A Mermaid for the Lonely

A Mermaid of Souls

The air was thick with the scent of salt and the cool mist of the sea as Sirène skimmed through the waters, her tail gliding just beneath the surface. The sky, overcast with a pale grayness, blended into the endless horizon of the ocean, where the sun barely peeked through the clouds. Her long pink hair swirled around her like a silken curtain, occasionally catching a draft of the sea breeze as she moved. She hummed softly under her breath, the melody not meant for anyone's ears but the waves and winds that guided her.

She was alone, as usual, drifting near the jagged cliffs of Pointe de Pen Hir. The dark, towering rocks jutted out like the teeth of some ancient sea beast, plunging deep into the ocean below. It was a treacherous place, where the fury of the sea met the stillness of death. Many ships had met their end here, and over time, she had guided countless souls from this very spot to their final rest.

Today, though, the waters were unusually still, as if waiting for something.

Sirène swam closer to the cliffs, her silver eyes scanning the area, sensing no immediate presence of lost souls. The sea beneath her tail was cool, steady, and silent—a reflection of her own inner being. Emotions were foreign to her. While she understood human grief, pain, and joy, she did not feel them herself. To her, life was duty. Guiding those who had perished at sea, ensuring they did not linger between realms, was all she knew. Her gaze drifted upward toward the cliffs, as if on instinct.

That was when she saw him.

A lone figure, standing dangerously close to the edge of the rocky precipice, his form barely a silhouette against the stormy sky. The wind howled as it whipped around him, pulling at his clothes and hair, trying to unbalance him. His stance was motionless, almost eerily so. He did not fight the wind, did not move to shield himself.

Sirène's gaze narrowed. Humans usually held on to life with such desperation, especially when faced with death's final embrace. Yet there was something off about this one—an absence of resistance, of fear.

He didn't want to fight.

The wind gusted violently, and Sirène's breath hitched—though she did not know why. Time seemed to slow as the man took a single, final step forward. The edge crumbled beneath his feet, and in that instant, his body fell, plummeting toward the sea below. His arms didn't flail, his body didn't twist—there was no panic. Just an eerie silence as he surrendered to the inevitable pull of gravity.

For a brief moment, Sirène hovered, watching the fall, her thoughts calculating and calm. Normally, this would be the point where she would wait patiently to guide the soul once the body met the water.

But this time, something was different.

Before she could think, before she could analyze, she was moving. Her tail flicked through the water, a sharp, powerful motion that sent her gliding upward toward the descending form. The man's body spiraled in freefall, and Sirène angled herself just below him, her white fins cutting gracefully through the waves as she surged toward the surface.

The impact came, not with the crash of broken bones and water, but with a smooth, steady interception. Sirène's arms wrapped around his falling form, her tail coiling beneath him to cushion the blow. They hit the water together, the force of the fall absorbed by her body, a controlled descent into the depths.

For a moment, all was still.

Sirène hovered beneath the surface, the man's weight suspended in her arms, his face inches from hers. His eyes were closed, his body limp. There was no struggle for air, no panicked flailing. His chest barely moved, rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was alive—barely—but unconscious. Her silver eyes scanned his face, taking in the faint lines of tension etched into his skin. He had chosen this fate. That much was clear. But why?

Humans were strange. They felt things with such intensity—emotions that drove them to the brink of madness or salvation. Sirène could not grasp the reasons behind their choices, but she had always been curious.

The sea around her swirled gently, pushing against her as if urging her to let go. She should have. It was not her place to interfere. This man had made his choice, and she had a duty to guide him when the time came.

But instead of releasing him, she held on.

Her tail undulated, propelling them both upward through the water until their heads broke the surface. The cool air hit her skin, mingling with the ocean's spray. She glanced up at the cliffs where the man had fallen from, then down at the man in her arms, his dark hair plastered against his pale skin. The wind still howled above them, but in the sea, it was quiet. Serene.

For the first time in her existence, Sirène felt a flicker of something. It wasn't an emotion she could name. It was a question, a curiosity, something that stirred deep within her that had never stirred before.

Why had she caught him?

She pushed that thought away, focusing instead on the task at hand. Carefully, she maneuvered the man's body through the water, guiding him toward a small inlet where the waves were calmer, where the jagged rocks gave way to a more gentle shoreline. There, she laid him down upon the sand, his body half-submerged in the lapping waves.

For a moment, Sirène simply observed him. His chest continued to rise and fall, each breath labored but steady. He was not like the others she had encountered—those sailors who clung to life until their last breath or the pirates who fought against death's final grip with every ounce of will they possessed. No, this man had welcomed the end. But she had taken that choice away from him, and now she was left with a strange, unfamiliar silence.

She lingered in the shallows, the cool water lapping at her dark pink tail, her pearl-adorned hair flowing loosely over her shoulders. She did not know why she had saved him. But one thing was certain—this man's story was not yet over.

And for reasons she did not yet understand, Sirène wanted to know why.