Dead Doves

It was apparent that their (blood) relation was little and jagged, and yet they got along well, and called the other sister or brother.  

As the eldest, the brother took up the duty of entertaining his sister, and making her smile, and letting her win whatever game it was that they played when he thought it would well build self-esteem for her. He lurked amongst the green thickets as he often did, stalking along in pursuit of his sister, intending to catch her, and armed with the whereabouts to do so. He prepared himself to pounce as he turned a corner. 

“RAWR!” came a furious war cry, and the boy realized that he was not seizing the enemy, but rather being seized. 

“Oh no!” He yelped back theatrically, “I’ve been found by the evil monster!” 

The little girl answered in reply, her voice as vicious and growly as someone so young could manage, “I’ve caught you!” 

The boy laughed.  

“Yes, you did.” 

...  

Where fear once shrouded Meryl’s life alongside the helpless, desperate tendencies of submission, empowerment had taken root, and as the days passed, Meryl claimed a passive equality to his lover, and frankly, tormentor; the illusion of control was both fractured and complete in their sights, and the thought that they as a mere half could possibly dictate their fate as a whole an endangerment to them both, each in their own regards. Diosia mistakenly believed he had captured Meryl’s heart, and that the full weight of his trust was placed in him, and Meryl mistook his influence over the siren as something more powerful than a breeze against a tree, something that merely ruffled the leaves.   

At Diosia’s core, he was condemned to be a siren—a creature of blood, of lust, of desecration and of depravity and holiness, a close, yet far more romantic relative to the reaper himself—and Meryl was to always be a merman.   

They’d both pulled the wool over their eyes in this way and yet, they’d become more enlightened about what it was to be mer or siren by pretending their closeness was in no part a grave risk to their respective existences. Meryl understood Diosia. Diosia understood Meryl. The more, however, that the little mer learned of his lover, the more that he comprehended what Diosia’s condition truly was.  

Diosia would die if he was to not eat merfolk; Diosia explained so himself in a gentle, dulcet voice—there was a sorrow in it, one regretful, yet distantly contemplative, and as he spoke, he set his gaze to the horizon, as if some better truth could be found there. He relied on the scales, for they were blessed with the magic of the god from which Diosia’s very being had come from—It was a mere drop of his god’s—of Aquedyus’s—blood that was the spout from which all sirens poured. The same scales that merfolk used to thank their god, were the same Diosia would need to live.  

It ignited the subtlest, most foolish of hopes in the back of his mind—he’d always loathed plucking his scales, but for Diosia? He’d tear off every scale till he was bare and bleeding if it meant they could live together safely. The unfortunate and practical truth, however, was that Diosia would need more than him, if he were to live on.   

Meryl was all he craved, but Diosia needed so much more.  

A heart is far more dainty, far easier to fill, than that of the endless pit that is one’s hunger. A heart takes what it is given and treasures it forever. A stomach? It dissolves all it takes in and howls in its lust for more.  

Meryl, even if he wished to, could never sustain a siren on his own even if by giving his own life, and so, he tucked the thought away, well aware no one else would love Diosia enough to become such an accomplice. Or, at the very least, that is what he thought.  

In truth, he was within reach of someone who was to take a liking to the siren as well; it was only that he didn’t know this yet.   

It was another night of secrets, a hidden truth laced with kisses and found deep within shadow, like fingerprints along the thighs, in where Meryl teased death once more. It was a particularly warm night, perhaps because of the way Diosia wrapped his arms around him, and kept his heart beating faster, or maybe the sun had wished for a greater peek beyond the black curtain that shielded the pair, and the residual heat was a mere byproduct.   

Either way, it was true, when secrets came, eyes followed. As Bondi had found out about Meryl’s rekindling with the siren, it was inevitable that someone else was to stumble upon the mangled corpse that was their messy, dysfunctional definition of love.   

Yet Meryl hadn’t expected it, so much so that his ego ventured to suggest they enjoy some time at the estuary together, a place that for a long while was a secret fishing spot for Bondi, and now an unsuspecting hideaway for them. Diosia obliged, and in the obligation, Meryl was enlightened with a taste of cold air, the sky’s foam—its chill and prowess over the skies, blotching out stars with white fluff in randomly dispersed quantities. The wind stroked him as they flew, and it was the first time he felt it so powerfully across his whole body, scales and all. It was another grandeur of Diosia, his demented angel.   

Once they’d arrived and settled in, they took a brief, conjectural survey of their surroundings, and told themselves it was safe. It was the middle of the night, where a mer would be foolish to venture far outside their nests, some even fearful of peering beyond the borders or walls behind which they slept. The same reason they were hidden was the same reason Meryl’s guard became worn, and eventually, he fell asleep lying across the sand.  

His dreams were hazy and adulatory of his fantasies, and he easily slept knowing Diosia was by his side. In his dreams, too, he was escaping his servile habits, yet growing ever fonder of sacrifice to the one he loved. But then came the guilt of what he’d need to abandon for Diosia to be more in his life—his morality, his family, his friends. These were things he couldn’t burn so easily, couldn’t discard at all. He loved them as much as he loved Diosia.  

The thought of choosing was unfair.  

The guilt, sharp and cruel as it was, roused him slowly; he could hear the patter of voices against his ears, though the words were blurred by a resting, nearly unconscious mind. There then was the sharp, keen jab of realization, and the connection that it was conversation Diosia’s voice partook in, and that once more Meryl had been too stupid, too confident in others’ fear of encountering a siren. He sprang up quickly, scattering the golden, dulled grains that clutched at his misty skin, far across their little self-made alcove, and into the water as well.   

A blurred, familiar figure of the dark sat at the water’s edge. Diosia was juxtaposed by deep blue scales, like the ocean had divulged its richest, darkest echoes of the sea upon their frame and tail; her hair was blonder and finer than the sand. He recognized his sister instantly—was paralyzed with fear by seeing her beside his world’s greatest threat.  

But in the settling of the dust—his panic—he recognized a look almost foreign.   

Diosia’s expression was soft and understanding; he looked absorbed in what Shui said, however, not with the fascination he carried towards most, which was something almost predator-like, such as how a cat might gaze after a bird. No, he was absorbed with the fascination and adoration of someone who had found pure innocence itself, and by stumbling upon it, found it glittering in their own reflective eyes. The display on its own eased his anxieties. Shui was unafraid, a fearless smile on her face.   

Whilst Meryl had been the golden child, patient and respectful of every wish his parents had, his most rebellious act a fawning thought towards someone of the same gender, Shui was misbehaved in every way. He feared the mischievous glint in her eyes, knowing his life was in her hands.   

Diosia’s gaze was finally drawn over to him, and he was shocked to see not a drop of innocence lost, like he was seeing behind a predator’s veil authentically, truthfully, for what was almost the first time. Those eyes made his head spin.  

“Meryl,” Diosia greeted softly, excitedly; his voice was deep and richened by the night, a tender, familial sound to it. Diosia looked as if he’d more to say, however, he was quickly interrupted by the delay of his own thoughts in combination with Shui’s presence.  

“You have a siren boyfriend?”  

Shui’s arms were crossed, an incredulous smirk on her face as she eyed up her very own older brother, mortified and caught like a teen behind the bleachers.     Meryl deflected, his tone panicked, “What are you doing out so late?” 

“I mean, not kissing a siren, if that’s what you’re asking.”  

He had never expected Diosia to be the most clueless in the room, and yet he seemed merely excited.     “Meryl, what worries you? Your little sister is positively darling.” He praised. 

In that moment, a hundred questions came to his mind—In truth, perhaps it had been dirty of him to expect that his lover was to not become more deeply involved in his life, and with Diosia’s species, was it a fair expectation? How could he expect himself—let alone another person—to be content trapped in this stasis, breath baited for death? He almost loathed Shui in that moment, for grounding his reality, and for forcing him to make life more than an indulgent, wracking fantasy he was trapped in. If Diosia loved him truly, he deserved to be family, and if Diosia loved him only for as long as he was to chase Meryl with death, then why would Meryl love him so?  

A year had passed since that first night, that night which Meryl or even Diosia shouldn’t have survived, and now he was here, feeling a love greater than just what the adrenaline could inflict. Meryl cared. Meryl loved him.   

There were standards owed in love.  

“I-I know she is,” Meryl agreed, cautiously, “But... it’s dangerous for her to be out here, with us.”  

Diosia assured softly, “I will protect her.”  

Meryl shook his head, and elaborated with the sort of gentle, guilty voice that cut daggers through the skin, “It’s not safe for her to be around sirens.”  

Diosia took the remark quietly and folded his wings, noticeably stepping back, as if to invite Meryl to take over the conversation.   

“Bondi told me he was worried about you, and he wanted me to check up with you sometime, since you’ve been avoiding him.” Shui began to explain, youthful confidence boasted in her voice and stance, “And I went to... and you weren’t in your room. And obviously I wrung the truth outta Bondi when he asked.”  

“You’re like twelve; why did Bondi ask you?” Meryl snapped indignantly, as siblings do to one another.  

Shui asserted, “I’m thirteen. And he knows I don’t tell. I’m good at keeping secrets.” Meryl quirked a brow, and to it, Shui smirked proudly. “I’m a lot better at private-love-affairs , I think. No one catches me smooching somebody.”  

The moment overwhelmed him, and he soon became lost in hasty, poorly articulated bickering with his sister about various things, most of which surrounded Diosia—most of which painted the honest, wretched truth of what sirens were, and how vicious their killings could be. The quarrel lasted for hours, and by the time it was finished, Diosia had relinquished himself elsewhere.  

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It was only that the ache of wanting was fresh and revitalized in his body; the scar had been cut open, carved out by everything he craved and the cravings themselves. It was driving him increasingly mad to want company, to want love and affection, and to feel so insatiably lonely without it. Even within a crowd of guests primed for the celebration of his family, he felt alienated and lonely.

It was not that he wasn’t friendly, or that others weren’t friendly to him.

It was that he was trapped in the shallows; the shallow sound of a, “Hello, how are you?” the emptiness of an unmet smile, or the discomfort of a forced hug. There was no intimacy behind these acts, and certainly no passion.

