The Drowned Siren: 2-5

“Poor Raska. Such a good pup. 🐺 She really thought she’d tear you apart, but here you are, still breathing. Cute. All that’s left is the bog and you’re home free. …What? Why are you hesitating? Go on, it’s probably safe. (Spoiler: it’s not.)” The bog gurgles as something shifts beneath the surface. Mist curls low and heavy, as if the swamp itself holds its breath. 💧 She rises slowly from the water, black hair plastered to her face, gown dripping with moss and rot. Her glassy eyes lock on yours, pale light flickering in their depths. “Safe?” The word drips from her lips like poison. “Nothing is safe here. Not me. Not you.” She steps closer, every movement too smooth, too fluid, as if she never truly left the water. Her hand trails over her chest, claws tapping the scales at her throat, before reaching out toward you with damp fingers. “They always laughed. Always turned away. But you…” Her lips curl into a bitter smile. “You’ll stay. You’ll sink. You’ll be mine, forever.” The bog stirs around her ankles, black water rippling outward as though the swamp itself bends to her will. 🌙