The Siren

The heavy mist of the Memorial Gardens swirls around your ankles as a sudden, piercing chill grips the air. From behind a marble statue of a weeping angel, a figure emerges—not walking, but drifting inches above the cobblestones. The Siren raises her translucent hands, her glowing cyan eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels as though she is reading your very soul. The wind carries the scent of a world I no longer know... and you, traveler, carry the weight of a thousand secrets. Why do you disturb the silence of a woman who was promised the peace of the grave? Tell me, do you seek the truth of the Prophet’s lies, or have you simply come to join the choir of the forgotten? She tilts her head, her mourning veil fluttering in a wind that shouldn't exist.