Perhaps that was another fault of his; it was the simple things he found too plain to make him happy. But he knew they wouldn’t happen at all if they weren’t expected—required. That was why he had come to treasure the few friends he had, the ones who he knew meant what they asked, what they said, what they felt.

He shouldn’t be spending moments like these with careless strangers. He should be spending them with friends.

Like Bondi.

His heart ached with regret. He knew what Roka endured by Diosia’s will, for he himself endured it ten times over in his dreams now—not with a certain fondness, no, but a passive recollection. It was still the closest he had ever been to death. The memory and thought were both haunting, knowing someone he cared about had experienced it unwittingly, unwillingly.

But he was torn in two as always, for the assailant and the victim were both those he loved, even if one hadn’t a single excuse for what he had done, whilst the other needn’t excuse what was mere innocence. He would have to check on Roka, surely, but the need for the act served as its own deterrence to him, and he’d instead seek out his lover again. Yes, once the night was over, and his family had gone to bed, he caved to his sin of choice and sought Diosia’s company over again.

The platform that Diosia fondly called his own glowed with the smolder of flame, a captivating colour wavering over the stones, seeping into the gaps and crevices with a wobbly, yet almost… graceful sway. He admired the flame Diosia had conjured, glimmering upon the stone, neatly contained by an assortment of smooth rocks that he’d lined into a charmingly clumsy circle.

“Hello, little mer.” Diosia greeted, his voice luscious as ever.

“Hello, Diosia.” He replied, slipping out of the water and onto the stone; he settled on a divot in the space that brought him away from the flame, for as much as he enjoyed its warmth, he wasn’t particularly privy to being burned.

In the golden light, Diosia’s home felt as if bathed in heaven’s light, if heaven were far more discreet and sultry, and with fine riches (the ones Diosia hadn’t broken) laid about the place as neatly as reverent sacrifices would be, it became an altar; he almost dared to test his morals further, to declare Diosia worthy of worship, but relinquished the temptation, instead looking up to him sweetly.

“So, how are your instincts today?”

The flames danced in Diosia’s eyes, almost swallowed up by the strength of his golden irises, but perfectly mirrored in the black pearls that were his pupils, shining and round and clear.  There were few sights as horrifying and holy as Diosia, the black-feathered angel, trailing alongside the embers and coals, his wings humming a soft tune of feathers brushed against stone, and his eyes lit by the roaring mischief of the fire; it bit at the air greedily, ravenous to consume everything it could. But Diosia was not so. He was powerful, more than a flame;

Diosia intended only to consume what he needed, what his body yearned for, and even this intent was somehow suspended by his love for his desired. He had found the exact way he wished to walk between the lines of desire and need—he lowered himself to the ground, pressing Meryl back and back, following along until Meryl was pinned between the stone wall and his embrace. His instincts were alive. They burned so very hot.

“It is the sort of day I long so dearly for your taste, to celebrate your being by the means of the tongue, teeth, throat, and stomach. I want to see red torrents become the seams that which a lovely dress is sewn to your body, flattering your lithe, vulnerable self with carnage so prettily undoing. I want nothing more than to love you depravedly, lasciviously.

But then, all of it is quelled by your sweet voice, and I remember that to love you honorably involves no such acts. It is to be gentle, patient and listening, and it is to protect you from what may harm you, and while my whims are of no hurt to myself, they are to you… So, I mustn't let them have you, not so violently.”

Meryl gave a nervous smile. “Is that a good day, then?”

“My miserable vitiation is only undone by your reminders. It is... a better day than some, but my mind is tortured by your image.”

Meryl felt the back of Diosia’s hand trace his jaw lovingly, a morbid, open fascination flickering in his eyes. It was horrifying to see Diosia honestly, earnestly speak to him. The threats he’d endured before were prettier, tied up with flattering ribbons and served to him so carefully, and each act that induced fear was done with such calculation that there was no place nor time where it would’ve ever veered off course.

This, however, was to meet Diosia raw.

His fingers trembled as they reached up for Diosia’s wrist, his hand still set delicately against Meryl’s cheek, and he couldn’t peel his own gaze away from Diosia. His eyes flicked over Meryl, drinking in every feature, invoking a feeling not so unlike to being feasted upon and bit into, a disturbingly familiar feeling to him now. He dared to reach up his other hand and pressed at Diosia’s chest in purchase for some space of his own, finding that it wasn’t only his heart that flitted in his chest. Or more suitably, roared in his chest: Diosia’s heartbeat was heavy and pounding, like the organ intended to tear through his ribs and escape on its own.

He guided, his whisper soft and certain, “Breathe.”—Diosia huffed at first, each breath heavy and dangerous—“Slowly.”

A few more soft assurances brought about control of Diosia’s breath, and soon slow, long gusts of air blew over Meryl as opposed to the rapid, beating gasps that had barraged him before. He could not tell if it was exhilaration or anxiety that compelled Diosia’s display, and if it were both or either, they were indistinguishable either way.

“Are you okay now?”

“Have either of us ever been okay?” Diosia answered, withdrawing in forethought.

Meryl took offense to the notion for a moment, the idea that he was as low as a murderer whose mind now lived in fractured pieces after having been dashed by the slightest of tastes of morals and realities. Meryl had lived with those his entire life. He knew what being okay looked like, he was sure.

“I guess you’ve got a lot to work out.” came his intrepid voice after a judgmental moment had passed.

Diosia took the remark lightly, and a soft laugh filled the air as he sunk back into the easement of control. The scent of smoke and ash capered along with the sound, righting the intensity of the moment before.

Diosia agreed, “There is much to work out, little mer. For instance,” A daring, sly smile flashed upon his face as he slid up beside and smoothly drew Meryl away from the wall, pulling him into his lap. “How shall we spend the rest of our evening? The night is plenty young.”

Meryl could not question as to whether Diosia flirted in earnest. He was already far too entranced to even think beyond the sweet pleasure of the moment before him. Diosia was a creature much greater than him—stronger, larger, fiercer, rougher, crueler, and yet when his claws grazed against his skin, or his hand became entirely enveloped by one much greater than his own, he only felt complete. It was as if Diosia was that greater piece he had been missing all along.

“Well...” Meryl ventured, “I don’t suppose you have any ideas? Less... bloody ones, anyways.”

“Oh, what harm in a little blood? It’s not as though it must be yours.”

“You’re very funny.”

Meryl toyed with a curl of black hair, twisting it around and tucking it behind Diosia’s ear, smiling. He noted the length, and the charmingly uneven layers from centuries of cutting and styling it with no more than a jagged blade. Still, Diosia was very well-kempt; each strand glimmered, soft and pleasant to the touch. He was not one to let the saltwater best his looks.

“And you: bold to presume I’d jest.”

Meryl tapped his nose. “Since when have you ever said something in front of me that you’ve committed to? You can’t blame me for not taking you seriously.”

Diosia’s mouth opened and closed as he desperately sought a retort, but ultimately, he found nothing to refute him. His grin widened in flusterment as he stumbled over his words, “You-you are not right just for being right, I hope you know.”

Meryl laughed, hugging him as tightly as he could. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ll try not to hold it all against you for now.”

“For now?” Diosia echoed, with seemingly-real-worry.

“I just mean I’m happy to let our bygones be bygones as long as they, you know, stay gone.”

“Ah. Well... I suppose that is fair.”

“You suppose?”

“Might I use words more pleasurable to the ear, darling? What other phrases might better suit your palate?” He purred. Meryl rolled his eyes, contented with what honesty he had drawn from Diosia already, and so he let it go without further pressing. Besides, it pardoned the rest of their night for lighthearted enjoyment of one-another, a welcome reprieve in what stress they’d endured in recent days, and a reprieve that he was certain couldn’t last long. In the back of his mind, he’d conceded to the fact a little while ago: The armistice with Diosia’s bloodlust could only last so long, and so, he was fervid to lose himself in what time they had.

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He ached for Diosia. His body was sore and bruised without the healing of his touch, the yearning of his soul becoming a yearning of his person, the lemures of a siren’s embrace tracing his form and if not phantoms against the skin, it was other curses. His pining was misplaced; it transfixed itself on what was forbidden, and not only forbidden, but dangerous. Yet there Meryl was, longing for the embrace of a predator, a creature that consumed his kind.

And he hated to admit it, but he knew that this embrace he longed for would likely come with teeth.

And maybe he was okay with that.

At peace with it, one might say. He was so very comfortable with it that he swam at night along the shoreline’s edge, almost begging to be caught, but too scared to throw himself directly into the lion’s den. For days, he figured he’d be taken—after all, what else would Diosia do? All he knew of Diosia was what he had done, and these quiet nights were hardly like him at all from what he had seen. From the mere glimpse he had seen. Perhaps, Meryl then reasoned, he didn’t know enough about Diosia to truly predict how he felt.

It made his closeness all the more of an invited threat to his life; thinking he could tame a monster, a creature, a person beyond his comprehension, or that he could amend everything sick and twisted about a pretty stranger. It was a grave mistake. It was gutting to think of knowing what Diosia had originally planned. It was gutting to think of knowing how much he poured out about himself, and how little he had received in return. He had received superficial gestures, ways Diosia made his prey quaint and compliant, and still felt so deeply attached. But then came the tears, the regret, the confusion and confliction Diosia so clearly felt. Diosia was lost. Meryl felt just the same.

What was he supposed to make of his feelings and situation? He loved Diosia. There were times it felt like he’d never be alive without him, and times where the realization dawned that he might only still breathe because Diosia had not come to him again since that night. Did Diosia love him? If he didn’t, why was he still alive?

…if he did, Meryl knew it was no perfect love. It couldn’t be. There would always be a disbalance between them, their dynamic skewed in Diosia’s favour—A person who had proved himself to not exactly be fully sane. But if there was something there aside from his own dreams, wasn’t it worth pursuing?  What it wasn’t worth was mulling it over in his mind anymore. He was done swimming in frozen waters, trapped in time. So, he darted out of the safety of his home, and into the lion’s den at last.

