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Once upon a time, there was a siren, and she was said to be the most beautiful of them all. Her tale was the colour of a night so absolute, not even the moon dared to interrupt, sparkling like it captured the very essence of the stars nevertheless.
Her hair fell over her shoulders like dark waves of the ocean itself. The most stunning were her eyes. They were a colour more beautiful than the sky and the sea and any of the flowers in the world, upon which she had never set eyes before.
Now, you might think, blessed with such beauty and a voice which could lure anyone towards her, the siren would be happy.
However, Kiyoko was anything but.
When she felt lonely and called out for anyone, the ships turned and sailed towards her, but blinded by the magic layered over her voice, the people lost all caution. Too many lives were lost in her search for someone, anyone to keep her company. Even the ones she had saved and brought towards the safety of a beach nearby could not grant her the gift of companionship, because as soon as she opened her mouth, their eyes would glaze over. All they could still think about were the desires her voice caused involuntarily.
Kiyoko weeped, filling the ocean with her salty tears, but they never made a difference. Not a thousand tears could lift the curse she had been born with. Eventually, she stopped trying to find anyone. Instead, she vowed to close her mouth and never use her cursed voice again, the pain of all the death she had caused, and of her never-ending loneliness growing inside of her, darker even than her scales and hair.
Now, dearest reader, you see: sometimes the darkness inside of a person, even of a siren, gets too much to bear for them. Eventually, Kiyoko could not find it in herself to care any longer. She stopped avoiding the nets of the fishers as she used to, and when she got tangled up in one, she did not struggle, only closed her eyes, and left herself to her fate.
(She did not know that it had much, much different things in mind for her.)
Can you imagine the surprise she felt as she blinked her eyes open and found herself in a place so strange, it could not be the Endless Deeps where the souls of merfolk would go after their death? She sat in a weird apparel, made of white stone and filled with water, her tail dangling over the edge of it and itching from how dry it was.
And next to her stood a human girl, the hair framing her face as golden as the warm midday rays of sun, her hazel eyes the warmest colour Kiyoko had seen in her life. She stood with her strange legs spread in a determined stance, her eyes wide with respect, adoration and a hint of fear.
The both of them looked at each other in silence, and gradually, a smile spread on the girl's face.
There are many kinds of smiles in the world, but the one of this girl was one of the most beautiful ones. A smile which could stop children's scraped knees from hurting and anyone to stop frowning, a smile which warmed people's hearts like the sun warmed their skin. Any person would have felt special, with a smile like that directed at them.
But for Kiyoko, who had never been granted such kindness, that simple smile meant everything.
Even in her fear and confusion and pain from the scrapes she had suffered, all of it seemed worth that one smile.
The girl's name was Yachi, and she told Kiyoko many things. She explained the nature of the strange basin to her, and the story of how Yachi's mother had caught a siren in her net and left her to her daughter's care.
Yachi told her about many strange habits and quirks and constants for the humans, and her laughter filled Kiyoko's lonely heart with warmth.
She also asked her many questions, which Kiyoko answered by shaking and nodding her head or gesturing with her hands, by flaring her fins or grimacing. Never before in her life had she wanted to use her voice to talk to somebody that badly, but never before had she been as terrified of seeing eyes glazing over as when she looked into Yachi's.
She would not be able to bear it.
Would not be able to see that light vanish. Yachi's incredible attention for her. Her sharp mind muddled by the cursed magic. No, no, she could not unleash this curse upon her, especially not her.
So she commited herself to her silence, isolated the rich feelings Yachi seemed to draw from her so easily. She closed her eyes and listened to the stories she would read to her, she would let the gentle touches of the girl caress her skin as she took care of her wounds, more gentle even than the sea had treated her.
And yet, she could never stop being scared of accidentally using her voice, and losing Yachi to that horrible spell.
Yet she could never stop wondering, how her name would sound from Yachi's lips, but there was no way to tell her.
If you spent your whole life in the endless sea, you wouldn't know how to write either, dear reader. Merfolk has no use for writing, their stories travel in song, stories as old as the sea itself. A language with consequences so horrible, Kiyoko had been forced to loathe and fear it.
Then, one morning, Yachi's eyes seemed almost clouded over – not with the curse, but with sadness. Kiyoko could not stand to see her that way, so she tried urging her to tell her what was wrong. It took a little for her to open her mouth and come forth with it. Fingers clutching the book she had meant to start, she averted her eyes and asked something else entirely.
“Who is Kiyoko? I heard you say in your dreams, that Kiyoko is incredibly lonely – it sounds so sad. I wish I could help her.”
There was a silence as heavy as the night falling over the land.
Then, Yachi hurried to correct her mistake, explain why she knew, make sure the siren would not be mad at her. Because, you see – while Kiyoko was nothing but stunned, Yachi felt guilty for listening to her at night, so sneakily too.
She had not really chosen to – no, that was a lie. Even when she had known it was wrong, she had been unable to resist.
For a girl who fought darkness inside herself as well, a girl who had always felt a little off and a little broken, and who could not find sleep easily at night, hearing the beautiful voice from the bathroom had been a soothing blessing. So she had spent her nights leaning against the wooden door and listening to the beautiful whispers of the siren. Somehow, it had eased the aching of her soul.
“I'm so sorry for listening in on you,” Yachi told her. “I know you don't want to talk to me! And, and I respect that! And I'm so, so sorry. But your voice relaxes me. It's, it's so ... beautiful. And, uhm, it … it makes me feel at home, and I guess I … I really needed that and I'm sorry and please, I swear I won't do it again, please, please don't hate me!”
Always a child for worries, Yachi did not dare to look at the enchanting siren who had miraculously made her way into her life and enriched it so much, too worried to lose her forever. It was so easy to imagine. She was almost healed. Soon, she would return to the sea. And why would she ever come back to visit a simple, unimportant girl who had broken her trust on top of it?
If anything, maybe she would drown her. Yachi couldn't imagine the calm and gentle creature to do something like that to her. But, didn't she deserve it somehow?! Maybe her family would drown her! And that wasn't even the worst.
The worst was that Kiyoko would hate her.
And she would never, ever hear her voice again.
But when she raised her head, all she could see were the tears dripping from Kiyoko's face, her eyes alight with something so big, something running so deep, Yachi could not even properly grasp what had just happened. All she knew was that despite all the pain in them, the hope she could glimpse made her fears melt and her heart swell.
“I'm Kiyoko,” her siren told her.
Yachi's eyes widened as she understood.
She put aside the book and reached up to embrace Kiyoko, her lonely, lonely friend.
She held the weeping siren in her arms and promised that she'd never have to be lonely again.
And then, Yachi simply kept her promise, all her life.
And let me tell you, dearest reader – what a happy life it was.