> This is Zuli, otherwise known as the Dwarf Bittern Siren. She’s the chairwoman of Ethan’s company.
> Zuli is known to be incredibly unstable. She has been seen both being exceptionally generous with legitimate sincerity, and other times, incredibly cruel. Her moods are unpredictable, prompting others to tip-toe around how they speak when approaching her.
> She has three close companions, whom of which are fiercely loyal to her and support her. They also happen to be sirens, and may be revealed at a later date.
> No one except those three know her background. Most don’t even know her legitimate name. All she ever tells people is to “Call her Zuli.”
> She’s known to the public as the mystifying song artist “Lapis Lazuli,” clearly titling herself after the gemstone. She’s especially infamous for showing up at concerts seemingly from nowhere and with no visible entry, only to disappear afterwards without a trace. The mystery of it is what makes her so popular.
> She is just as loved as she is feared by the people within her company.
Emotions I feel
They turn to none
I broke, I broke
them one by one
The smile that I had
through all these years
It bears, it bears,
these hateful tears
Singing was always my outlet.
Ever since I was young, singing has been a sacred thing for me. Even if I’m not pursuing it as a career, it’s still very near and dear to my heart. And when I’m sad, it’s especially a powerful form of expression for me.
Tonight was a particularly sad night. Nothing bad had happened. In fact, most of my day had been pretty relaxed. But somehow, my negative thoughts wormed their way into my mind. It was much easier to do so when you didn’t have a lot of friends to hang out with regularly; they say going out with people helps depression, after all. But I don’t really have anyone.
And I suppose that’s what made me sad.
It reminds me, quite terribly, that no matter who I talk to or what I do, I don’t think I’ll ever really have anyone. I could talk to all the people in the world, get close to every single person I sought to befriend, and I’d still feel empty.
I’ve thought on this for a good while. I mean, when you’re alone, you don’t really have much else to do. I’ve thought on it, and I suppose the real root is that my best friend is gone, and probably doesn’t even give me the time of day anymore.
I shouldn’t really care. She moved on, and for good reason. I don’t blame her for not wanting to be friends. I never mistreated her---I don’t think I had the capacity to---but at the time, I wasn’t exactly the most honorable person. Her leaving was justified.
But perhaps it was because for all this time, for years and years, we managed to somehow keep our friendship together. It didn’t matter what happened---we stuck together, we always returned to each other, and we...
We were supposed to be roommates. We had future plans together. I never imagined I’d have to live without her.
And now here I am, living with my dad, perpetually alone.
It’s soul-crushing to see someone you’d grown to care about so much leave you. There wasn’t even a goodbye. She just suddenly stopped talking to me, didn’t even look my way or give me the time of day. And of course, at the same time, I see her having a ball and laughing like she never has with me at someone else’s jokes.
And I realize something must be wrong with me, if she’s never laughed like that for me, and if someone else could bring her joy in ways I had no hope of achieving.
If she could leave me so suddenly and stop caring.
Yeah, that’s why I’m sad tonight.
Absentmindedly, I fiddled with my siren mask. To m y delight, it was decorated in pale blue glittery speckles, mimicking stars. I’m a lover of space, and the manner of decoration is aesthetically pleasing.
Looking at the closed eyes, and the tear-like decorations, I realized that it looked just as lonely as I felt.
Well.
I suppose my company wouldn’t mind an extra target this month.
With little difficulty, I quickly dressed for the moderate spring weather---it’s never too terribly hot during springtime in Texas, so the clothes I wear when I siren aren’t sweltering nor do they freeze me. Perfect to attract some unsuspecting person.
Idly, I strolled from block to block.
There were very few people out this late at night, so it was just me, alone.
Like always.
I hadn’t realized that the sadness had intensified until my eyes began to burn. I bit back any potential tears and instead decided to portray my sadness through the best way I know how to.
I sang.
It was a lonely, lovely melody.
I sing it every time I feel this deep, dark emptiness, as if it could somehow portray the despair I feel. My voice is filled with every negative emotion I felt, every scrap of sadness and loneliness and fear and envy.
But somehow, the song just couldn’t express it. There was too much pain. The tears fell, but sobs never came, because I kept singing and singing and singing. My voice echoed off the buildings, the streets lonely without the stir of life and commerce.
Before I knew it, I heard another voice behind me, though I don’t know what they said. I turned around, the melodic sounds dying in my throat as I choked.
It was a child.
The only one to be roaming the night was a lost child.
Forcing the words from my mouth, I spoke with a strain, “Ah... what was that? I didn’t hear what you said.”
The kid looked up at me with big, round, innocent eyes. “I said your singing is really pretty. You sound sad, though. Are you okay, miss?”
I watched them for a long moment, unable to muster a response.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I plastered a smile onto my face and wiped away my tears. “Mhm. I’m fine. Just needed to express myself a little.”
The kid looked skeptical, but didn’t push me. Crouching down so as to meet them at eye level, I hummed, “Hey, you want me to sing somethin’ nice for you?”
They seemed to brighten up at the suggestion. “Yes, please! Sing something happen, please!”
I did.
The kid didn’t mind when I slipped my mask on.
