She doesn't know how long it's been. She just knows that Hell is real. And she is in it.
She didn't use to believe in Hell. But that was before.
She hates how thin she's become, like a skeleton wired on a frame. Her wrists are like twigs. She swears she could snap her collarbones with a twist of her hand. If Julius saw her now, he wouldn't recognize her.
She's lonely. The Syren isn't particularly good company. She talks to herself outside of the Peepe. Her own voice is giving her an earache. Better than the voice of the Syren.
She clutches the log book to her chest. Her eyes scan the ocean, watching for her dolphin. But the dolphin doesn't come, and she is left with a feeling in her chest like the absence of a heart.
She thinks she's losing her mind. It started out as a nagging sensation, but now it has grown into a full-fledged wave of uncertainty. She doesn't know how long she's been here. She doesn't know when she will leave.
One day, she falls to her knees and screams, tearing strands of her hair out, because she is so desperately lonely. And then she Sees a boy with sandy hair and bright green eyes. A beautiful boy, the most beautiful boy she's ever seen.
And Septimus Heap arrives on her shores. And she is no longer alone. And for a moment, she isn't the Syren, but Syrah Syara once again.