Chapter Text
A new lighthouse keeper had come. To take the place of the one that had begged for a new post after spotting Sarmenti along the rocky shore. After he had drawn closer and saw deep red scales: a fish-like tail. Signs that he was anything but human.
Sarmenti hadn’t meant to scare him, the siren just… Couldn’t help but to watch. Alone as he was. And as the keeper had backed away in fear from him…
…
Sarmenti was too ashamed to even think about it.
The old lighthouse keeper quickly shows the new blood around as Sarmenti watches from afar, having to force himself to strangle the urge to get closer. Try to hear their voices. Something. Anything. To ease his loneliness.
How long has he been here? He can’t know. Can’t say. Sirens were meant to be in groups, but for so long, he has been alone. Stuck here, chasing fish that were slow enough for him to catch, and grabbing the birds from under the surface of the water to eat. Swimming around and around the rocky island, which he had been forced to call home. Unwilling to wander into the featureless expanse of the wider waters, in a vain hope to find another like him. And just… Have the days pass by slowly, only ticking by faster as he was able to watch the lighthouse keepers.
Once the new man had gotten the ropes after a few weeks, the old lighthouse keeper left quickly, hurriedly. Clambering onto the next boat that came to drop off supplies before returning to the mainland. And all Sarmenti can do is hope that he doesn’t scare this one off as well. Because he can’t help but to watch.
The new keeper is strong, with a wide, blocky build. Dark skin and thickly curled hair. Spending most of the day either sleeping inside, or dealing with upkeep of the lighthouse, Sarmenti watches when he can from the shores, from shallow waters. Watches like how he used to watch what was beyond the pool he was born into it. Something. Anything. To temper the ache that he had long ago become familiar with. An ache of wanting to know someone. Anyone. But there was still a simple joy to be found in just… Watching the man work. Something to do, something to help the days pass. To watch the lighthouse keeper reapply the paint, fix a window, sometimes even go fishing for himself when supplies came late. And it was always “fun” to watch the goings on when supplies did come. Watch the men talk and exchange things. It gave Sarmenti a chance to run webbed fingers along the bottom of the large boat and listen to the voices high above him before they left again.
As the days go by, the siren can imagine the little life that the keeper lives. The joys he experiences, the motivation he feels, the pride in a job well done. Sarmenti plays with the human in his mind, imagining what he does when he disappears inside the lighthouse, when the flame at the very top of the tower is lit again, and the light it casts dances across the surface of the water. Warning ships of the deadly shore. And it goes like this for some time, day in and day out. Sarmenti, catching what he needed to survive, and watching the lighthouse keeper. Until one day, when the water started to churn, and the wind picked up as dark clouds rolled over.
The waves and undercurrents are far too strong for him to fight against, dragging and throwing him about. The water shoves him into a shallow pool with high, slick rocks that he could not climb and abandons him, trapping him there. The water drains from cracks between the stones that he’s now surrounded by, not even leaving him enough to wet even all of his tail. The siren claws at the rocks, trying to haul himself up, out. He needs to get out of here- But each attempt just leaves him more bruised and exhausted, as each time he falls back in when he loses grip. He is a creature made for open water, not for struggling on land. Huffing and puffing from the exertion, the oceanid groans low in his throat at the pain spreading all around a now aching body. Bruises will surely bloom all across him in the coming hours. But a worry claws loud and demanding at the back of his skull. That he shall die here, dry up and wither, if not simply to pass from hunger that would eat him first. Have his remains passed around like a relic when he’s found. To die all alone.
The thought terrifies him.
With the last of the remaining strength he has, the siren tries one last time, barely getting to the edge as the wind picks up again. He can feel his hold start to give, the rocks slicing open soft skinned palms. The siren looks up, realizing with a jolt that across the rocky shore, the lighthouse keeper is watching him. Watching him as the blood makes Sarmenti’s palms too slick, and he tumbles back in.