I don’t think they noticed too much how weak they were growing.
Okay, so I’ve seen people writing stories for their Sirens, and I’ve been meaning to do the same for Ethan. There’s just some things that I can’t express without actively writing him out. Not to mention I tend to discover new things about my characters when I write for them----especially when it’s on a whim.
And as a result, tonight, we get to see Ethan feel regret for the first time.
So yeah! I hope you enjoy this lil 3am drabble. I’m gonna go pass out now. ;v;
@siren-legion
Dead.
Ethan exhaled slowly, the last few notes of his siren song echoing throughout the dressing room. A pinch of shame, probably some sort of regret he still needed to get used to feeling, swelled within him. He’d promised himself he’d try not to kill anyone anymore. But lo and behold, he was not so successful at such a seemingly simple task.
Rising from his seat, the male removed his mask with care and replaced it within his large coat pocket, the brilliant violet wings that adorned his back vanishing the instant the connection was broken. His maroon gaze became sorrowful as he looked over the corpse.
The girl had only been in her mid-twenties. And now she was dead.
With a gentleness only few knew existed within him, the brunet picked up the young lady’s body, the scent of alcohol and too-strong perfume wafting onto him. Putting his game face on, that of which was an expression of horror and panic, the Siren burst out of the dressing room shouting worriedly.
Shouting for someone to take her to a hospital, call the paramedics, do something, because she no longer breathed.
Shouting for someone to save her.
When the ambulance arrived and it was confirmed she was dead, Ethan’s face was plastered with a mask of mournfulness.
“What happened?” asked one of the paramedics. Of course they’d question him. He’d been the last to be in her presence.
Stuttering, the male lied with ease, “I-I don’t know. Maybe it was alcohol poisoning? We were just talking, and then she had some sort of seizure and passed out--”
Sympathy flashed over the man’s face. He reassured Ethan that he didn’t have to say anymore. The Siren was grateful. He didn’t want to lie anymore.
It took a few hours, but eventually, the musician found himself walking in the darkness of the night, the streets dimly lit with lamps. The mask was practically burning a hole in his pocket; somehow, it felt like more of a curse tonight.
Ethan didn’t normally regret his kills. Most of the time, they were people he couldn’t care less about. Perhaps it was because she was a fan. She garnered his sympathy; he could see it in her eyes just how much she adored him. The way she laughed at his jokes, the way her expression brightened at the suggestion of a private audience.
He didn’t know who she was. And he killed her.
Empathy, empathy, empathy. What a curse. A bothersome trait. Ethan didn’t used to feel this regret. Feel the ache of what must’ve been death’s cold grasp closing around you, granted by his hands alone. He hadn’t felt that bad when he first started this job. It’s just a job, after all. There are billions of people in the world; the population could do without a few.
But Karen. They’d taught him to feel---to care for another human being. To love, even. They’re the one who makes him feel most, when he’d numbed himself out of anger and hatred. And it’s because of them that he now feels empathy, sympathy, understanding.
He shouldn’t care. But he does.
He supposes he should get better at knowing when to stop, then.
When he got home, his very drowsy datemate greeted him, beckoning for him to lean down so they could peck his cheek.
“I woke up to the sound of sirens. Did something happen?” they asked, their tired eyes glistening with concern.
“A girl at the club died. No one knows how. I had to stay to give my side of the story,” he explained, the partial lie making him hate himself. He should tell Karen the truth. About being a Siren. About his ‘second job.’
But if they knew, that’d put them at risk. He was sure of it. The risk wasn’t worth it.
“That’s horrible,” came their tired murmur, pity and sorrow flitting across their expression. He could tell they’d been up for however long it’s been since they heard the ambulances. Poor dear must’ve been worried sick about him.
With a sigh, Ethan pulled them into a gentle embrace, resting his chin atop their head. He had no more to say. He wanted tonight to be over with already.
It didn’t take long for Karen to pull him back to their bedroom, clearly wanting nothing more than to curl up against him as they return to their slumber. Ethan wasn’t quite so ready to go to bed yet, though. So, when he entered the shared bedroom, he merely excused himself to use the restroom.
A long, scalding hot shower later, the brunet was drying his messy excuse for hair and donning his usual nightwear. Watching the gentle rise and fall of Karen’s chest as they slept calmed him, somehow. Perhaps just the thought that they were alive and well were what soothed his soul. What a strange feeling to have.
As the tall male crawled into bed, the face of that girl flashed within his mind. Were his actions not as controlled as they were, he would’ve winced. It was so bizarre. He’s never felt for a target before. Never given himself the room to empathize with them. Because he knew that if he did, the side that Karen resurfaced, the kindness buried within his heart, would tell him not to steal their life force.
But just this once, he’d let himself feel.
And he felt horrible.
As Ethan draped an arm over Karen, pulling them closer, he wasn’t surprised to find them subconsciously burying themself into his chest. Their expression softened as they felt his warmth seep into them. He breathed in their scent, letting it wash over him, letting it bring serenity to his troubled mind.
And as he drifted into a restless sleep, he prayed to every god out there that he never feel for another target ever again.