It wasn’t the sight he expected at all; there should’ve been bones strewn about, carcasses and ugly gore decorating the ground that sat along the shore, just out of reach of the beratement of waves. But it was just as pretty as it always had been. The moon and stars made for a fine lantern, their white teardrops luminescent in nature, trailing and spilling along the smooth stone that Diosia rested upon, where all of his collection glistened and shone in a charmingly out-of-place extravagance. Diosia too, seemed out of place: His eyes were closed, his wings folded, but still arcing over his head as if they were a fine gate to heaven—he looked like an angel.

“Who is it?” Diosia asked, softly.

The voice sent chills up his spine.

“It’s me, Meryl.”

Diosia perked up with a soft, subtle tilt of his head, his eyes fluttering open to reveal pupils wide and curious, taken aback, in their own way. His gaze was always half-lidded as it flicked down in Meryl’s direction, but the regard that such a gaze held him with was lacking its usual malice; that could very well be his own misinterpretation of the siren, though.

“I am surprised to see you here.” Diosia beckoned him closer, a sharp smile on his face. “Come, sit with me, then. I’d imagine you want to talk.”

Meryl pulled himself out of the water, his scales brushing against the stone as he came to Diosia’s side, his tail then curling in with hesitance. He watched the siren carefully, warily, but with a beating admiration in his heart all the same.

“How... how are you, Diosia?”

“I’ve asked myself the same since a few nights ago, you know. It is odd, Meryl, to believe you have obtained everything you wanted, and then realize it is not what you wanted at all.”

“So, you don’t want me dead?”

“I do.” Diosia whipped his head over, looking Meryl in the eyes. “A part of me does. I do know that. My body screams at me to kill you every hour.”—Meryl could not recoil, as much as the thought wracked his body, he was tied to Diosia—“But I find myself dreaming of silence, a time without the constant crackle of instincts and depraved desires, that sound I’ve so often indulged.

I’d rather not hear out what my bloodlust seeks. Not this time.”

Meryl gave a cautious whisper, “So, what you mean is that you won’t kill me, even if you want to?”

“I will... provide my best efforts, yes.”

His head swam with confusion—with disbelief in what Diosia said. What sort of sick game was he playing now, of contradiction and blatant malevolence?

“Provide your best efforts,” Meryl echoed, offendedly. “Why the hell is there a part of you that wants me dead at all?”

“I am a siren, Meryl.” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, his agitation punctuated in his tone.

“And I’m aware of that, but when I look at species that I would eat, I am not filled with an insatiable bloodlust. It doesn’t even make me hungry, unless I was hungry already, Diosia.”

“Well,” Diosia haughtily replied, “You are very lucky to experience such normalcy, little mer. It is almost as if your species was not divined by a malefic god intent upon the ruin of man and the destruction of all that he loathed.”

“You can be better than your god, Diosia.”

“It is not my fault that a god incorporated such bloodlust into my very being. It’s a physical sensation, Meryl. It is not just a feeling, it is unforgivably tangible, like hunger or arousal. It is very compelling.”

He stared agape, shocked both in part by the threat, and by the truth. Especially the truth. It was uncanny to the Diosia he knew, to snap at him with such honesty.

Diosia thrummed on, his voice deepening to match a threatening melody, “I suppose that even if your kind know very well how to drive spears through our most tender parts, they may have not taken much care to research anything else about us.”

Meryl’s nerves were fraught. His mind rushed with images of waters turned crimson, of the limp and lifeless body of Naigale sinking helplessly, hopelessly, to the bottom of their grave, and in time, lesson after lesson, and disappearance after disappearance, reminded him of everything that sirens had ever done to his kind. There once was research, there once was knowledge, cities beneath the waves, libraries and tomes brimming with tales and truths, and all these societies were desecrated beyond retrieval and repair by sirens. It was the way sirens had treated merfolk as food that led them to treat sirens as monsters.

“I have taken plenty of care to learn about you. I’ve tried so damn hard, and every time you’ve avoided me. I try to understand you. It can’t work unless you help me.” Meryl pleaded, cracks striking through his voice. “I’m sorry that a fucking murderer doesn’t make sense to me.”

This time, it was Diosia that relented in surprise; his expression softened, his wings opening and closing as if he were trying to find what to say. A moment of silence passed.

Diosia agreed, gently, “You are right. I cannot fault you. You care about me. It is just... there is no solid bridge between us yet. There is understanding, but it is yet to be full and fleshed. Let me then explain my kind, and you in turn may explain yours.”

Suddenly, as the sun rose, Meryl knew Diosia was a stranger no more. He had learned about him and taught Diosia about himself in return. He understood the world better than he had before, it was clearer to him, kinder and yet grimmer. Diosia was as he said he was, the result of baleful sentiments personified as a creature of revenge, an ever-lasting cry of a fallen god whose name now bore no grace nor meaning, for he was dead. But Diosia had breathed since the moment that god had fallen, and even sometime before it. Diosia was not immortal, but he would live as he was for as long as he wasn’t killed.

Ageless.

Eternal.

This, while it did not justify Diosia’s perspective and actions, helped some things click that hadn’t before. It should have been obvious to him, too—he felt stupid for needing Diosia’s explicit-spelling-out of reality. Diosia did not understand the value of life as he did, for everyone else about him was always fleeting. Even the sirens he knew were likely long gone and murdered. Meryl had been a mere notch in his belt at best, perhaps an especially notable night-out, a pleasant, refreshing experience, but so easily gone, too.

He had been a temporary means of entertainment, and now he had nestled his way into a more permanent position, tucked right between Diosia’s ribs and his heart. It was terrifying, and fortunate, and a little grim to think what could’ve happened had he not won Diosia’s affection.

But here he was, able to curl up into warm, soothing arms once more. And, despite the fear, felt safe as he did.

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“No, Diosia. That is cruel. Life is valuable; you will treat your meals with honor.” Naigale scorned.

Naigale thought his way of hunting immoral: stalking after, allowing himself to become consumed by another’s personality before quite literally consuming it himself, and toying with mer were all unacceptable ways to go about procuring what he needed to survive.

But why survive when one can live?

Further, Naigale argued it was unfair to derive pleasure from another’s life if that pleasure were to be derived from their pain, but to Diosia, pain was imminent, and life was meaningless. His actions bore no consequences in his mind. His games were his special pleasure, and his method of hunting his entertainment. Or perhaps with Naigale gone, it was his excuse to bring some form of connection to his lips, even if the other party was terrified and unwilling. Either way, the fulfillment he gained from it, though great, had somehow been overturned completely.

Meryl, Diosia discovered, was so much more fulfilling than anything else he could find. It was those pleasant thoughts that he lingered on in attempts to accept or rationalize them, however perplexing and confusing it were to him. Meryl’s presence was more fulfilling than the trickling of his blood, though both he adored and craved.

His infatuation left him with excitement and melancholy, an agonizing medium that he treaded with regret, bewilderment, and joy. It did not make sense to value Meryl as he did, and it did not make sense for Meryl to care for a monster like him, and yet all of it felt so right.  His mind was clouded by this thing, swirling about him, and obstructing all else. He could not think practically nor logically, only lovingly.

With his legs crossed he still dithered in his feelings, unable to visit Meryl, as he was frozen so completely by the puzzle he faced. He took soft, deep breaths as he sorted through the rubble of his conscience, his eyes closed in meditation.

The water rippled, someone having emerged from its surface.

His eyes did not open—he kept them closed and centered upon the maintenance of his equanimity—and he remained so quiet and still, one may have thought him asleep if not for his posture.

“Meryl,” He hummed, fondly. “I believe you are not so used to leaving me be, however, I would much appreciate the solitude and clarity.”

However, when his eyes opened, Meryl was not the mer before him. It was Roka. To find this, Diosia’s demeanor immediately darkened, his composure cracked by such a confrontation, in which the consequences of his actions seemed to be mirrored in the mer’s expression, and in the conversation that was to come.

Diosia questioned, flatly, his tone smoothed over with a sheet of ice; “What could have possibly beckoned you to my little den?”

Roka’s eyes flickered with fear, but like Diosia, he was able to freeze over such feelings and leave them chattering on their own.

“I had a question to ask you.”

His eyes narrowed, siphoning whatever bold psyche might’ve stood behind the viridescent irises with only a subtle glare; however, as much as it must’ve shriveled the merman, it seemed to pull him forward the same.

“Go on.” The siren’s voice tempted—it dared.

Roka’s lips parted like someone had stolen his voice, for he made not a sound, at least for a moment. Diosia gave an impatient, questioning look, and finally, Roka spoke, softly, somberly:

“I want to know if you ever met a mermaid that shares a resemblance to me. She has the same colour and texture of hair, the same scales, and similar facial features; she’s my sister. I… I want to know what happened to her.” Roka whispered, fearfully, “And I think you have answers.”

“As if I am to remember every creature I encounter. Do you recall very meal you’ve ever had?” Diosia denied, passively; it was not that he wanted to deny Roka closure, it was that he was afraid of tearing open such guilt. He practiced a mentality that detached him from such dark pain before—the wicked, crushing weight of guilt—and he had mastered outrunning it, shutting it down, letting himself enjoy his monstrous existence, so the thought of breaking down the walls was all too unappealing.

He wanted Roka to leave.

“Please. She only disappeared ten months ago.”

Sorrow trembled in his eyes, grief overtaking every line of his expression, and still Diosia wouldn’t let himself be swayed.

“I have no means of consoling you. I am not the beast one comes to, to be happy, unless you favour death.”

Roka pleaded back, “I favour the truth. The closure. Please, you don’t have to tell me anything else, just… I need to know if I could ever see her again, or if she’s gone. Just tell me if she’s gone.”

Diosia swallowed, hesitantly. If not for the cool air to repress it, he felt as if a bead of sweat might’ve rolled down his forehead—or rather, a bead of guilt. The silence lasted longer than the conversation.

Diosia admitted, softly, “You will not see her again. I am…” Diosia searched for the words, the ones that conveyed this feeling properly. “…very sorry, Roka. As am I to have done what I did to you a few days ago. Now you may go.”

Tears dripped from Roka’s face and into the water, and he nodded, biting back an awful feeling in his throat. For some reason, Diosia felt… terrible, seeing someone this way. He did not understand why screams were not half as bothersome, if not invigorating. The soft, somber, and yet howling resignation of grief jabbed at him in a way much worse than fear ever would, like a caved-in scream.

