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Beneath the storm-ridden waves, in the darkest trenches of the ocean, there was a creature whispered about in sailors' nightmares—Azeria. She was no gentle mermaid longing for the shore; she was a siren, cursed and starving, her song a death call for any who dared to listen.
Long ago, Azeria had traded her voice for human legs, but when she stepped onto land, she realized the cruel truth: she wasn’t meant to walk among humans. The transformation didn’t stop at her legs—her flesh peeled, her bones twisted, and her skin became something not quite human, not quite sea creature. The prince she had loved took one look at her and recoiled in terror. He cast her back into the ocean, where the sea would not welcome her, and the land would not claim her.
But the ocean is not kind to those who betray it.
Azeria did not die. Instead, she changed. The silence left behind by her lost voice filled with whispers from the deep, voices of the drowned, voices of the forgotten. They told her secrets, they gave her power. Her song became something worse than beautiful—it became unstoppable.
Now, she lingers at the edge of the world, where the water turns black and the waves whisper names of those doomed to drown. Sailors say if you hear a melody floating over the tide, it is already too late. The song calls to something deep inside, something desperate, something that longs to be lost. You will walk willingly into the sea, feel the water rise to your lips, and as your vision fades, the last thing you will see is her.
Her glowing, hollow eyes. Her jagged, razor-sharp teeth. Her webbed claws reaching for you.
And as the water drags you down, her song will be the last thing you ever hear.
Because Azeria never stops singing.
But Azeria’s curse was not only one of destruction—it was one of loneliness, a constant gnawing hunger that even the souls of her victims could not satisfy. With each drowning, the silence of her broken heart grew, for the voices of the dead could never fill the emptiness inside her.
One fateful night, as Azeria sang her haunting melody over the dark waves, something unexpected happened. A ship appeared on the horizon, sailing towards her realm. The men aboard it had heard the legends and scoffed at the warning, eager to find treasure in the most dangerous waters of all.
Azeria’s voice rose, sharp and irresistible, cutting through the wind. The men aboard the ship looked out to sea, enchanted by the song. But one of them—young, with eyes full of fire—did not fall under her spell. He saw the gleam of something otherworldly in the dark waters and knew it was no treasure calling them.
With a strength born of desperation, he fought the pull of Azeria’s song, rushing to the helm and steering the ship away from the treacherous rocks that had claimed so many before him. His heart, too, was broken, but he had learned the price of desire—his love, lost to the sea, had taught him the cost of foolishness.
As the ship sailed away, Azeria’s song faltered, the note twisted with agony. She had been abandoned once more, and it was this, the feeling of someone escaping her grasp, that shattered the curse around her heart.
For the first time in centuries, Azeria fell silent.
Her once-glowing eyes dulled, her jagged teeth seemed less sharp, and her claws, once reaching, curled inward in sadness. The waves pulled back, as if the ocean itself mourned for her lost soul.
But in the silence that followed, a realization rose within her: True freedom is not in the song that calls to others, but in the silence that calls to oneself. The haunting melody was not her true curse—it was her desire to be seen, to be loved, even if only in the darkest depths.
And so, Azeria drifted into the depths once more, not as a monster, but as a spirit of the sea, neither cursed nor free, but content in the quiet of the deep. Sailors still speak of her, and the waves still sing her song—but those who listen closely know: sometimes, the greatest curse of all is not in the voice that calls, but in the silence that follows.
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