Before It's Voiced

Folklore

A/N: Again, I have to say I'm astounded at everyone nominating (voting? I still don't know how it works lol) me and this fic for the FOB Fic Awards thing! I'm honored. Also, thank you to chaotic-panda for beta'ing <3

Warnings for mentions of violence

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folklore

noun

the traditional beliefs, customs, and stories of a community, passed through the generations by word of mouth

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"They want me dead because I am the last siren."

The merman— No, the creature's face, the siren's face was bloodless as he spoke. I had written him as a predator before but never had he proven it in such a way.

The words barely allowed themselves time to sink into my being as he opened his eyes, turning and glaring as if he, too, could hear the chorus of monsters crescendo in my mind. They listened to every word, hanging on like a fish on a hook.

Here comes the interesting part.

"Those monsters you hear want me dead because I am the last siren and the crown they want belongs to me," he said, each word a loaded gun handed over for me to clean. Each syllable an imaginary shot through the monsters' cries.

Can you imagine, a siren prince in hiding, somehow arriving before someone as simple as me? An heir to a crown taking the time to smile at an heir to misfortune? He was royalty trapped in a runaway's body and I had always been a sad soul trapped in a happy one. If the stars this siren prayed to consumed me, would I shine as bright as him?

For the shortest instant, I believed in all this. I believed in a beautiful story about a hero sent on a life-changing journey. I imagined a tale of curses driving him from home. Sleeping Beauty's lore spoke of a princess hidden in the woods, hiding from an eternal sleep. Even Snow White escaped wickedness with serenity on her face.

I wanted to believe this siren was the same as them.

I wanted this story to be beautiful.

But, though his eyes shine and his tail burns a brilliant shade, this story is not beautiful.

It's not an innocent adventure or a fairytale to pass down. It's not a myth or legend or fable.

It's a horror story. It's a nightmare.

It's the most realistic story I'll ever write.

~

The water's grown cold by the time Patrick's prepared to speak, the siren's eyes on Pete's notepad with a wary understanding of what's being written.

"You hesitated to tell me your story yet you rush to write mine?" Patrick scoffs, though the sound shakes. "Just like a human."

Pete bites back a retort, all too aware he lacks the knowledge necessary to properly insult a siren. Instead, he spins the pencil in his hand and glances up. "You said you wanted to tell someone. It's not my fault your confidante is a writer. Besides, you said you liked storytellers. This is what a storyteller does."

Patrick huffs a breath and shakes his head, his hair nearly dry from his time out of the water. For a moment, Pete wonders if he should worry about how long Patrick's been above the surface.

And then he remembers. Siren.

Siren. A mythical being meant to lure sailors and men to their death, beings with voices like magic and beauty like gods.