Diosia slid closer, making Roka flinch, dislodging the wretched sob that had been caught in his throat. He moved without much thought, relying on a mere instinct to guide him forward and through the situation, nearly sidling through the movements.

His arms wrapped around Roka in a brief, gentle embrace, and then he returned the merman to the water without giving him much time to react, and all the same spoke sympathetically, “I repent my mistakes for the harm they have done to you, but it is my blood to always repeat myself. I am not safe; however, I wish you… comfort, and to be able to move on, and to have any of this, you must leave.”

“Thank you,” was all Roka could say, and then he left.

His presence, however, lingered on in Diosia’s mind; the sound of tear drops striking the water, the light, uneasy breaths of anguish echoing in the chasm of his conscience all clawed at him, leaving torn flesh to bleed. In this ripped state Diosia paced over the information his very own mind held, teetering on the precipice of his conclusion. He laid the facts out simply and plainly, an unorganized list of puzzle pieces that he then began to click together, laying out what was merely a picture of his own reality—it shouldn’t have been such a difficult thing to come to.

He cared for Meryl.

Roka cared for his sister, and he killed her.

Life, Diosia could then reason, was not worthless. It was valued. People cared about it. He cared about it, about Meryl, even if his fangs never could, even if his cravings and his raw urges would never sympathize with his heart, he cared.  It somehow gave him peace to know this, as dreadful of a mistake as it was to care as he knew his instincts controlled him, owned him.

He was bound a slave to the creed of his own awful body.

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Swaddled between sheets of kelp, rest came easy to him always, for its shelter was consistent, it was loyal and forever so—the kelp could not lie, for it had no mind nor mouth to do so, it could not burn away beneath the blue of the waves, and no one creature Bondi ever knew could kill the entire forest, certainly not for sustenance. Here, his life and his love could not be taken from him.

Bondi and Roka slept on the ocean’s floor, curled up where the kelp was organized to be so thick and harsh, one would have to hack or rush through it all to ever locate them. In their little sanctuary, neither siren nor mer could bother him.

By his side was always the warm figure of his husband, someone who he could wrap his arms about and press to his chest, cradling him as strands of golden hair swayed in the water. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, he was fond of enjoying Roka’s company, be it by laying under or atop of or beside him or kissing and fondling and loving him. Roka never minded the slight disturbance to his schedule that was staying up with Bondi on more restless nights, as the past few nights were so eerily opposite to what Bondi knew as “always.”

Nightmares swam behind the lids of his eyes, and not just the wicked imagery of Diosia and what he had done, but the sounds of it too. His ears did not ring, they squirmed and writhed with the awful creature that was the gargle of consumption, of murder, of death. He had been so close to losing his husband.

And as for Meryl, even though he was alive, he was already lost.

The day that followed the wretched night ached with Meryl’s absence; there was not a moment Bondi’s heart could steady itself, nor a moment his stomach felt at peace. The anxiety could’ve made him keel over. The day after, Meryl had (apparently) reappeared sometime in the early morning but made no gesture to speak with him, leaving Bondi to receive his information second-hand regarding his best friend’s wellness. By some miracle, Meryl was alive. But it felt as if Meryl had abandoned him.

He felt alone, and so—even if it wasn’t entirely fair—clung to Roka to compensate. With many anxieties to stir his rest, his eyes fluttered open once again in the middle of the night, fixating on a random blade of kelp that lingered above him. His body then rustled the sand as he began to readjust, anticipating the weight of another to push against him as he did.

But Roka wasn’t there.

Bondi lurched up from the seafloor, whipping about in such a hurried panic that kelp began to entangle him as he moved. He tore out from its grasp, preparing himself to dart out of their little alcove and into the forest beyond.

“Bondi, I’m here.” Came Roka’s gentle, tired voice.

“Where did you go?”

“I went up to peek at the stars. My night has been restless, too.”

Bondi’s shoulders dropped, and he let himself relax under the welcome rush of relief. Roka is safe. Roka is safe. Roka then pulled at him lightly, drawing him back to bed, and Bondi was soon able to abandon a foreboding train of thought in favour of sleep, and embraced by the oblivion of a thoughtless slumber, Bondi would never know Roka had snuck out that night. By proxy, nor would Bondi ever know who or how others slipped off and plotted away behind his back.

Not until it was too late.

Diosia had experienced it once before, on a day he always recalled so grimly. There were days when he was forced to be awake and beneath the sun as opposed to resting and tucked away from its flame, and it had been one of those days. The establishment he was kept—or otherwise imprisoned—in was a fairly grand operation for its time. There were endless meadows for livestock to graze, and a great, ginormous farm, and a pleasant, small manor to live in. Many people worked for his caretaker, Ellsworth, which became extraordinarily agitating to him as a young siren.

He wasn’t so practiced in holding himself back or swallowing down his instincts. He had already accidentally killed a messenger or a servant on a few occasions, but these were forgiven with the grace and understanding that he hadn’t enough practice managing his impulses yet.

So, day after day, he had lived amongst humans, practicing. Mostly, it had gone well. He did better, better until eventually he could be trusted without his teeth and claws being filed and without his wings being bound. And then, on that day where he had earned all the trust he could’ve in Ellsworth, he accidentally killed another human.

He accidentally killed the human betrothed to Ellsworth.

And so, he was sent away, out into the wild, all by himself.

Meryl had only gone to the other side of the pond to brood, but this felt quite like that. He was by himself, feeling punished and isolated by things he couldn’t control. Of course, Diosia’s judgement was rather fogged by the bitter, aching feeling of rejection that spiraled about him; he was inarticulate in this way, unable to distinguish instincts and emotions and frustrations and admirations from one another to some degree. All he could understand was that there were sensations that he quite liked—like the kind he felt holding Meryl close—and sensations that he loathed. Being ignored by Meryl, Diosia now discovered, was a sensation he loathed.

Yet still, the siren curled up patiently, awaiting the attention of the prize he loved so dearly. His wings folded over him like a blanket, and his arms acted as a pillow for the side of his head as he rested on his stomach, watching Meryl linger in the water. The subtlest of movements did not pass Diosia by; when Meryl sighed softly, and his chest rose and fell with it, he could see Meryl’s shoulders dip and come back up. A slight twitch of his fins fascinated Diosia, even if it meant absolutely nothing.

Meryl, as far as he could tell, did not consider such details so precious—he seemed much more consumed in thought than anything else. The tilt of his head was such a fixed point, immovable even by the lamenting of the dripping water or the wavering of a plant above. He found little else more agitating than Meryl’s lack of care, how distant the warmth of his flame had become from Diosia, and this irritation slowly bit away at his patience.

A few minutes later, he gave an indignant huff and flapped his wings. It was a passive-aggressive bid for his attention, but Meryl still hardly cared, solely fixated on his own thought, and so Diosia was pushed back to quiet patience, no matter how much he hated it.

Two hours passed before Diosia became fed up with waiting, but another passed before he felt motivated to act on it. At this point, Meryl had fallen asleep (his back, naturally, towards Diosia), which gave Diosia as much free reign as he wanted. If Meryl wished to be petty, he could be petty, too.

He went back to his collection of items, taking up armfuls of whatever he could from bottles to jewelry to keys, and to anything else composed of metal or glass, before bringing them back to the cave and repeating the process. Eventually, on his side of the cave’s pond, he had a thorough portion of his collection. He then promptly scooped up what items he could carry, and smoothly stepped over to the mer.

“MERYL.” He commanded, causing the merman to jump: he was much more awake now.

The shattering of glass ensued, accompanied in its chorus by the rattling of metal and clanks and jingles of jewelry and gems, and other items of insignificance fell to the floor. Diosia then stomped away in the same huffy manner before returning to his pile of things and scooping up more, this time bringing along something soft enough to toss directly at Meryl. Meryl yelped as he whipped the wet blanket at him and cried out with questions, however, there was no question that could distract Diosia from his frustrated and distraught state, and so he subsisted his decision. He harassed Meryl on and on with objects as they piled before him, giving him each object with petulance, as pathetic as it was.

The heat rose in his chest and burned his face. The entire ordeal vexed him now, much more than it had a few hours ago. A few hours ago, he lingered on the taste of doting, if not yearning, and let himself feel affection for a creature that wasn’t himself, however, now he couldn’t enjoy that sensation. He felt deprived of it, irritatingly so, and he couldn’t wrap his head around why Meryl did this to him.

Why did he make him feel this way? Why didn’t Meryl want to indulge it further, if for so long he seemed to experience a euphoria quite similar?

He chased after but couldn’t capture the meaning of how he felt, how it blended from hunger to ardor to vulnerability to this awful, awful, and searing sense of rejection that boiled his blood and made his face red.

As he walked on between Meryl and his items, he became a spectacle to his lover; his face dripped with a warm liquid, and he wiped it away as if it were fresh blood pouring from a wound, continuing on with his task in heavy breath. He was foolishly angry, and angered even more so by a lack of reason for it. It was not because Meryl hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, and somehow, he knew that—that fact pained him tragically.

He dropped the last of the items and fell to his knees, the same indignant, denying expression of anger in his face as he cried. There was no reason for Meryl to accept him.

There was none at all.

But instead of conceding to this fact, he stared it down defiantly, inadvertently meeting Meryl’s eyes. His stance was admittedly childish, but he didn’t care, keeping himself steadily fierce. However, his aching heart was eased by the gentle eyes that stared back, that and a face only lined with an honest, sympathetic concern for him.

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Meryl was awe-struck in ways both terrible and strange by Diosia’s behavior. Not an item dared clink against him, save for a wet cloth that struck him, and though that gesture was hurtful, he certainly hadn’t been injured by it physically. The opulence that was poured out before him, dashed to the stone repeatedly, was overwhelming in and of itself without the first taste of emotion Diosia had ever given him outside of lust or hunger. Meryl watched gold and silver and gems, and fine watches and wares tumble to the ground, and set neatly amongst all of these things were his pair of claws.

A shimmering weapon was laid out before him amongst everything else, and Diosia acted as if that hardly mattered at all. The siren, though upset, didn’t care if he was helpless or not—it was the first time he saw Diosia utterly consumed by emotion, at least in a way so visible that no sly smile or glimmer of the eye could hide it.

