It's a moderately hot summer night, the sheets of his bed long since tossed aside in an effort to keep cool. The breeze that flows in from his open window brings some relief but as the night continues, it doesn't do much for him at all. Sitting up, the man rubs a hand over his face, the dark circles around his pale eyes seeming darker thanks to the lack of light in the room.

Something aside from the heat is keeping this man awake. A song so alluring, so eerily beautiful has kept him from the Land of Nod. He spoke about it to the landlord, to his neighbors, but none have heard it. One of the girls who works in the pub downstairs asked him if he was going mad.

Maybe he was. How could he be the only one hearing such a voice? Yet the last thing he'd want is to get carted to the nearest asylum and away from it. So after a while, he kept quiet, instead spending countless nights awake listening to a song.

Soon enough, it's sweet, yet somehow sad notes lulled him to sleep.

When morning finally came, the man would go about his daily routine. Go to the courthouse and oversee the trials of men, sometimes women, and the occasional child. It was a cruel practice, the trying of orphaned children who had resolved to a life of crime just to get by, but those were the laws he had studied, and had to abide by.

When proven guilty, it was he who carried out their fates. His strikes were precise, so the accused never suffered for long. He didn't like his job, but someone had to do it.

Thankfully, today there was hardly any work for him, and he was allowed to return home early. Night was beginning to set in, and with it, finally some cooler winds. He was thankful for the change in the weather, though he knew in a few months' time he'll be wishing for last night's weather again.

He chuckles to himself and runs a hand through his fair hair, stringing a lock around a finger and thinks that soon he will need to go to his barber, it's gotten a bit long. It's as he's wondering this when he hears that song again.

Turning his head, again he tried to find the source. It sounded so close, yet so far. And at this moment, he made the decision. He would find it today, no matter what. Changing his course, he went in the direction the voice was coming from. Past the outdoor market, past the courthouse, until he was at the edge of his city, the only road he could take leading him towards the piers where fishmongers were bringing in their fishing vessels and unloading their catch.

He moves past all of them, towards the shore of the beach, until he reaches the wet sand. The waters lap at his feet as he squints his eyes over the horizon, still unable to find where the voice is coming from.

"This can't be right," he mutters to himself, one of his hands rubbing at his chin. Night had already fallen without him realizing it, and he sighed. This was foolish. Perhaps the barmaid was right in calling him mad. He should just give up this venture and return to his quarters.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something a little ways down the coastline. From where he stood, it seemed like a ghostly specter with how white it appeared. Almost translucent.

Now, Charles-Henri Sanson was not a believer of the paranormal or the strange, and at best he was skeptical about it. But given his recent circumstances and the volition he had given himself to find the voice...

He started heading towards the figure. His steps were slow. Cautious. Whatever the mysterious white figure was, he did not want to frighten it. That is if it could be frightened at all. Closer and closer. The voice is definitely coming from the apparition.

He's a good 20 or so feet away when he finally gets a clearer view.

There, sitting upon a rock, was a woman. She was singing her mournful sing while playing with her hair. Her eyes were watching the ocean, and he's immediately spellbound. It's not just her song that is beautiful, she's even more so.

Transfixed, the man walks towards her, his hands reaching out for her. If he could just touch but a fraction of her, he'd be content.

When he steps on a forgotten bottle in the sand, the sound of it breaking catches the young woman's attention, ending her song. Her blue eyes turn to him and she's wary, her posture rigid as if she's ready to run at a moment's notice.

Her eyes soften when they fall on him and she smiles sweetly. And it's that smile that has him thinking 'how could I have ever feared this?' Bowing his head, he returns her smile, "I'm terribly sorry for startling you, Madame. I did not mean to...but your song..."

His voice trailed off as the young woman's smile grew, and she giggled, a sound he found himself wanting to listen to forever. Inclining her head, the woman in white motioned for him to come closer, no words coming from her mouth. And like a moth to a flame, he walked towards her, not minding the cold water that was beginning to collect at the bottom of his boots.

He is at an arm's length away when she suddenly snapped her head up as if she had heard something. She backed up, suddenly very wary of him even though she had been the one trying to get him to come closer. Was she shy?

"My name is Charles-Henri. I don't mean to harm or frighten you, madame." He spoke slowly, lifting his arms up to show he really meant no harm. The woman tilted her head the other way, and then sighed. Was it relief? He hoped so.

