in which an ordinary girl soon finds out that she's not as ordinary as she once thought, all while trying to hide her f...
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♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪♡ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 fifty-eight
siren call
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
THE SIREN'S SHOULDERS WERE SLUMPED BACKWARDS INTO THE CHAIR, HER WRISTS CHAINED DOWN AND ANKLES BOUND TO THE FLOOR.
Her eyes wavered underneath her eyelids while pain settled over her young muscles. She could hear the faint swishing of swaying water against her ears like holy echoes and motherly lullabies singing her back into reality.
A diluted blue danced across the walls and floor. Then came the cold glass that morphed and mangled each light source into an amalgamation of rainbows and muddy browns.
Her eyes winced at the sight. They began stifling open, as her fists and closed lips did, Dallas spoke for the first time in more than a few hours.
She noticed how coarse her throat seemed and how each word felt like swallowing nails, but she insisted upon voicing it anyway.
"Where am I?" The Siren's voice bounced from the walls and carried through the air like distant butterflies begging to escape. Something Dallas couldn't seem to do no matter how hard she tried.
A voice replied rather flatly.
"Deaton's Aquarium."
The words made her feel queasy to her stomach. She wasn't somebody's sick goldfish they could throw in a tank and forget about.
Dallas chewed on the inner sides of her cheeks and tore at the chains they had tied around her wrists.
Hearing the chains jingle and her breathing pick up, Derek turned his head to the girl. He then glanced to Peter Hale who cocked a single brow before walking over and kneeling to her slouched height.
"I thought you'd appreciate being surrounded by all your little fishy friends."
She bowed her head forward to stare down at the chains on her ankles. Then Siren finally looked up, meeting the gaze of the two Hale werewolves. "You think I can't get out of these?"
That tone was to be expected of her. To inflict fear and uncertainty. Sparkling that bittersweet salt wherever she went.
"I'm actually betting on it." Derek crossed his arms with a blank look. "Which is why I have this." He then lifted his hand with his fingers wrapped around the rim of the Tuning Fork.
Dallie slumped back in her chair with discomfort. Her hands gripped the armrests while her nails dug into the material and chipped her nailbeds and red nail polish. Her eyes, which was usually filled with vanilla ecstasy, had rotten.