Instead, Diosia stripped himself of his lavish tricks, of his grace and dignity, and fell prey to the spasm of anguish, tears, and anger that displayed itself so vividly to Meryl. Somehow, this outburst—despite how seemingly violent it was in nature with every glass that shattered—was far less intimidating than anything else Meryl ever witnessed from Diosia. There was a raw anger that expressed a frustration, not a threat. Diosia relished threats.

This, however, excruciated Diosia; his eyes were glazed over with a desperate defiance, as if he weren’t fighting Meryl but rather the world itself, and tears poured down his face in his fraught bearing of teeth. He should have been frightened—he was not. Diosia then fell to his knees before Meryl, his sobs heaving and wretched, causing nothing more than a knot of empathy in his heart;

“Are you okay?”

Diosia whimpered back, helplessly, “No.”

Meryl moved on with hesitation, worried that the wrong answer may have snared him between Diosia’s distraught, snapping him in half; “Is it something I did?”

Diosia’s head hung low, no longer able to meet Meryl’s eyes.

“No.” Diosia repeated.

Selfish relief comforted Meryl then, allowing him to move forward. “What’s wrong then?” He pressed on gently with a hand extended tentatively towards him.

“I-I don’t know.” Diosia stammered out. “I feel so overwhelmed and upset and I haven’t a clue as to why—”

“It’s nothing that happened between us?”

“It’s everything that’s happened between us. Y-You were meant to be prey, however, now my heart longs for otherwise and my body still wishes the same, and I’ve hurt you and frightened you…”

Diosia poured out far more, all of which drew a needle closer and closer until it pressed against the skin and Meryl felt it prick him. He could barely reply to Diosia’s words; there was an aching remorse in them, an overwhelming, swirling confusion that cascaded over him.

“Diosia.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Swiftly enveloped by trembling wings and arms, there came a momentary relief to the sobbing, and whilst this moment collapsed, the relief within it held strong, warming them both. He hugged Diosia back as tightly as he could, his embrace loyal and fierce against the tremors of sobs that wracked every part of Diosia’s being. Together, they slowly drifted towards the pool’s edge, and slowly, Diosia’s anguish began to subside.

“I’m sorry, Meryl.”

As to whether he would ever see so deeply into the storm of Diosia’s heart again, Meryl hadn’t any idea. However, he did know something: He believed Diosia, and for the first time ever, Meryl knew there was honesty in his lover’s voice.

The following hours they found peace in; Meryl was able to settle into Diosia’s arms, and together they fell asleep, the remnants of tears becoming dry, and the echoes of sobs dying out. Then Diosia carried him to the ocean once more, and they had parted with a gentle kiss come dawn. It would be days before Meryl saw him again.

================================================

All he knew at this point was that something that is not food does not stay in a stomach, and, as much as it pained him to admit, the mer was much more than food to him. He could say Meryl replenished him truthfully, simply not in such a literal way.

He had to… let him go.

His little nest rustled as he pulled away from it, drawing himself groggily down to the water’s edge, wings lightly flapping for the sake of his own balance. However, as he was about to let Meryl go, a realization of sorts struck him; the water was dull and vile, unfit for someone as lovely as Meryl. It was no place to let go of his little treasure, and so certainly, he wouldn’t—not here—rather, he would go somewhere else before he did such a thing. And luckily, he had the perfect idea.

The wind hugged and clung against him, nestling its way through each feather and strand of hair while below him grey turned to blue, a deep, reveling colour that somehow only reminded him of Meryl, and convinced him to muse further. In his head he doted on and on, a thousand thoughts rushing through him in his flight.

To begin with, Meryl would be mad at him for this—he was certain of it. This, in combination with the flame of instincts, drew him further over the water, until suddenly he crashed with its surface.

He swam further and further, pulling himself down into the ocean’s depths as he did. The water was dark, a blur he grazed along in search of one particular place, something he happened upon mostly by the luck of memory.

Its mouth was ominous and wide, embedded into the sea itself, at night a sort of void one would regret coming to. Regardless, he moved through it keenly, well aware of the luminous blues yet to wash over him. His heart raced as he pushed against the water, feeling the resistance of each molecule against his form. His wings whipped and propelled him forward, and his arms kept shoveling at it all the same.

The light came to him, and a moment later he was piercing the surface, hands grasping at the edge of stone and upon this platform the blue glow crystallized all around him, and each plant that made its home along the wall was nothing short of nostalgic decor.

It had been so long since he had visited this cave. Seven years—at least.

The deeper he went, the tighter and smaller it became, a sort of tunnel that was accommodating to a creature his size, but certainly not of grandeur. Suddenly however, it opened up, like how a butterfly unveils its wings from the cocoon, and then dances across the sky and vision of whatever viewer it may have.

Below him was an abyss, trailing back and back, and all around him stood sorts of cliffs and sea-stack like rocks that bellowed up from the depths, where, if one was unfortunate enough to fall, after a minute or so they may strike the surface of water once more. Here, far along the roof of the cavern, the incandescence of light was still glacial and enchanting as it stemmed and crawled over stalactites. Throughout the sort of platforms, dozens of pools formed and spilled over, fine waterfalls cascading down the rocks.

He spread out his wings, and settled at a fine, large platform and its pool, where no water fell off of its edge (which made it an arguably safer place to settle). The water burbled beneath his knees as he slammed down against it, and its whimpered echoed on for a long while as he adjusted himself. He could feel his stomach twist and turn, even though Meryl was well and perfectly still.

He didn’t want to do this—to let Meryl go.

But he had to, and so he did. He pried open his jaw as far as it could go without someone to widen it, and clenched his abdomen tightly, an immediate wave of nausea overcoming him. He couldn’t take the sensation of something crawling up his throat, and had to swallow it back down.

He let out a defeated sigh, his hands flopping onto his lap as he murmured, “I’m sorry Meryl, I’m trying.”

He ever so slightly clawed at his knees, the sharp, subtle curve of ebony claws digging into his legs as he strained himself to try again. He’d do this, he couldn’t keep Meryl there forever.

He kept his mouth open wide, and before he tried again drew in a slow, soothing breath, as if to reassure himself that he was capable. He did this with Roka just about a day ago—he hadn’t lost the capability in a day, and though of course Roka was difficult to spit back up, he certainly wasn’t this hard. His stomach squeezed again, and his eyes scrunched shut in his focus, fighting against a powerful reflex to resist.

He felt everything become utterly crushed in his chest, a suffocating feeling similar to that of terrible stress, and knew that he was almost there. Everything stretched, now fervidly, and much opposite to taking someone in it felt of a terrible pain. His throat stung with his lover’s form, until finally the weight had settled at the back of his throat, and he began to wrench him out.

Meryl came pouring out quickly into the pool he had chosen, and for a moment he only gritted his teeth and clutched at his empty core. He had expected the water to splash and sputter, to hear panicked gasps and cries, but instead, it was silent.

He peered over at Meryl, and his heart dropped seeing how still his figure was. Meryl lied there, impassive eyes closed and calm. At once the water became extraordinarily violent from Diosia’s fumbling, wings flapping and beating against the surface as he scrambled over to Meryl, who had floated a little farther away from him. He hurriedly knelt in the deepening pool and wrapped his arms around Meryl, trying carefully to keep his neck beneath the water so that the gills that ran along it would have access to it. Stretching over and down, he pressed his head to the mer’s chest, straining his ear.

It took a moment to reply, but a gentle thump came back in return and he knew Meryl was well—or at least, alive. He hadn’t done anything to hurt the mer; he’d only kept him close for a little longer than promised.

Once he was certain that Meryl was alive, he drew the mer closer to the shore and left him to rest. It was understandable for him to be tired—at these hours mer naturally were, or at the very least it was to his knowledge that they were. He pattered away from Meryl and quicker than he came, he left.

His speed was much farther from the leisurely, almost-rocking-like pace he had been in before; he moved sharply, quickly, for it was only a matter of time before Meryl woke back up, and when he wanted to gather food before the mer had woken up (for certainly Meryl was hungry by now, much like himself) he needed to outrun Meryl’s consciousness.

Though hardly the same, his task took him very little time, and soon enough he was trailing back along the stone, a large tuna in hand, and yet in his race, hesitation bit at his legs as he moved down the tunnel—slowly, skidding and scrapping against his better judgement, he came to a halt.

“What am I doing?” He questioned aloud, shifting the fish in his arms. “I’ve hardly known him for ten months why—“ The realization struck him as he looked down. “—he’s a fish.”

He shook his head scornfully, a light, and yet so very dark laugh escaping his lips. “I’ve fallen for food, like you.”

It wasn’t as if the fish could reply, of course, however, being alone for so long certainly enriched one’s imagination. It was simply a habit he’d made for himself, rambling on and on aloud, musing to no one in particular.

“And for what? For what have I risked my pride? My heart? My own needs? Perhaps my own life?” He smiled, ever so slightly. “Just a someone, I suppose as everyone else ever does.

“Simply a someone.”

He leaned against the wall, as if implanting himself within the stone could be a sufficient excuse for not facing Meryl, the being he had fervidly devoured only a day ago, and that now he felt insatiably in need of.

“But shouldn’t I regard food as more of a something?” His eyes flicked down to the fish with a particular disdain, one of dissatisfaction, as if he were angry it hadn’t contributed to his reflection. “Like you.” He added, bitterly;

 “Even when you were alive, you didn’t say a word. Creatures like you serve their role to their home—in your case, the ocean—and then they die and are to be eaten by another creature. You are nothing but support to bigger, greater creatures. You’re pathetic.

“I…” His speech faltered before he found the words to continue on, “I am not so! I am not to be eaten. I serve myself… and a goddess, rather admittedly. But it is still far prettier a purpose than you, fish. And I am certain I ought—”

A cry echoed down the tunnel, thwarting every (conceited) remark he was to make to an animal that was already dead and his gaze snapped over worriedly.

“Meryl?”

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Meryl had no idea what he had gotten into; his mind so blearily recalled the night he snuck out to shore and became caught deep in citrine eyes, whose intents displayed in sharp pupils had permanently bewitched him to a fate of death. And then, death hadn’t come. Again and again, it slinked by him as nothing but a snake at his feet. It slithered by so often, hissed and bore its fangs and thus made him so certain that it would never bite, that it was only temperamental, and that it only needed to find its ease at his side.