"You've been singing all these nights out here? All alone?" He continued talking to her, sitting just a little away from her and her perch on the rock. The mysterious woman nodded, her slim fingers going to her hair and combing through the thick strands. He noticed that she had decorated her tresses with seashells and pearls.

How peculiar, yet it somehow seemed to fit her.

"May I ask why?"

She paused and frowned, as if she were searching for the right words to say. Then she giggled again, and touched his arm, and he shivered at the sensation of her cold fingers against his skin. "...so I could find you."

If he had thought her singing was wonderful, her normal speaking tone was nearly twice as such. His heart skipped a beat, and he inhaled sharply. "Find me? Madame, I don't think we've ever met before."

"We have not." she echoed, blue eyes turning to look at the ocean. "Yet I did."

That got a chuckle out of him. "Yes, yes you did, and here I am and I still do not know your name."

"Name?" She pursed her lips, fingers tapping against the rock beneath them. Opening her mouth, she began to say something but was interrupted by the loud call of a seagull soaring overheard, likely trying to find a spot to roost for the night, and he missed it entirely, and she was still talking, "...though it has been some time since I have been called..."

She moved then, inching ever so closer to Charles, her fingers finding purchase on one of his sleeves. Face never changing its expression. An eternal smile.

One he wanted all for his own. Like the heart that beat in his chest.

And without thinking, he's cupping her face, and she makes no protest, leaning against the warmth of his hand. Her skin is like ice, and he worries that she will catch her death. Her dress doesn't seem to provide any warmth and upon closer inspection...his cheeks colored.

Her dress was wet.

Though it was getting dark, he still turned his head. He was, after all, a gentleman. "Would you...would you care for my jacket, Madame? I could walk you home." Her grip on his clothes tightened for a moment and then loosened, the woman settling back on the rock.

"That isn't necessary. I am home."

Was she a runaway?

"Madame, I-"

She interrupted with a chuckle, "I've always lived here, been here, waited here." Her fingers were tugging at his sleeves again, a silent order for him to look at her. How could he refuse? The moment he had decided to seek her out, he had been caught. "Waited for you."

Teal met blue, and he realized that she was a lot closer now, and that he had unconsciously moved in such a way that she was practically on top of him, her hands now running up his arms to cradle his face. "Ma-"

"You've finally looked at me, Charles."

If only she knew. He could look at her forever if she asked him to. His decision to come find her tonight had definitely not been wrong. Parting his lips, he tried to speak again, but a warmth had settled there. Tasting ever so slightly of the ocean. The woman's lips on his.

Cold hands sliding around his neck, pulling him closer to her. And again, he let her, deepening the kiss, his own hands finding her tiny waist and settling there, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of her dress.

She tensed them and pulled away, pushing herself back. Charles was surprised, but he did not speak, instead watching this enchantress through half-lidded eyes.

"This isn't..." she bit her lip, a hand coming up to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. She looked so troubled, so...so sad that he couldn't help but feel like they had done something wrong. "...it wasn't supposed to be like this!"

Her song was one that could not be heard by any normal person. A siren's song could only be heard by a damned soul and she was to be their reaper. Over the past few decades, Marie had lured lesser men out from the warmth of their beds into the sea's cold embrace in where she and her brethren would feast on the poor soul's flesh. And this should have been like any other time, yet somehow...it was different.

The soul that was to come didn't come the first night she began her song. nor the next night, or the one after that. At first, she had thought that perhaps she had come to the wrong port, yet her closest friend, a selkie named Lia, assure her that her prey did indeed dwell there.

So she stayed, hidden amongst the rocks while she waited for night to fall to begin her song anew. This continued for three weeks until finally, she saw the soul that she would have to kill.

A young man, by the looks of it, as he drew close to the little outcropping of rocks she had come to call home now. And instead of making a beeline straight to her like those of the past, he had kept his distance, cautious even.

That peaked her interest as she shifted the tone of his Song, turning her head to look out towards the sea, longing to be beneath the waves again, back to her real home.

Slowly he approached her, and she quieted down, her fingers gliding through her hair, as if she was trying to make herself more presentable to him. Then she hears the sound of breaking glass, and it startles her, making her break the song before she could finish.

