From What We Once Were
Chapter 1; Shephardess
In a sea of ever changing waves,
In a tide by loss of balance,
I lie within those presumed to know,
But for lack or want of talents…
By the violents rage of salt-foamed spray,
And the tranquil search of foamed, teal water,
This barren sea of faithless hope,
On edge of silent, wordless slaughter.
A deep abyss of shadowed tears,
In ocean's hate of love to be.
In hands of fate, I take my own;
With helplessness comes high-priced fee.
-Ever Changing Waves; Blood in water
The teal expanse resounded about the horizon, teasing it with a rippled mockery of the sunset's vivid reflection. A higlight of cyan trickled sparingly along the shallow glares of sun. Below her, a shadow's breadth resided, marking the beginning of a darkness only her kind knew.
She arched her neck, stretching in utter silence. Oh! How she loathed her task! Malicy allowed herself to shift the water's trecherous calm. The slightest movement could have revealed her position, and in this current situation she was in no form to evade capture.
Her silent tread made little movement, but it wasn't long before she became uncomfortable. Her occaisonal glance at the horizon sparked into more and more frequent gazes. She was not usually one for patience, and today was of no differenciated result.
Almost as if they weren't coming, she mused viciously. She hadn't wanted the assignment. It was something only a cross-breed should have been sent to complete, and she was no cross-breed. Malicy came from a long line of untainted generations. She still held the mark upon her wrist; the unblemished scar of their creation. It was the one thing that could distinguish one from the contaminated, and the human blood. But with this cause for vanity came a price; those who knew of the existance of sirens could tell quite easily at a glance whether or not they were mortal. It was a marine-tinged mark of skin, faded designs of scales adorning the broadest veins. It had been the place, legend told, that the souls of two races had been sewn together by Rosangia.
It disgusted her, to think of those of her people who moved freely about the land, aware of what they were; aware of what they were meant to be. They shared their gifts with those above, creating life that would forever reek of unsoulfulness. The gods would one day cease the existance of all but those born of purity. And she would remain, as prideful and immoveable as the stars above; smiling.
Her sails blew in a dying wind. Thermals had been scarce and hard to come by, and as a result, they were off schedule…by…hours…
With only a crew of seven, the absence would be excusable, but they had only so long before a detour would have to be explained…
Their shrill melody had resounded, distilled, along the shadowed waters. Fear had driven them off course; driven like sheep.
That's all she had to do, really. The simple task of singing. She was now what they spoke of as a 'shephardess'. They had long since been able to predict the reactions and patterns of the sea-bound mortals. Only recently, however, had they put this reading to use.
Folk tales and superstitions led decrepit sailors to believe they'd been enraptured. True, such melodies were lyrique and exceptionally sweet, but not at all enchanting. At least, few had found themselves with 'The Gift ofHymn'. It came to their advantage that they would swerve off course, easily manageable to their wills.
She was lost in thought; unaware of the surroundings. Her first, and final mistake. Abruptly, a great wooshing from behind her sucked her backwards. It only took a moment to succumb to the realization that the great boat she was supposed to deter from its course was in the opposite direction from which it should have been coming.
It took even less time to predict that the lazy breed had taken an easier and less troubling route. One that could sabotage the entire plan.
But she had little time to reflect before she was dragged downward, sliding along the sleek arch of the boat. Her lungs emptied of all air, filling once more with fresh, filtered oxygen brought in by the prided slits that ran along the arch of her neck, and the set that transpired over the Aquarian, finlike ears. They fanned out, tinged with an unoticeable aqua-marine, but marred with a crème shade.
How am I going to explain this? She pondered, in a somewhat panicked state. This was going to get her into a dilemna with the elders.
All thoughts, however, ceased when she was pulled so far to the ship's hindquarters that her thin-fleshed shoulder blade collided into the cruelly sharpened rudder. The force of the impact was astounding, water still pushing her against the wooden steering mechanism. The skin had torn cleanly, leaking warm, claret fluid into the surrounding chilled current. But the abrupt, but unpredictable snake of crimson warmth against her tinged form told her before it even crossed her mind. The tales of transformation, provided by the gods, would be reinacted through her in an involuntary traitorous act to the kin.
Even as she was released from the boat's draft, she remained there, floating in the blood-tainted waters. She could already feel the changes, but could not bring herself from the paralysis of the agony to move. It was in a second's span that she drifted into an unconscious slumber, whereas she would be absent in mind for the next seven hours of her life. She would miss the endless floating along the sea, and the everlasting drift to the coastline. It having not been far away in the first place, she would have no memory of washing up to the shore, a crumped form along the tide. The ignorance of such happenings was for the best, but the confusion and desperation would prove damaging.
Bane; "Some referrances are made unto 'The Gods', and their 'tales'. Rosangia is one of these gods. However, further explanation will be placed in either the 2nd or 3rd chapter. Okay? "