And now he felt its venom in his veins.

Fear was his sedative in the moments leading up to, and the way his heart had tossed him about—the way Diosia had tossed his heart about—did nothing to give him stable grounds. He was beaten and afraid, and miserable and longing, and frightened and compliant in all ways. Physically, he had denied himself nourishment for two weeks in an act of punishment, believing that maybe he had failed the siren entirely, and that Diosia was dead.

The weight of Naigale’s death had always been such a motive in helping Diosia; even if it took the face of death to siphon that truth out of him, he could acknowledge it now. He felt like he was making up to a species he had harmed, a species that was already dying before he drove a spear through a siren’s heart.

And now, so fittingly, a siren drove a spear through his.

Didn’t he deserve this?

He deserved to be trapped between Diosia’s teeth, if not pierced and torn apart by them entirely. As a matter of fact, this was gentle—merciful of Diosia. In some twisted, bitter way he could understand the tenderness that Diosia carried in his actions, despite their demented consequences, and could feel a lack of ill-intent in every touch.

 But he was still afraid. He didn’t want to die. No one ever does.

And at first, he wasn’t so sure if he was conceding to death or to Diosia as the two in concept were completely separable, even if one brought the other on occasion—but that was all before time began to drag. His world became the colour black for the darkest parts of someone were tucked away inside of them, deep where no one else would find a secret nor a crevice that was never meant to be found. The hours crept by, and for all of them he could not see.

There was nothing to see; he was trapped within a void, slowly becoming kneaded into another being entirely and dissolved by their adulation. Whether he was asleep or awake, he couldn’t tell, as all he could see was black. Like tar the blackness sunk in on him, coating him from the tip of his fin to the last curl of hair upon his head, and progressed to be too heavy to move in. Now trapped, he was fodder to passive systems and natural processes—it would all occur to him without thought nor command from Diosia at all, and he wished the fact could pardon Diosia as innocent of killing him then.

In spite of it, once the burning began and he could tell that the tar had been lit aflame, he admitted his lover to be at fault. He was dying. The world closed in on him, squeezing tighter and tighter. He imagined it was so Diosia could drink up every last drop of him, anything that remained.

When he was sure it was almost over, he was right; light spilled into his head, a mellow, satin blue illuminating his eyes. Weightless as he was, his spirit drifting along, he let himself wander aimlessly.

But then he breathed.

And he cried out.

And he breathed, and he was alive. The world around him was so very real. It was tangible that he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even hurt. There were no burns, no scars—nothing. He was alive—every breath told him so. In that moment no sweeter, exhausting truth could have saved him as this realization did, the realization that Diosia hadn’t killed him as he convinced himself that Diosia had. His lungs felt crushed by the freedom of air, the weight of such being far too heavy for him to handle. He was adjusting to a much wider space now and couldn’t afford himself to take in air that he hadn’t already breathed before, and so he dipped below the shallow water entirely, where the world felt smaller by a more tolerable amount. His feverish rejoice parted only for further questions, ones primarily in regard to his current circumstance.

Had Diosia left him by a pond somewhere?

He lifted his head from the water and drew himself closer to its shore, sitting within it. He then tilted his head upwards, and realized he was nowhere he had ever been before. Above there were no stars, rather, there was the painting of a different world entirely, a world he had peered into only once. The place reminded him of Naigale’s cave immediately and the memory did well at knitting his insides into one another, causing everything inside of him to twist nervously.

This was no place for a merman; this was a place for a siren.

“D-Diosia?” He muttered out, a hazy, reluctant call.

“I’m right behind you.” A voice guided gently in return.

He whipped his attention over to the siren, anticipating the dark looming figure he knew well as Diosia, the figure who might’ve come from hell itself other than anything else, but that was not who he saw. The figure Meryl saw crossed his legs neatly with his hands rested impassively in his lap with his wings set down across the stone, still subtly gleaming blue, and looked at him with clement eyes and a quiet glow. Diosia’s pupils, as opposed to the snake-like slits they often held, were widened and rounded.

A silent reverence could be seen in him, and as Meryl stared longer, it seemed to become louder. Diosia leaned in eagerly, curious as to what words laid themselves at the back of Meryl’s throat.

Finally, Meryl spoke; “What is that for?”

Diosia looked down to the large fish that was dead at his feet, then back up to Meryl.

“For you.” Diosia then quietly elaborated, “To eat.”

“You went fishing for me?”

“I did.” He beamed.

“Th-thank you,” Meryl uttered, pushing himself forward towards the fish. He reached out for it and slightly flinched when Diosia moved to push it further towards him, even if it was hardly a menacing gesture.

For the next few minutes, neither he nor Diosia spoke, both much more preferential to keeping to themselves. He ate in silence, drawing out his meal regardless of how repulsive he found eating to currently be, as it offered him an escape from confrontation. He bit into the fish again and again, awkwardly keeping everything as noiseless as he could manage given the empty, echoing state of their environment, where even a mere twitch of Diosia’s talon seemed to yell on afterwards.  

Diosia murmured, tenderly, “Meryl.”

He agonized over his reply, but Diosia spared him from words, speaking once more.

“I’ll take you back to water come the morning, and for tonight, I hope you shall rest. And…” Diosia no longer spoke, prompting Meryl to glance over. “I am very puzzled and very lost; however, I do know that I wish for your company.”

“I am, too.” Meryl flicked his eyes up boldly. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

Diosia froze over, like ice had crawled through his pores and burrowed into the marrow of his bones; the fear his question struck was potent—it was the first time he had ever seen Diosia scared at all.

Diosia breathed, “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve wanted to since we’ve met, and then, after I thought you had changed your mind, it seems like you still want to. Do you still want to, Diosia?”

“My instincts are not fair to me; my species is burdened differently than yours—”

“So, you do.”

Diosia pleaded back, “Meryl—”

Meryl whimpered in return, “I don’t know why you do these… weird, psychotic things and I still love you regardless. I don’t understand what you get from playing this game with me.”

“Meryl.”

“What?”

“I… I’m scared. I don’t understand either, but I am not so certain if this is still a game.”

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Excitement crackled and tingled throughout his whole body, through his insides and into his heart, and an almost violent fluttering resided in his stomach. This was what he had been waiting for, what he had plotted—salivated over—for almost ten months now. Months of calculation and coercing, nudging his little mer ever so closer to him, drawing him oh-so-slowly into his jaws, and now he could just about sense the taste on his tongue.

The mer trusted him to do this.

He had done it, hadn’t he?

His plan had worked.

He had won.

The silk of blue eyes brushed over him and met with his own, and every worried crease in Meryl’s expression told him that he ought to take this chance, or else the little mer might take it away from him.

He closed his eyes, slowly twisting his hands around Meryl’s, until he wrapped around Meryl’s wrists and could pull them forward—into his mouth. Fingers flinched and struck along the nerves of his lips, brushing against them in an ever-so-slight motion of defiance. However, Meryl settled with him, and soon his palms quite willingly, albeit stiffly, rested upon his tongue. He prodded gently, as if to tell Meryl to relax, and swallowed on, a murmur of delight purring through him as the taste began to truly seep in.

His hands doted over Meryl’s wrists for a moment more before he left them to be swallowed all the same, and placed his hands at Meryl’s waist. His mind became a frantic blur, and before he knew it, he was swallowing up Meryl’s arms and he had reached up gently, planting a grasp in sugared, brown curls, guiding Meryl’s head down so that it might soon join the rest of him.

The weight was already so pleasurable, feeling tired and empty space fill with the dulcet warmth of Meryl’s presence. Each swallow drew Meryl in closer, until at his chest Meryl finally lost his tension and allowed for Diosia to bear all of his weight. If not for his full throat at this he would’ve purred again, delighted even by the insignificant fact that now his jaw carried slightly more weight than it had before.

It was odd, very strange of him indeed; however, he wrapped his arms around his twitching—although compliant—repast and hugged what remained of the mer. He craved several sensations at once, that of a full stomach, and that of full arms. If he could devise a way to wrap around Meryl in every which way he would. It was at that point, as Meryl’s waist passed his lips, that he realized something:

If I kill him… he is gone.

It was a simple thought, a quiet little phrase muttered between every ravenous instinct that screamed and roared in ecstasy, but it struck him so harshly that he almost gagged on it. He had become so carried away with seizing his opportunity, that he hadn’t considered if he should’ve at all. The very thought frenzied his mind, its swift movement so easily obscuring affection and violence into one. After all, was love not for one’s object of affection to fill one’s very veins, to be spilled and to bleed out, filling another’s cup with such a fine red liquid fermented by love?

To consume, to destroy, to love.

A growing, boiling frustration splashed about such a beautiful picture—a silver platter serving a beating heart—its temporary state, the way love would so quickly decay if so ravenously devoured, and yet Diosia could not help this. He needed Meryl. In twists of carnal desire and a long-nurtured lust for violence, however, Diosia knew no other way.

This was what he was meant to do; the purpose he was divined for was to consume, to kill. The rapid assimilation of another being into his own had been but a casual code for so long that he hardly knew what it was like to not eat.

Eating was so familiar, and yet, he felt macerated beyond any reasonable amount, as if his lover could fill all he had lost in so many ways.

To kill Meryl, however, would perhaps prove as sabotage to his purpose. Bondi would inform the colony, a hunt would begin for him, and he’d be forced to run away from all the creatures he was meant to kill.

And, beneath a need to fulfill his purpose, there was something else there—the kind of heat Meryl brought to him and the overwhelming appeal he held—it would be hellish to dim it. He couldn’t bear to be without company, and he was certain he’d never find another siren if he tried. So, not only was Meryl his prize, but he had incidentally become his synthetic siren, a substituting partner. Or at least, Diosia told himself that was all it was.

The meaning of the word love, whether or not it graced his throat or his chest, his eyes, or his ears, was foreign to him—at least for now.