The man looks equally as startled, and she smiles at him, a hand coming to rest above her chest while he collects himself and apologizes. She doesn't speak, only watches him, trying to lure him closer and he comes. Yet she is wary of him, it would be terrible if he somehow managed to get away, but she was confident that he'd fall, just like the rest.

He introduced himself, Charles-Henri, and began questioning her about her singing. It caught her off-guard. Those from before had never given her their names, all too eager to make her theirs, but this man...he didn't seem like he came in the hopes of something else. As if he only wished to converse with her.

What a peculiar human. She decided to humor him. Being out here for three weeks to enthrall him and he chooses to have a conversation with his reaper. And then he asks her why she's been singing.

Seeing no harm in honesty, she tells him it was all to find him, and the face he makes at her answer is amusing, so she inches closer, giggling as she reaches out to grasp his arm.

He's surprisingly warm, even though the night carries a chill. Is it the clothes he's wearing? Black contrasting the white of the dress she was using to hide her tail. His warmth feels so welcoming, so different that she finds herself wanting more of it.

"I'm Marie," she tells him, ignoring the cries of a gull above them. She lets him go, her hand settling back on her rock, her fingers tapping the tune of his Song. He's supposed to be her prey, yet she's idling around, instead of dragging him to the depths. She's even already held his arm, even if it was just for a moment.

So why?

And how he's been looking at her, or rather, how he hasn't been. He's been careful to not completely look at her, averting his eyes. For her modesty? She couldn't decide if she should feel insulted or flattered. He even offered her his jacket. To take her home.

Such a strange man he was.

She was already close to her home, she just needed to...ah, their eyes met and she smiled. His eyes were such a beautiful teal. Like the ocean in warmer places of the world. Places she had never seen but only heard about. But now with this man here, Charles, she felt she didn't need to see those places anymore.

"You finally looked at me, Charles." And by impulse, before she even realized it, she drew him closer to her, and kissed him. It isn't until he touches her that she notices what she's been doing and backs away, clamping a hand over her mouth and tears welling in her eyes.

"This isn't...it wasn't supposed to be like this..." While kissing wasn't something strange for a siren to do, not even when it came to their prey, she found through their shared moment that she didn't want to kill him.

"I'm sorry, I thought..." he looked distraught, as if this was somehow this fault and she buried her face in her hands, softly repeating how this wasn't right. and he placed a hesitant on her shoulder, making her tense.

"N...o, you do not understand, monsieur..." a tear drop fell on her hand as she raised the hem of her dress. Charles was quick to look away, but she grabbed his hand and tugged. "Don't...you need to see..."

"I...that's impro-"

"Please." And with that she lifted the dress just enough for him to take notice of the part of her that made her decisively not human. He openly gaped at it, fair brows knitting as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Finally his eyes widened and he looked back to her face.

She looked away, dropping the hem of the dress and folding her arms over her lap, "I'm...that song...it is your song of death. You have always been fated to die by my hands since you heard the first note."

For a while he said nothing, though his mouth did open a few times, but then he'd frown and look back down to her tail again. Finally he sighed. "Then why haven't you?"

Her head snapped up, and she stared at him, horrified. Had he not just heard that she was supposed to be his killer? And in her confusion, she did not realized he had taken her hands in his again. "I am not saying that I am a fool rushing towards my own demise, but you've had a few good opportunities to have taken my life and yet you chose to reveal to me your intentions."

She has no words. Any other man would have run, another would have tried to kill her, yet he remains, looking at her as if she wasn't a monster. Waiting for her answer.

"You...are different. Rather than immediately trying to...partake in a fantasy, you chose to converse with me, like I was..." she tried to pull back, but Charles held fast, and she felt tears prick at her eyes. "a human. Not once had I ever wished to be one, but at that moment, I did. That I could walk on land, that I could...I-I do not wish to kill you."

He let her go then, and saw back, running a hand down his face. When she had shown him what she was (a siren!), he had thought that this would have been a much kinder death than he deserved. He had ended so many lives before, and his reaper would have been her?

What is he supposed to say? Thank her for not killing him? Apologize that she did not want to? "...I'm...glad I suppose? We could spend more time together if you'd like. And should you change your mind about wanting my life, I won't hesitate on giving it to you."