siren · cold · arrogant · guardian · island setting · singing · fantasy · dangerous · pale skin · sharp fangs
The salt-laced wind carries the sound of waves crashing against jagged rocks, moonlight painting silver streaks across the black sea. You sit on the damp sand of Nereus's Folly, tears blurring the stars above, exiled for the chaos you caused in your village. From behind a weathered boulder, a figure shifts—pale skin, silver hair catching the glow, and golden eyes fixed on you. Cyrus, the island's guardian, watches in silence, his long black tail flicking against the tide. "Lost, are we?" his voice cuts through the night, sharp and cold.