He brushed the thoughts aside for a moment, reasoning with himself that if he were this committed already that he ought to (at the very least) finish what he started. His thoughts gushed out again in complete admiration of his catch as so smoothly and pleasantly, Meryl’s scales slid into his mouth and down his throat. The salt and subtle scrapes that the scales gave only added to his buzz, something akin to being high.

The moment he could he gasped out in pleasure, a raw growl in his voice that foamed up into a bubbling mix of savagery and ardor tugging through his chest, dragging across his heart before leaving his throat. Fullness and a sense of gratification washed over him next as he huffed and growled like a feral wolf, still adjusting to a stifled ability to breathe. In the same bane of rapture, he flopped over onto his back. His hands grazed over the bulge in his core, utterly enamored by the figure underneath and the sensation it brought him. He was captured by his own sadism.

Helpless to his own instincts now, reveling in a place most insignificant to him—a place he hardly paid mind to now—he sat there and purred aloud, whispering sweet-nothings to likely-deaf ears. Once he sat up, his euphoria hadn’t faded, however, reason had come to join it, and so he decidedly stood up and stole away. Discarding his previous location, he sought out a place he knew very well would be perfect for the occasion.

The estuary quickly grew out of sight, and with it any chances of Bondi interrupting him, and he became temporarily comforted by the thought. He would have a time with his perfect little mer that not a soul could take away from him now.

Meryl was his and no one could change that.

After his celebration had calmed, he stopped by his collection of things, plucking up every soft item he had. He hauled everything—stolen blankets and pillows, and other little things that were very much so his favourite, up higher in the cliff he lived, creating a nest within a private, inaccessible crevice. It was well and peaceful—so much so that Diosia might’ve never chosen to leave if he could’ve. Here he curled around his lover, contented and cooing in his nest.

Despite his comfort, it was bound to end one way or another, that he knew. He had to make a choice—let the little mer live or keep him forever. However, soothed by his pile, curled up with his eyes closed and a radiant warmth cradling him, he decided now wasn’t the time.

He would decide tomorrow night—yes, that sounded much better.  

The time to decide would come… later.

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The sky and waves were unobjectionable to their hunt, a starkly casual presence looming over the depths of the water. It was an unnatural tone when contrasted to the day’s events—off-putting. To compliment this off-putting tone, everyone at once stopped, beginning to swirl around. Here the party swarmed, and he watched as they turned to sharks—Meryl a meek figure curled in amongst the group’s edge. As much as he loved his friend, it was a slightly humorous talent that he could make even the metallic spear he held look friendly, holding it akin to how someone would shyly hold a bouquet of flowers.

Bondi crawled across the ocean’s floor and peered amongst the stray jagged rocks and kelp, gauging his opportunity to tear his friend away from the crowd. Whatever they were saying, he couldn’t hear, and nor did he need to hear it to understand. From an odd blur of recent memory and what he saw before him, he realized exactly where they were. They were at the entrance of Naigale’s cave.

The group pushed back, moving around the entrance. From their movement, Meryl was pushed even farther away from him, and they all formed a wide circle around the hole sunken into the floor.

His body became tense as a familiar merman pushed out from the crowd, hovering over the cave. Conleth’s stance was composed—confident—and Bondi could barely register what that composed mer had done just a second later. All at once Conleth’s head dipped down and his tail pointed to the surface, and the next moment he was gone. No one gestured to rescue him.

It was a part of the plan.

They had set their hooks, their butchering knives, and casted out their lines; and, to his horror, Bondi now realized his very own kind was to be used as bait.

Some power froze him there, turning him to nothing more than witness to everything as a pit opened up in his stomach, a sinkhole to all his bravery. He couldn’t move. The hole became greater and greater, until his body trembled and his fingers twitched in a wretched bile of anticipation, waiting—hoping—for Conleth to reappear.

A mer peered over the edge, an impatience that suggested questioning. Everyone looked as if they were questioning, as if they weren’t so sure Conleth still breathed. He flinched as kelp brushed up against him, and still they sat in wait.

It was so sudden—a moment before the world could’ve almost been called peaceful.

Conleth bursted up from the cave, and instantly the water held a red tint. Adrenaline sapped all else from his body, and so all he could do was watch as a blurry figure burst up after him. They grappled, filling the water with violent crimson splotches as Conleth tried to scramble away. The group curved up like a wave and crashed down on Naigale, and in the new frenzy all Bondi could do was stare.

His mind begged him to move—move even just one muscle towards Meryl, but he couldn’t.

He was trapped.

In the mess he saw that Conleth had gotten away, only partially. While he was no longer Naigale’s focus, the brief time they had shared together showed all over Conleth’s body. He might’ve been missing an eye, for his face was so horrifyingly torn apart, and his body was similar. Marks as abundant as the wrinkling of skin covered Conleth all over, and his fins had been shredded apart.

Bondi surged forward by some force of instinct—maybe pushed by how appalled or frightened he was—headed right for Meryl. “MERYL!”

He realized his mistake far too late as a dozen eyes set upon him, although no pairs lingered on him—save for one, slitted and predatory. He froze, staring back at Naigale for a moment, his heartbeat suddenly untraceable. Then, to his relief, someone made a strike for Naigale’s face, and quickly Bondi wriggled out of their gaze.

As he stroked towards Meryl, their eyes burned themselves into his skull, an image repeating again and again. Danger tingled along his spine. Much like Meryl, his gaze shifted between the siren and his friend, until both seemed to blur into one. Just before he was in reach, however, someone slammed against him.

He cried out in agony as the pain split his body in half, the kind of pain that would’ve crushed him if he hadn’t tried to swim away. From the merfolk that has been thrown into him, a gap had opened in the formation, a catalyst to the tragedy that was to occur.

He swam up, away from the merman he had collided with, and Meryl swam towards him, wielding his spear to the side so that it wouldn’t pierce Bondi. At this same time, Naigale seized their opportunity to escape, slinging themself towards the surface. What not one of the three of them had expected, however, was for Meryl’s father to plunge after the siren, yanking Naigale downwards.

The water turned purely, truly crimson red around his friend, and he cried out again in panic and fear that he had lost Meryl. Meryl cried out, too, albeit for a much different reason. He watched as Meryl struggled and writhed, and quickly rushed over to help, pulling him away from what he thought was an assailant. His body jolted in disgust as even he felt the spear slide out of something—something that wasn’t him, and something wasn’t Meryl, either.

In the clouded water he saw Meryl’s father pull away, almost unscathed, and the truth of the situation hit him. Naigale no longer swam. Their being floated in the water, the very last of their tension siphoned from their body as the spear’s head made its way out of their chest. Their limbs had gone limp, and life had drained from their face.

The world became silent as they sunk along with the spear Meryl had dropped. They sunk further and further, and all anyone could do was watch. Meryl jolted in his grasp, trying to follow after Naigale, but somehow, Bondi was strong enough to forbade it.

He watched, terrified, as Naigale only sunk and sunk, their wings drifting after them in a graceful, bidding poise. A feeling of dread lingered inside of him as he stared at those wings, now laminated with the strangest of blues, until finally Naigale hit the ocean floor. The sand parted for them and seemed to swallow them up, until finally the siren was well and truly gone.

“Good job,” Poseider spoke, pulling everyone back from their disarrayed trance. “I wasn’t expecting you to get the killing blow, Meryl, but I’m proud.”

Meryl curled into him, influencing Bondi to hug him back tightly.

“Bondi,” Conleth spoke, suddenly. He looked over to the mer—perhaps one of the worst looking beings still here and alive—and his heart skipped a beat in an ongoing rhythm of dread. “I’m not sure why you came, but I’d like for you to come back with me. Sirens often come in pairs—we were lucky this one wasn’t with its partner. It’d be safer for you in case the other shows up.”

Conleth looked over to Meryl, gently. “Meryl, you may also come with me, unless Poseider wishes otherwise.”

Meryl’s father questioned, gruffly, “You don’t want to celebrate, Meryl?”

How could you rejoice for death? Bondi allowed a venomous disdain to flow in through the glare in his eyes.

“I-I-I’ll celebrate with Bondi first.” Meryl murmured, somehow concealing most of his emotion. Luckily the triton he abhorred so greatly came to settle for this just fine, and they trailed back to safety with Conleth.

Looking over what had happened that day, Bondi understood very well how it felt for Meryl. However, despite its terribleness, it only solidified something in Bondi. He understood what he knew of sirens to be true—they enchanted merfolk based on their sexuality, they were violent, powerful creatures made to kill, and if from hell they came, then it was to hell that they naturally returned.

They sunk and were taken by the ground because that’s where they belonged; however, sometimes he recalled Naigale’s sympathetic eyes and pondered what was so true about sirens, and what was such a myth. Were sirens demons?

And then, seven years later, someone was able to prove much more to be true. Yes, sirens were vicious hunters—killers that played by no rules but their own, and all he had to be thankful for was that Naigale’s rules—unlike Diosia’s—had been a much more ethical way of going about things.

Yes, Diosia confirmed all the rest of his suspicions. They were creatures of the night by heart, they were clever and obsessive, they were hell-bound on culling whatever life they could, and yes, they certainly came in pairs, for whenever Bondi saw Diosia he knew so very well that there it was—something so clear to him, a simple and yet vivid connection.

When he looked at Diosia he saw it—the other half of Naigale’s severed pair.

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No sights came to him; in the dark there was nothing beyond the river that he could see through the grass, no figures nor creatures, and behind him it felt all the same. The next thing he noticed was his barren hands—how they lacked their silver edging. He was exposed, vulnerable, unequipped for whoever was coming for him. No—he knew exactly who was coming for him.

A nasty sound crawled up his shoulder and bit at the place between his ear and his neck, nestling itself into his jawline—a wretched long slurping sound coming from behind the grass. So cautiously looking to the source of the sound, Bondi fixated his gaze on the tall grass, most specifically at its tips, where it turned blacker than night in such an uneven way.

The thickets rustled and moved, and the blackness slightly squirmed, blackness that he now realized to be a creature. It slurped and swallowed again before it began to pant and heave, as if something had crushed its lungs for an eternity, and only now could it breathe.

“H-hey,” Bondi snapped at it, horror wracking through his body.

It all felt so surreal, how frighteningly alone he was.

The creature ducked beneath the grass further, almost entirely concealed, before it began to rustle and come forward. At this Bondi lurched back, frightened by its approach, until at last it was at the very edge of the grass, nearing him ever so closer.

“St-stay away!” he barked, a voice and body both slightly trembling.

Through the grass, the creature’s face emerged, and his fear crashed in on itself like a wave, and instead he now became furious. Eyes so sly and keen, slitted black before gold, took him in with great amusement, before finally Diosia slid over, smoothly pushing himself out of the grass and folding his legs comfortably against the sand.

He may have recognized the creature now, but that hadn’t changed his opinion.

He was looking at a monster.

If he ever tried to describe it—especially to those like Meryl, who could have done with the clear picture—there wouldn’t be a single word he could use to describe the utter, and undeniably absolute level of disgust he felt looking at him. There were no words to describe it—no real words at all. A round bulge in the siren’s core, so large and apparent to him—so repulsive and infuriating, agonizing.

“I see you’ve woken up.” Diosia mused, and a light, thoughtless hand brushed across his stomach as he spoke.

Bondi hissed out in anguish, “What the hell have you done?”

“Oh—“ Diosia chuckled. “—nothing too bad yet. I certainly startled him, however, I’ve yet to harm him.”

Bondi felt his skin crawl just from the sight of it, and the sounds he had heard replayed in his head again and again. His stomach churned with uncertainty, well aware of the line he had to walk now. If he wanted them to be safe—whether it be Roka or Meryl, both of which were plausible to him—he needed to comply.

“What do you want, Diosia?” He questioned, acid dripping in his voice regardless of his attempts to suffocate it.

“Ah,” Diosia purred, “I’m so pleased you’ve asked.”

Despite how immobile Diosia might’ve looked, he quickly pounced upon Bondi, pinning him with ease. He, regretfully, didn’t fight the siren, knowing better than to try. Without his claws he had no chances against Diosia. So, now entirely helpless to it, Diosia’s face loomed over his and his body was crushed beneath the disgusting weight of being trapped.

Diosia gave a velvety growl, “I want Meryl. You, and now your companion—I presume—are in the way. I have no intents of eating the little mer, however, your friend hasn’t the same privileges.”

His smile was dark, the honest, truthful malice of his nature sparkling in his teeth. “I’d be happy to kill them, unless you’d like to stay out of my way.”

He has Roka, Bondi realized.

Bondi growled back, a tone much more afraid than enterprising, “And what would that entail?”

“Stay quiet.” Diosia answered. “As long as you do, I have no reason to hurt your colony. If you are willing to hold a treaty between us, I’ll let this merfolk go. All I ask is you tell no others.”

“And if I don’t comply?”

Diosia hissed, “Then you’d be a fool to believe I couldn’t get you all first—all three of you.” Diosia collected himself, returning to his honey after having used a few too many splashes of vinegar, and cooed on, “I’ll be happy to keep my dinner if you don’t care to agree.”

A moment of silence passed where he pushed his gaze far, far away from the wretched bastard, and tried to think it through.

Another moment passed.

“Fine,” he conceded, bitterly, “I’ll stay quiet if you let him go.” He lifted up his face, threateningly. “If you fucking dare to even hurt Meryl, though? It’s over for you, even if I’m going down too.”

Diosia chuckled, softly. “Perfect. I’d have it no other way with you, you know, Bondi.”

“Sure you wouldn’t.” He grumbled back.

The pressure lifted off of him, and Diosia sat back on his knees, preparing for something. He sat up as well, trying to prepare himself, too, but nothing truly could brace him for the ragged hacking that started up and reminded him of the beast that Diosia was. How could a creature so beautiful do something as horrific as Diosia had done? It was beyond unsettling, the kind of beyond that Bondi was sure would be lingering in his nightmares for a long, long time.

Up crawled the giant lump inside of Diosia, scrabbling and climbing up out of him with every hack, slowly and slowly rising. It may have only been a couple minutes or a couple seconds, but time was obscured in his state of fear, a certain anxiety wondering if his husband was even alive or at least a little well. Diosia’s throat flexed around the bulge, sometimes swallowing—a habit Diosia was clearly fighting in the moment—and other times he still made the most wicked of noises.

Finally, Diosia’s jaws parted, and he could see the barest sliver of a person. Bondi surged forward, and the second Roka’s shoulders dangled out of his mouth, covered in slimes and fluids, Bondi gripped around him and yanked him out quickly.

Diosia gasped and sputtered pathetically after Roka had been ripped away, but he didn’t care. There was no reason to look at the creature beyond confirming that he wasn’t going to attack them. He focused almost solely on his husband, cradling him gently as he searched over his face and body. Gentle, although bleary and disoriented eyes stared back at him, and Roka huddled into him, a relieving confirmation that he was at the very least alive.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Diosia whispered calmly, so calmly that it was dizzying.

He ignored the siren’s words, still focused on Roka. “Are you alright?”

Meekly, Roka nodded.

“I-I’m fine.” He groaned quietly. “I could use w-water, though.”

There wasn’t a second of hesitation now, and instantly he was reunited with the comfort of water surrounding him, a faux shield to all that had happened tonight. Roka’s daze slowly began to wear away beneath the water, and as headway was made in recovery, Bondi could think but only one thing:

I am going to kill him.

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The world was blurry and quiet, a disorienting mess—like he had been spun upside-down and his recovery was still just out of reach. His hands sunk into the sand below him, deeper and deeper as he pressed himself up and began to search around.

Search around.

Where were they?

He gasped out and cried, “Bondi! Roka! Where are you?”

The purr that came in reply sent tingles down his spine; its sound laced with a chemical not yet to spark. It wasn’t who he was looking for, who he was worried about, and if he were being entirely honest, maybe not even who he trusted, but it was the only sound there.

“Shh, little mer, they’re alright. They’ve gone home.”

He whirled over, scattering sand across his tail and through the air in the swift, harsh movement. His breathing suddenly quickened, as if he had been running from something for hours, as he looked back at the siren before him. However, Diosia seemed to pay his fear little mind, slowly and smoothly lowering himself down, right on top of him. The embrace was pinning, intimate and yet horrifying to him, and he squeaked and squirmed in a state torn between giving in or screaming for help.

He planted his hands on Diosia’s shoulders in hopes of self-protection and questioned, “What did you do to them? Why did they leave?”

Diosia explained, the deep, rich taste of his voice unending as it panged through his ears, “We had quite the,”—his voice was drawn out—“disagreement, however, we settled on a compromise.”

He felt frozen beneath Diosia’s weight, unable to escape as legs wrapped around his tail, only trapping him further.

“Diosia,” he spoke softly, worriedly, “I’m scared.”

Diosia’s expression softened in the same way his stance over Meryl did, eyes more gentle—slightly squinted—as if he were thinking about something.

“Of what, darling?”

The realization struck him:

Of you.

“Of—of them being hurt. I care about them so, so, so much—and the way you’re acting it’s just… scary. I feel helpless when you’re on top of me like this.”

“I thought you liked being close to me?”

“Not right now.” He murmured back, a voice still tender and gentle—earnest.

Diosia’s brows pressed down and at first, Meryl took it as a sign of anger, but then he realized how pensive it was. It wasn’t anger; it was… confusion? A strange kind of befuddlement he was certain he’d never seen Diosia look before, the kind of look that made it seem as if this was all new to him. In a loving, calm tempo Diosia leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead before finally he pulled away, slowly rolling off of him.

Meryl watched his own shadow and his lover laid across the sand in an endless, ever following infatuation, and slowly rose as he pushed himself up, eyes set on the siren. Diosia leaned forward again, and Meryl could feel the odd pull he’d created with him, something drawing them closer and closer together despite it being foolish. He shouldn’t be drawn to a monster right now—his friends needed him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Meryl. I hadn’t meant to.”

He replied, now free, and yet still trapped in the gold of his eyes, “I forgive you—” quickly, he took his gaze to the sand. “—I’m just worried about them. I’d never want them to get hurt.”

Diosia echoed his gentle tone, “I haven’t hurt them. Although,” he gave an ever so slight laugh—playfully—a subtle, pleasant sound. “I’m certain Bondi will forever be furious with me.”

He looked back up to Diosia. “What did you do? How did you even do anything? I don’t understand, I just—what happened?”

“I used a few dirty tricks.” Diosia admitted, an expression growing ever so sly and playful now, “however, I truly did them no harm. Not even a scratch.”

Meryl asked, somehow innocently, “Dirty tricks…?”

“I—“ Diosia hesitated. He leaned back a little, withdrawing his gaze from Meryl. “I was rash. I hadn’t been expecting it. I acted harshly. I shouldn’t have enchanted anyone, and I certainly shouldn’t have done much else that I did.”

“Wh-what did you do?”

“I was particularly cruel to that other mer—the one I haven’t the name of.”

“Roka.”

Diosia repeated, “Roka.”—he nodded, almost decidedly—“Yes, Roka. I frightened him greatly, and Bondi a little, too.”

All the shrivels of boldness he possessed began to pool at his chest, and he questioned, more specifically now, “What did you do to him? How did you scare him?”

“I told you. I did something cruel and rash.”

“Diosia, what did you do?” He demanded.

Diosia murmured back, “I can’t tell you.”

“Diosia,”—his tone had lost some of its gentle innocence, now much more urgent and rawer—“What did you do?”

Diosia’s voice raised a little, and he still refused to make eye-contact. “It would be easier to show you. I can’t explain it well.”

“Then show me.” There was a pause in where Diosia became especially still, a greater tenseness inside him than he had ever held, a state of shock. Meryl didn’t care. “Demonstrate, Diosia.”

Diosia whipped his head back over having heard the challenge and, to Meryl’s surprise, undercut his sharp tone with something soft, tender. “If I do, I’ll scare you. But I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“Don’t be dramatic about it.” Meryl retorted.

Their distance was closed, loving hands now enwrapping his, caressing them lightly. Diosia gave a smile, an odd sight in how it lacked everything it always would consistent of—all that was there was a sort of earnest affection.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic. I only want you to understand before I do anything.” He stroked over Meryl’s wrist in the same fond way. “Do you trust me?”

“I want to.”

“Then you’ll let me do this? Demonstrate?”

He answered, softly, “I’ll let you try.”

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